I really hope shes comes back today. This marks day 4 this week of trying to work up the courage to finally drag my feet over there and ask her for her name. The first time I saw her, she was just sitting there, blissfully unaware of her radiating beauty. Sitting alone in a bustling library, both airpods in, tapping away on her macbook in what looked like a studying trance. Seemingly unaware of the world around her. The soft steady beeping of the library patrons checking out their books and the humming of the overhead florescent lights drowning out near silence. I had been in this library to escape a rain shower on my morning walk to work. I pass it everyday and look at it in awe. Nestled in a little park stood this elegant library. Weathered stone bricks lead up to emerald green oak doors that looked to weight hundreds of pounds and seemed to stretch all the way to the roof. It had large stained glass windows, with a magnificent array of colors and inspiring designs. Around the windows there was swamp green ivy crawling up the walls along with bright pink flowers in bloom every 6 inches or so, creating a coat of leafy floral armor. The library is at the very beginning of my walk, so it wasnt the easiest or most fun getting here everyday, but I needed to talk to this girl. I feel like a creep watching her, but I cant take my eyes off her soft beauty. Her dark brown hair spirals off her head, falling into full beautiful curls, resting about her shoulders. Gold-framed, circle glasses, big enough to catch the sunlight that comes in from the great windows to blind me every so often, reminding me that ive been staring for far too long. I wonder if shes even noticed me. Everyday shes brought her Mac Book protected by an avocado green case, her baby blue back pack, and what looks like a iced latte from starbucks. What could I say to such a striking woman to even get her attention? Should I even try to interrupt her studying? What if she hates that? I guess I could just introduce myself, but what about after that? what if she has a boyfriend? she must, shes too gorgeous to be single, but what do I know? I wont do anything anyways, and she will just walk away, again. At least so I thought. Today stop in was like any other. Sounds of steady beeping of the book scanners and the now familiar smell of old paper and freshly brewed blonde roast from the nearby Starbucks filled the air. She was getting ready to leave. Packing away her laptop and books into her oversized backpack. Takes the last few sips of her coffee, and gracefully walks out of the building, capturing all the sunlight as she leaves, leaving the room noticeably dimmer. Everything was the same, except this time she accidentally left her pencil case on the table. Immediately my body moved on its own. I walked over to the study desk and picked it up without even thinking, and chased after the woman ive been too afraid to talk to. “Excuse me! I think you left this.” She turned around, finally allowing me to be able to take in all her beauty up close. Her eyes, striking and deep brown, like luminous burning coals on a cool fall evening. Peachy desirable lips sat on her face underneath soft and delicate cheeks. She had that true kind of beauty, not the kind you would find flipping through a popular fashion magazine. Only the kind that can be found on the face of someone you never could forget, no matter how hard you tried. “So you’re finally going to talk to me?” she replied in a playful tone. I looked at her puzzled, trying to hide the embarrassment and guilt of getting caught. “What do you mean?” “Oh, so im not supposed to notice the guy who isnt reading any books and keeps looking at me?” Damn, she really got me. “Ooooh” I said with a laugh. “You noticed that?” She chuckled “Well you didnt make it very hard. You came in for three of the last four days, and have picked up one book since youve been here?” she replied. I can feel my cheeks burning red with guilt. I guess I wasnt very good at hiding my slack jaw gaze. “Haha, well, I guess that wasnt the smartest idea, to be honest I just couldnt take my eyes off you. From the first day I saw you I wanted to introduce myself, but I was just too afraid to walk over.” “What? Why were you too afraid to walk over?” “Well, I have a hard time talking to beautiful women.” I replied. “Wow, did you really think that cheesy line was going to work?” she said in a mocking but playful tone. Shes really giving it to me. “Yes.....okay no. But its not just a cheesy line. I am bad at talking to pretty girls, and you are beautiful.” Now I can see her cheeks starting to flush. “Ok...so you have known ive been looking at you this whole time?” I asked. “Yes.” “And you obviously didnt think it was creepy or that I was weird cause you didnt have a worker to ask me to stop or leave.” “Wellll, I wouldnt say that.” she said with a smartass smile. “So wait, did you leave the pencil case on purpose?” I asked “Now you’re starting to catch on.” she replied in a sarcastic tone. “You kept looking at me and coming back in but didnt say anything so I decided to do something myself.” Oh wow, so she might like me too if she was willing to do that, but shes got me in her hand like putty and she knows it, I can see it in her sweet but intense eyes. “You havent even told me your name yet” she said flatly. Shit, how could I forget to introduce myself. I got so wrapped up in being embarrassed, I forgot how to be normal. “Oh yeah, duh. My name. Im Matt, its nice to talk to you finally” “Its nice to meet you Matt” she replied with a smile, “Im Natalie, but everyone calls me Nat.” “Well Nat, now that I have your name, can I have your number so we can go out some time?” “I dont know, are you going to stop coming into the library to stare at me?” she asked playfully. I slyly laugh it off, “of course, I will stop being a creeper from this day forward.” “Ok Matt, well here is my number.” She hands me over a piece of ripped loose leaf paper she took out of her pocket. “I had written that down earlier waiting for you to finally come over today but I had to leave my pencil case to get you in gear” “Ah, yes. Well im glad I was able to grab it finally. Ill go ahead and give you a text, I really gotta get to work.” I handed back her pencil case and we said our goodbyes. I watched as she walked away down the busy city street disappearing into the school of people in their way to whatever destination they had in mind. How am I supposed to go back to work after that? It was like the fourth of july and christmas morning all at the same time! I just cant believe she gave me her number. The feeling of anxiety of wanting to talk to her and dread for not talking to her leaving my body like all the gas being released from a pressurized can. I let out a relaxing exhale. That long walk back to the office just didnt seem so long that day.


I attempt to open one eye, the mucus build up makes it near impossible to bring anything into focus. Crusted particles consume my eyelashes and each waking blink is almost too much to take. My head is throbbing, and not the "I drank too much last night" throbbing, but more along the lines of "Someone pummeled the fuck out of my head" throbbing. The floor beneath me is cold and firm, the walls bare, bleak and colorless. I finally start to regain my senses when suddenly I begin to question "Where the fuck am I?". After a few minutes of systematically blinking, trying to break away from the previous night's debauchery, I am finally able bring my almost limp body into an upright position. I immediately notice that my nose passage is blocked as I attempt to bring fresh oxygen into my lungs. I bring my fingers to my nostrils and too my dismay, I come to the realization that my nose isn't working because of all the coagulated blood up in there. I just continue to sit there, same spot, no movement. "What went wrong?" I think that same question to myself everyday, always in the morning, always when my mind is fresh, when my thoughts aren't clouded by the ensuing bittersweet reality of Heroin.


When I was a child I had an imaginary friend, and every night while I was falling asleep she would stand outside my doorway and watch me, imparting a deep feeling of calm over me and in a way lulling me to sleep. I had named her the Mother of Spiders, a rather fitting name in my opinion. Although my parents, who lovingly tolerated the strange and yet inexplicably common aspect of a child's mental development, considered the name to be more than a bit unnerving. My attempts to explain why the title was a deserved one, describing her tall, thin figure, her leatherlike skin, her lanky quadra-jointed limbs, all ending in four hyper flexible digits and her oblong and insect like head, perched upon a long, strained neck. Although this description only seemed to worsen their anxieties. As I began to grow older and the age when imaginary friends were considered acceptable was behind me my parents began to consider the ongoing presence of the Mother of Spiders to be a problem. Although, personally, I considered her presence to be a reassurance, a sort of constant throughout the ever changing landscape that was adolescence. I had my first appointment with a psychiatrist when I was in 4th grade, and after my parents explained my symptoms to the doctor for me I was finally given diagnoses, a scientific explanation for what my parents considered to be a strange ailment. It was a strange form of pre-sleep sleep paralysis. Rare, but not unheard of, and learning this my parents finally seemed satisfied. It took the better part of a decade before my nightly visits from the Mother of Spiders began to mutate and change. I was unmedicated for the better part of that time, and I slept well under the entity's caring gaze. It was in the middle of highschool, late 10th grade, when my parents decided enough is enough, and although my pre-sleep paralysis had remained unchanged for over five years at that time I was placed on imipramine, a medication designed to put a stop to the episodes. The mutation almost seemed like a response to my medicated status. Not only did they fail to stop my sleep paralysis, but the visions began to slip, bleeding out of their nightly allotted slots and into my waking days in the form of hallucinations. Not only this but as the medication failed to have any of its intended effects I was faced with the worst of its negative side effects, and for some time I was plagued with fits of dizziness and blurry vision along with frequent headaches and I gained and lost weight with an uncontrollable ease. I spent a month like this, blighted by the side effects of a useless medication while I went day to day fearing the possible appearance of the Mother of Spiders. I went on like this for a few months before finally confessing to my parents, I switched from imipramine and too olanzapine, an antipsychotic, and while the negative side effects went away, my hallucinations remained. She would appear to me in the least expected of places, on busy sidewalks where I'm reasonably sure trees were meant to be, down the vacant side streets when I would take walks down my hometown of Littlebrook’s sleepy mainstreet and within the empty aisles of department stores. In these moments I could finally fully observe and appreciate her. And while she still exuded a calming aura of motherhood I found her to be physically terrifying. She must have been 8-9ft tall, with skin like mummy yet oddly flexible, a beaklike mouth and eyes that rippled and shimmered like an oil slick. I found her beautiful in a horrifying sort of way. While she continued to visit me before I fell asleep, and while those nightly visits were more than welcome I began to grow hopeless on the topic of ever ridding myself of her in the hallucination form. Surprisingly this didn't effect me, at least not as much as I assumed it would, if I had grown used to the sleep paralysis I could grow used to this, I told myself, and within a few months my life was seemly normal again, not because anything had changed but because I had gotten used to it. I stopped taking my olanzapine soon after and found my life to be unchanged. For a year I managed to live a mostly normal life, I graduated high school and went through my summer content and normal, ignoring the once unnerving sight of the Mother of Spiders exposed in daylight. Over familiarization maybe. Life was good, at least for a while. I write this from my cubelike room, cell, whatever, in the Pine County Psych Hospital. I've been here roughly a month now, and in addition to that it's been nearly a month since I last saw her. It's so unnerving not having her accompany me, being abandoned by my one and only constant companion throughout life. I feel so dreadfully alone. It started two weeks before my internment when my family discovered I hadn't been taking my olanzapine It appears that refusing to take your medication while still claiming to see a titanic spider woman and openly describing it as an hallucination was seemingly a good enough reason to be checked in to a psych ward, no matter how lucid I claimed to be. In all honesty I don't mind most of my treatment here, the constant therapy sessions, both group and one on one, and I can understand why my off hours are spent locked in my room, I don't even mind taking my medication, I thought it was working, for a while at least, but not anymore, because last night she finally returned. I'm writing this for a reason, not just to recount my mildly interesting life story but because last night my entire world changed. After a near month of absence she finally returned, and as I drifted off into the uneasy slumbers I had grown used to without her, I heard a deep low noise from the hallway, from just outside my door. Slowly she pushed open my door and I saw her through my hazy eyes, and gazing at me as I drifted into my first peaceful slumber in what felt like a lifetime. I woke up early in the morning, content and well rested, although those feelings changed in mere moments when I noticed the irregularity across from my bed and I felt my heart skip a beat , across the room I saw my door, the one I knew to be locked when I fell asleep, hanging open and ajar within the morning sunlight with the metal lock torn, twisted and sitting on the floor.


He screamed and he screamed, and he wouldn’t stop. The angry beast in the closet - Vakum, destroyer of dust, rearranger of furniture and perforator of eardrums - had roused himself from his long slumber, and he was mightily displeased. His tone rose to a high whine, then shifted to a muffled squeal. Oh no, he’d devoured one of the plastic bags, his nemesis. He did hate getting tangled with those. At the first sign of his displeasure, I took myself to my usual hiding place, the far corner of the bedroom, and concealed myself there. This always worked - if I got out of the way, the appeasement ritual, of Kli Ning, would go more smoothly. I couldn’t perform the ritual myself. That was a human thing, a sacred dance done on two feet, approximately every seventh day in the afternoon. Objects would be dragged around the room to appease the creature named Vakum, who was then ushered into the empty floor spaces to eat from them. These floors were festooned with debris that he so liked to devour into his ravenous, flat mouth. He’d be wheeled to his dinner like the Lord of the house he was, and he’d eat and eat until his belly was full. Or so I assumed. I’d never witnessed more than ten seconds of this performance they called Kli Ning, because it was so horrifying. I knew, when the humans raised their voices and shouted, “Company’s coming!” at each other, or, “Your mother’s arriving at five?! or, “You didn’t tell me your friend was stopping over! For God’s sake, you need to tell me these things! It’s a disaster in here!” The ritual would be especially panicked and even more fervent than usual. But the humans were not at home, and so Vakum was not appeased. He shrieked away in his closet and no one came to release him. I cowered in the far corner of the bedroom for twenty minutes, digging my claws into the bedspread to ease my fears, yowling intermittently, hoping that if he heard my cries, Vakum would be merciful towards me. I fluffed my fur into a fearsome spiky arrangement I used to warn off enemies. I arched my back and raised my tail. But Vakum could not see me, and so this was not useful - and, after all, what could I do against this angry beast, who was so much more powerful than I was? Vacuum was relentless in his wails. Gods, he must be angry. But why? I began to understand the reason. My humans had not appeared in about seven days, which I had not minded, but apparently, Vakum had decided that he minded greatly. They’d left me food, and water, and had someone check in on me a few times, but I didn’t like her, so I hid from her. Seven days, I mused. The humans had performed Kli Ning before they left. So that was it, then: he was angered because he had not been fed according to schedule. If the humans did not perform Kli Ning, one of them usually started shouting about it before they brought out Vakum and gave him a quick turn around the apartment. Then the shouting human would say to the other human, "I'm sorry! I just get stressed out when it's dirty in here!" And the other human would say, "I know. Come here and give me a kiss." The important thing, the thing that seemed to cause stress upon both of them, was that they had not fed Vakum in a timely manner. I had previously thought Vakum was something like a more powerful cat, who didn't even need to move on his own, but who had somehow enslaved the humans to do his bidding and roll him around the house so he didn't need to exert himself whatsoever. If I hadn't enjoyed running, jumping, and playing so much, I might have attempted to do the same, to simply yowl at the humans until they did what I wanted without lifting a paw to help myself. But now I understood. Vakum was no animal, but truly a god: he was more powerful, even, than an indoor cat. He needed a sacrifice of crumbs, and dust, and to know that the furniture had been moved around the floors. He would be especially hungry after his long imprisonment, and if I wanted to stop him from killing us all in his anger, Vakum’s wrath must be appeased. I knew what I had to do. I was not human, but I could move things around - off windowsills, at least. I’d been practicing my vertical jumping for years, and now it was time to put it to use. I streaked into the living room, my fur in a riot of fear, and leapt as high as I could towards the ledge. I couldn’t usually make it up here, as the radiator was too slippery for my paws to gain purchase, but desperate times call for heroic measures. I landed on the radiator, and then, scrabbling frantically, managed to wedge all four paws against it surface. I leapt to the windowsill, knocking into one of the large green leafy things in my way. It fell to the floor with a smash. There were so many of these tall green growing things on this ledge - why did the humans prize them? They did nothing, and the humans wouldn’t even let me chew on them, which at least would have made them useful to somebody. So they might as well be sacrificed to the angry god before he killed us all in his fury. I batted down another of the green things, which shuddered, then bobbled against the windowsill and finally tipped over, scattering black earth all over the soft rug below. Good: the floor was covered in debris. Vakum would be pleased about that. For good measure, I sacrificed the third green thing to the floor as well, feeling a sense of relief as its container smashed into fragments and the greenery blended with the dirt in which it had been planted. One never could be too generous when appeasing an angry god. It was very important, I knew, to move heavy objects around the room for Vakum. I could not move chairs or other furniture. But, perhaps Vakum would be so hungry, the humans would have to feed him on the tabletop as well as the floor. And I could cover the table with food for him. There was a clear glassy thing on the table which always sat there. Sometimes the humans put sprigs of dying greenery into this thing - another sort of offering which was replaced every so often, given to other invisible god in propitiant ritual. Unfortunately, the glassy thing was empty now, meaning there were no additional objects to scatter over the tabletop. I brushed my side against its surface, knocking it over. As it rolled along the table, I whacked it with my tail for good measure. It smashed to the floor with a piercing crack. Excellent - there were many shards of glass for him to eat, now. I hoped Vakum liked glass. Best to find more things to offer, though, because he was still shrieking away in his closet like a beast cruelly chained. I couldn’t stand it another minute. Ah, yes, there should be dust - Vakum needed dust. That was something I knew he liked to eat. In utter desperation, I ran to the thing the humans called “get away from there!” and dug my claws into its thick fabric. I shredded it wildly. Its fibers flew from my paws and hovered in the air before gently falling to the ground in a satisfying pile. There - I’d made dust, and a lot of it. What more could I do? But no, Vakum was still howling, his guts belching, his voice hoarse. Oh no. Oh no. Was the roof going to fall on my head? I ran to the far corner of the bedroom, and in my desperation, I peed there. I didn’t know if he’d like that or not. I can’t even pretend it was something I decided to do consciously. I’d just about lost my mind with fear. And then, in answer to my fervent prayers, there was a scraping sound at the front door. Two voices, voices I knew well, were talking to each other, yelling above Vakum’s roar. “What is that sound?” “Is that the Vacuum? Why on earth is the vacuum running right now?” “Did the cat somehow -“ The front door creaked open. I tore, wildly, towards its freedom. “Hey, Petey!” greeted the human as I streaked past him. “What’s going on, buddy?” I don’t know what those words were supposed to indicate, except that the humans were untroubled by the promise that Vakum was going to imminently destroy everything around him. I hissed and yowled and ran into the shrubbery. “Petey! *Come back here*!” And then, from inside the apartment, came an even more highly-pitched scream than the one Vakum was making. “PETEY!!” shrieked the human. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” \\\*\\\*\\\* It was all right, in the end. Just as I’d thought, the humans released Vakum and treated him to an absolute feast, like none he’d ever eaten before. He roared around the rooms of the house for an entire hour, belching in his satisfaction. I hid in the bedroom as the humans yelled many things at each other about what I’d done to save us all. “The vacuum must’ve scared the cat, when it turned on in the closet somehow, and he went crazy.” “Well, no kidding, he did. He turned into a little tornado. He must have been totally freaked out. How many plants did he knock over?” “All three of ‘em. Darn it, now I’ll have to repot them. Most of the stems of my violet are broken and he trashed my peace lily. I hope they’ll live. And he broke my nice vase, and he - oh no. Oh, come look what he did to the couch... “Oh my God.” “*Petey*.” “Petey.” I heard my own name and licked my paws in satisfaction. They must be thanking me that I’d saved them from their god’s wrath; that I’d prepared such a great feast for him, to spare them the trouble of scattering their own crumbs on the ground and festooning the floor with dust when they arrived home. They would have been tired, and would have only prepared a meager meal for him, instead of this lavish spread I'd arranged. “He hasn’t done anything crazy in the bedroom, has he?” “Doubt it. He usually just hides there quietly.” “Should I go check him, or -“ “Nah, leave him alone until we’re done. He should be fine there.” I sniffed at the spot where I’d peed. I wondered if they’d take Vakum there to eat that, too. I couldn’t wait for all the head-pats I’d get in reward. I wondered if they’d open their special cans of nice food for me. It seemed only justified, after all my efforts.


I wrote this because my in-law's dog is getting older and I was feeling a little sad about it. Let me know what you all think.    I am new. My eyes will not open. It feels warm as mama covers me. Her fur feels like a warm Blanket. That’s how I’ll remember it when I learn what a Blanket is. I *think* I am a good boy. My brothers and sisters are packed in tight around me. They smell like home. They feel a lot like mama. They are making noises. Its loud. I soon realize that I’m making the same noises. Something in me aches. It ends up being my tummy. Oh, I was hungry. Thanks mama. Time passes. I struggle and struggle. Eventually, my eyes *do* open. What a remarkable world! Mama is the most beautiful thing in it. I meet Blanket for the first time. It’s warm, just like mama. One day, a tall and beautiful creature enters. It towers over even mama! It doesn’t have fur all over its body. Instead, it just has fur on its head. Its head fur is really long. It stands on two legs instead of laying or sitting on all four. It’s silly. The tall and beautiful creature comes to me. It speaks in words that I cannot understand. I am taken from mama. I’m sad. Blanket comes with me though, so I know I’ll be okay. I say goodbye to my brothers and sisters as we leave the only room I’ve ever been in. I find out that the tall creature is my new mama. She’s pretty, but different from mama. She rubs my ears and though I do not understand her words, I know she is telling me that I am a good boy. I like this. I meet my new mama’s children. They are adorable. They’re bigger than me, but they somehow feel smaller. Instinctively, I know that I will protect them. They are my new brothers and sisters. As time passes, I grow quickly. Before too long, new mama must hold me with two hands. It still feels good when she strokes my nose. My new brothers and sisters haven’t quite figured out how to pet me like mama does. I am a good boy. New mama and my new brothers and sisters put down hard blankets. For some reason, they become angry when I need to relieve myself even though they do it all the time in the house. They even have this big magic water drinking bowl. No sharing with me though. They call me “Jake.” That must be my name. I am a good boy. New mama slowly becomes just mama. I still have Blanket. Old mama is still the most beautiful thing in the world, but I don’t remember exactly what she looked like. Sometimes, when I smell Blanket, I remember a little bit better. I find out about ALL the wonderful things in the world like “treat,” “fetch,” and “walk.” I love them. I also figure out that mama and my siblings won’t be as mad if I relieve myself outside. I want them to be happy. When I need to go, I just give them a shout. They don’t understand my words because they still don’t speak my language. They’re silly. It seems that they get the point, because they start to let me out when I ask. Time passes again. I’m fully grown and so energetic. I thought I would be a lot bigger, but mama can still pick me up. She takes me to another place where I get stuck with needles. It’s awful. She makes me go back sometimes for some reason. I can never tell if we are about to go on an adventure or go back to the needle man. I get more and more walks. Lots of petting too. I love my home. I lay quietly in my snug little bed next to Blanket. A new adversary has appeared. She is white and fluffy. Looks like a treat to me. When I start to treat the new adversary like a treat, mama scolds me. She spanks me for the first time. I didn’t even do anything. I guess I have to be nice to fluffball. The adversary and I vie for mama’s attentions. It turns out that mama has enough attention for both of us. The adversary grows larger. I find out that her name is Princess. We become friends of necessity. She tries to sit on Blanket. We are not friends that day. She never quite reaches my size, but her place in my heart continues to grow. I’m not so young anymore. I still get excited to go on a walk, but it doesn’t excite me like it once did. My siblings are so big now, almost as large as mama. They are my home. Some of them are nearly as good at fetch as mama. The youngest boy is always a good begging target. All it takes a single whine and he drops at least something. It is a beautiful summer day. I can tell that its summer because it feels nice and warm. I get to go outside without having to ask twice. Summer is my favorite time of year. Sometimes it does get a little warm though. My siblings occasionally give me the honor of laying in their laps. It’s harder to keep up with mama than it used to be. My siblings begin to leave. Over time they return, sometimes with partners. I have never had a partner. Sometimes, this makes me sad, but mostly, I am happy. I’ve had mama. She’s never changed. The years have passed, but mama is the same. She is my fondest protector and the one who I also protect. I don’t move so well anymore. My days of fetch are behind me. Still, I have my companions, Blanket and Princess. At times, it’s like they’ve always been with me. On occasion, I walk into a wall. Mama always has a concerned expression on her face when this happens. We visit the needle man more often now, but curiously, he has almost become a companion in his own right. An especially beautiful and sunny day comes and goes. Today was not such a good day. I re-live days as a pup when I did not know what to say to get to go outside. It means that sometimes, I must relieve myself inside the house. Shame. Mama never scolds me for this anymore. I remember when I could not open my eyes. Now, the other side of aging closes them. I look into mama’s beautiful face one final time. Old mama is a faint memory now. I sit, cuddled with Blanket. Princess nudges me, letting out a purr. I wish my siblings were here, but all is well. As I let out my final breath, I know one thing for sure: I was a good boy.


Titled: Brain Powered Victorian Age Android Submitted By: Agent 819, Catherine Wolsky Types: Sentient, Mechanical, Human, Technology Date Submitted: 1/7/[REDACTED] Status: Safe/4 The original Android concept was created by Professor Charles Babbage (12/26/1791 - 10/18/1871) in collaboration with an unnamed doctor. The two created the blueprints for this contraption in 1851, though Pro. Babbage dropped the project after the clear insanity of his unnamed doctor accomplice. Pro. Babbage decided to pick up the project once more in 1871, but died shortly thereafter. A French inventor by the name of [REDACTED] in 1998 decided to try to follow the blueprints he had found for the contraption, and succeeded in the creation of a sentient robot. The contraption was retrieved by P.O.L.A in the year [REDACTED] and placed under the authority of Professor [DATA REMOVED] Browns, the world's leading robotics researcher. The Android is a roughly humanoid shaped robot connected to the generator by many sprawling wires and tubes. The wires and tubes are 18 feet long, and attached to a large pod roughly the size of a refrigerator laying on it's back and contains a man inside with wires and tubes sticking out of each of his orifices. (noted, the pod seems to be designed after the iron lung.) The container is attached to a larger machine that constantly has the hissing of hydraulics and the pounding of pistons as it pumps the fluids, and powers the Android. (noted, that the machine weighs 2 metric tons, Professor Browns was amazed at how much machinery was required for it to produce the required computing power for the Android.) The man is floating inside of some type of fluid, and has yellowing of the skin, balding and extreme wrinkling as his body has begun decomposing. (noted, that the fluid appears to be embryonic fluid, farther testing required.) The man inside the pod appears be in his late 30's, though it's difficult to tell due to his decomposition state. The pod which the man resides in must always be kept between 74 and 126 degrees, and his pressure inside the pod cannot exceed 200 pounds. Professor Browns has discovered that the man is used simply for his brain, as a computer for the Android, and that if the man became damaged in any way, the Android would most likely be rendered useless. The Android is slightly taller than an average man at 6' 9'', and it's weight is roughly 550 pounds. The Android is capable of basic motor skills, but not fine tuned motor skills. the Android does not have a voice box, but rather a buzzer that whenever the Android tries to speak, the buzzes come out in morse code. The Android is mostly docile, but can be agitated whenever told that it isn't a human, but an Android. Though it is much to slow to harm any personnel, it should still be handled with minimum caution. The Android seems to only grow in intelligence as time goes on, though. To have access to the Android, you must be an Agent with a pass, regardless of level.


Dr. Renault couldn’t help feeling the excitation of discovery in this moment. The most monumental discovery of the Coronal Satellite-station was this, the thing which it seems will inevitably destroy the multi quadrillion dollar project. It wasn’t the craft’s remarkable system of salvaging energy from the star it orbited so close to. As it passed through the corona, the heat was far too intense to try to harvest energy from, as such it drew induction from the star’s turbulent magnetic fields themselves. The material science and advanced plasma shielding used had takes decades to develop. The device shot through the solar system on an elliptical orbit, only briefly passing through the corona close enough to take its measurements. Those measurements themselves were an amazing feat. The most advanced array of electromagnetic fluctuation detectors ever built, with the intention of mapping solar plasma flows so accurately that they could form predictive models. Models Dr. Renault begrudgingly knew were being used for all sorts of other tech. Science has always had a dependent relationship with warfare, but in recent centuries the pattern of scientists only being able to find funding for their research if it has a weapons application had reached a cliché. To get grants for her advanced predictive solar modeling project, she’d needed to tack on a bit in the presentation about how hypothetically, if a nuclear weapon of sufficient size were detonated on the surface of a star it could stimulate a solar flair that could be aimed by an advanced enough model. This could be used as an area denial weapon in interplanetary naval combat or even cause significant infrastructure damage or a communications disruption on a targeted planet. It was, of course a pipe dream, but pipe dreams get funding if they can kill something. That was the kicker, but the real grease on the funding wheels had been the physical hull and plasma shield. The military had been researching those technologies for a long time before her little pet project gave them a convenient excuse to shift some of the cost into the civilian science budget. Directed plasma weapons were the latest battlefield fad, and a civilian need to overcome intense plasma was a convenient excuse to develob the weapons and the shielding to protect weapons from them. In the end, it wasn’t military tech that would be her life’s legacy. It would be in the field of exo-biology. Something she knew almost nothing about. She’d found life on another world, if you could call it a world. Life so bizarre and unexpected word of its possibility would rack the brains of physicists, chemists and biologists for centuries, perhaps millennia. The station powered its elliptical close shots by the sun with a long and weak burn of a Bussard Ramjet during its approach into the star’s corona. The ramjet was modified to harvest some of the solar plasma and store it as fuel for starting the next burn when the device was still too-far away from the sun to harvest enough solar wind to be viable. The readings from this plasma storage tank were strange to say the least. The plasma clumped. The mechanism of this plasmal-bonding as she had dubbed it was unclear. It almost seemed as though it were a feature of the gravitoelectromangetic field produced by nuclei at very high energies. The clumps plasma moved in ways that human made plasma did not, at least on the microscopic scale. Tiny clumps of plasma would absorb other plasmas, seem to run from other plasmas, and divide themselves into similar plasmas. Some were amorphous blobs, come rigid and seeming covered in stands. These microscopic little clumps to her, and the projects AI, Halcomp, behaved very similar to bacteria. They seemed to use radioactive isotopes as fuel sources in some bizarre metabolic analogue. These plasmal-bacteria moved and propelled themselves in way the typical non-living plasma fluid did not, and as such, were slowly eroding at the containment chamber. If Halcomp could not find a new way of modeling and containing them, the craft would be destroyed in a few weeks. A lifetime of work would explode internally, then drift aimlessly and crash into the sun. Halcomp wasn’t confident that he would find a solution. It’s models of their behavior suggested a containment chamber with much more fine-tuned abilities than the one in their vessel, which had been designed for dead plasmas. An action to contain one region of the chamber would allow a release in another. All the shipboard computer could do was slow the inevitable, and gather more and more data in the process. General Titus, the military liaison for the project had laughed with excitement when she told him of the impending destruction of the craft and the reason why. “Life on the sun? You gotta be kidding me!” “I know it’s ridiculous but the data can only be explained by...” “... By a new craft, with far more efficient shielding, potentially able to penetrate deeper into the corona, with an enhanced plasma storage tank, capable of directing and contains plasma more efficiently.” “Yes sir.” “I think we can scrounge some money for that, after all, life on the sun might be the greatest discovery in the last century of humanitarian science!” Dr. Renault didn’t particularly care that her life’s work was in an inevitable death spiral. Another one would be built, eventually. The quest for a more advanced predictive model of the sun’s magnetic field would be a pursuit of mankind’s for at least another century or two. Finding life on the sun though, nobody had ever thought to try for that. “Freak accidents are the real moments science is revolutionized.” The doctor thought to herself. She was already moving, acquiring security clearance for a couple old friends from her days as a post-doc. An Exo-biologist, and quantum-physicist. They’d all have their hands full writing the first paper on this. Dr. Renault thought back to when she was a child at a science themed summer camp. The instructor, an eccentric former nuclear physicist named Dr. Shawn had taken an approach that her normal schooling teachers did not. In class when an experiment didn’t go as planned, they got a failing grade. In Dr. Shawn’s class, they were sent on a quest to design new experiments to explain why they got the strange result. “Science isn’t made when things happen exactly how we think they will. That’s engineering,” he said. “All the greatest moments in science happened when someone looked at their data and said, huh, that’s weird.” After that, she’d been on a quest to find something unexpected, and this was it.


“This is stupid.” I said in a flat tone to my sister as I stood across from her with a fake sword in her hand. I had one too and she had somehow convinced me this was one of my favorite things to do. “I promise once you try it you’ll start to enjoy it” She said excitedly. I was in an accident a while ago. And the resulting car crash and coma that I’d been stuck in had left me with a serious case of amnesia. I’m still piecing together a lot of my life. I still didnt recognize my family when they came to see me. So the doc said they should try getting me involved with some of my old favorite activities. That’s where my sister came up with this brilliant gem of an idea to hopefully jog my memory. I looked up at her skeptically and grunted “Fine, let's just get this over with.” I told her and put my sword up like she taught me how to. Pointy end at my opponent, arm extended but bent and the sword at an angle to keep as much space between me and her as possible. She nodded while smiling widely. She smacked the end of my sword lightly with hers to signify the fight was on. Then she charged me. I only have a vague idea of how to sword fight. And by that I mean I only know what I’ve seen in movies. My sister had actual practice. She came at me with a ferocity they don't portray very well on TV. She started raining down blows on me. I did my best to block with my sword but I was mostly just flailing at the oncoming assault. I managed to block her first two strikes but the third one landed solidly on my side just under my ribcage. “Jesus!” I shouted as I reeled from the blow clutching my side. My sister can hit hard and I was liking this activity less and less. “This is for your own sick amusement isn’t it?” I asked her as she was giggling uncontrollably. “No-its-not-I-swear” she managed to gasp out between laughs. I huffed out an annoyed breath letting go of my side. I wasn’t annoyed by this sport anymore. Now I was getting a little angry. And distantly I felt the desire to win. I readied myself and got into my stance. My sister eventually fought off her giggles and readied herself as well. I dug my feet into the ground a little more than last time. I don't know why, it just felt natural. We smacked swords again and then she came at me. I knew it was coming this time so I took a small step back to be just outside of her range. She swung at me and missed me by millimeters. I saw the slight look of surprise on her face as I did. She took another step forward and I stepped back again and to the side not even trying to block with my sword. She missed again but only barely. I was getting excited now. It almost felt familiar. So I tried to step forward just after her swing and tried to swing at her myself. My movement felt lazy and a little awkward. She saw and took full advantage of my stumbling. My blow glanced off of her sword and harmlessly away as she took that momentum and struck me right in the middle of the stomach a lot harder than she hit me last time. I curled over from the pain. This definitely hurt more than i expected. But the pain brought back a flash of something. Hot summer days and cold fall evenings spent swinging swords around with people that seemed familiar but whose names I couldn't remember. I gasped partly at the pain and partly at the flash of memories. I remembered the excitement I felt when fighting and I felt it surge through me again. It blocked out the pain and I felt a small smile start on the corner of my mouth. I stood up straight and looked at my sister. “Are you okay?” she asked, not giggling this time. A slight look of concern on her face. I responded by readying my sword again waiting for her to hit the end of it and get back into it. In return she readied herself as a fierce smile spread across her face “It almost seemed like you knew what you were doing that last time.” She told me. I just nodded at her. She tapped my sword and didnt immediately charge me this time. She sidestepped cautiously and I matched her. We made about a half circle doing this before we both charged in at the same time. It was like the opening steps to a dance I’ve been doing forever. I couldn’t tell you how, but it was like my body just knew how to move. I don’t remember any specific movements or anything but I matched every blow with my sister, sidestepped a few and returned a few blows of my own. After the few opening seconds of the fight she realized that this wasn’t gonna be the same. The smile vanished from her face which was now set in deep concentration. I started pushing her back with a reign of quick blows. I knew where to hit, when to pull back, and in the midst of all of this I felt that surge of excitement from earlier doubled. I was loving this. I remembered how to fight. I let out an excited little shout and stabbed at her stomach, it was feint and as soon as I had done it her sword came to swing a little wildly to push mine out of the way. I spun my sword out of the stab and used the momentum to bring it full circle and down on her shoulder. A kill shot. It landed solidly and she reeled back. She looked up at me bewildered and smiled. The fight had memories flooding back into me. For the first time since I woke up from my coma I didn't feel lost. The grip on the sword suddenly felt familiar and comforting rather than awkward and unusual. “It looks like you remembered something there.” She said “Does this mean I have my brother back finally?” In answer I flicked my sword nimbly in a quick series of movements. Something I used to do to show off. And then leveled the sword at her. “Yeah I am.” I said smiling. I realized something and frowned a bit before lowering the sword. “But first gimme back my sword” I said as I realized that she had been using my favorite sword this entire time while she had given me the shorter one with a more uncomfortable grip to practice with. She threw her head back and started laughing again and it felt good to not only hear it but to recognize it as my sister’s laugh which I had heard so many times before. It was good to be back.


Her fingers fluttered along the edges of the blanket. She tried to process the words he spoke but she couldn't make sense of them. She closed her eyes and thought of a beach, the waves crashing against the shore, the screech of a lone seagull as the salty air howled and whipped across her face. "Are you even listening to me?" The boy inquired. "Yes." She kept her eyes fixated on the edges of the blanket, focusing on her fingers dancing in a rhythymic pattern along it, one step, two step, one - "No, no you're not. I don't know why you shut down when were talking but I've had enough. Let me know if you ever want to talk, actually talk, not just sit in silence." He slammed the door. It rattled the key hook on the wall beside it, and then... Silence. The thing she had craved for so long, and now it was here at her doorstep, and she was afraid. The silence entered the room and began to expand rapidly, distorting itself in shape and size, filling the air before her. She saw it as a large dense cloud ready to overtake he she did not know if she was ready to be consumed by it, but there was no escaping it now. The cloud hovered in front of her face, sending out tendrils to tauntingly caress her cheek. Fear began to grip her, making itself a tight fist in her chest. Her body felt heavy and tense. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for an escape. They rested on the faded blue blanket that now rested in her motionless hands. The memory of the pair standing in the home goods aisle of their local superstore spring to her mind. Suddenly, words began to produce themselves from her memory. "We don't need that blanket, we have enough already." He smiled disapprovingly as she stroked the blanket, then folded nearly on the shelf. "Yeah, but we don't have any as soft as this. Just imagine curling up to watch a movie under this. Our place won't be home without it." She had already taken it from the shelf and placed it in the cart. " I take it we're not leaving here without it?" "Nope." "Oh, alright..." The words from her memory began to overtake the cloud of silence, pushing it farther from her and reducing it's size. She began to realize she could get rid of the silence by living in the past of the room, letting the memories of the objects around her fill the air. The bookcase alone contained many stories of the past, ones that could squander the cloud of silence, that could protect her from it's grasp. What am I doing? She thought as she closed her eyes again. She did not want to live in the words of the past, nor the present, nor the future. For the longest time she had craved the pure simplicity of the quiet, she had dreamed of being engulfed in it, and now the opportunity awaited her. As she sank into the couch she thought again of the beach, the waves still and noiseless this time, the sky cold and grey and unwilling to permit any noise to escape. The dense cloud surrounded her once again, and as she began to open herself up to it, it submerged her into her new reality, one that was filled with silence.


Nothing burns like the cold; not summer night bonfires, or muggy spring afternoons, or even the calefaction of autumn― no nothing burns quite like the kiss of winter . A fowl wind gnawed at the sentinels stationed at the alabaster walls of the Winter Court, and despite the fire crackling in the stone hearth of the drawing-room, the space felt cold. From the satin and silk pillows embroidered with tiny stars to the carved writing desk in the corner, Tsaritsa Roksana’s private salon was lined with treasures from across the globe. Tucking a stray silver lock behind her elegantly pointed ears, an ancient Fae queen penned a letter to her son, Tsesarevich Dima, the crowned prince, informing him of his coronation. In the distance, mourning bells rang, and if she listened closely, she could hear the people weeping. Weeping for Tsar Kazimir, their protector, a son of the Mirabella, and above all else― her husband. A knock sounded at the door, followed by a small voice. “Babushka?" “Come in,” Roksana said, slipping the letter into a desk drawer. Emine’s white-blonde curls and round cheeks popped out from behind the door. “Babushka, I can’t sleep. Will you tell me a story?” Emine asked, tears in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered at that last word, stories . Roksana felt a twinge in her heart at that. Kazimir loved stories, loved to read them, tell them, watch them at the Royal Theater with her. Taking a handkerchief out of her dress pocket, wiping away the girl's tears with the soft cotton square. “Of course, sweet rabbit.” Roksana brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her granddaughter’s ear. Standing the two stood, and walked hand in hand, down the hallway, towards her granddaughter’s bed chambers, Slipping off her lapis fur-lined slippers, Roksana sat in a plush velvet chair next to the bed, “So what story would you like tonight? The Golden Slipper , or The Firebird and Princess Vasilisa , or―or The Armless Maiden ?” “No, no, no.” Emine protested, “Dedushka’s stories are always about princesses, ladies of the court, and queens. It has to have one of those!” “What about dragons? Did he ever tell you about the Palace of Heaven and Sky?” Emine shook her head, “Does it have any princesses?” "Well, of course, and a handsome King. Would you like to hear it?” “Yes, please.” Pulling her sapphire robe around her, Roksana twirled the diamond ring around her finger. The stones sparkled like fresh chips of ice in the firelight, and without thinking, Roksana told Emine about Winter’s Promise. *** Once upon a time, there lived a Tsarevna named Sigrid, who lived in a castle built over a boiling lake. She was the sixth daughter of the Tzar. She spent most days sitting in her mother’s private salons alongside noblewomen and ladies of the court, learning about foreign dignitaries and protocols. Still, after all, her studies on distant lands, nothing had prepared her for the day she received a letter from Empress Gao. An invitation to stay at the Palace of Heaven and Sky and learn ikebana, the art of flower arrangement. Overjoyed, Sigrid couldn’t pack fast enough. Travelling to the place of eternal summer, to a land so far away that it was only known as East, was no small feat, but when the sweeping curved rooftops of the city came into view, she couldn’t deny its splendour. For the Palace of Heaven and Sky was gilded in gold accents, crimson walls, and ivory shingled rooftops, the light rippling off of them like light on water. When Sigrid arrived, Empress Gao, Daughter of Heaven, waited for Tsarevna Sigrid on the steps of the Jade Palace. Although she was mortal and would have only a few decades on this Earth, the Empress wore her bejewelled fengguan with all the immortal grace and haughty air that any Fae queen would. Touring the garden, the two women walked arm in arm sunlight flooded the garden, a wide winding river filled with glittering koi fish, blushing louts’ flowers cut through the lush grass. Sigrid made polite chatter with the Empress, noting the tiny lion sculptures and bridges that crisscrossed over sections of the river. People milled about in idle conversion. Sigrid had never seen anything like it. That night, after dinner with the Empress and her family, Sigrid decided to take a walk through the garden. Moonlit and filled with the sound of crickets, she ran a lazy finger over the liquored bannister of the bridge, leaving a trail of frost in her wake. Her magic had always favoured the ice, the bitter kiss of winter, but in the balmy night air, she felt different. Thunder roared across the sky, and something sizzled behind her. Rough hands found their way around her waist, and before she could cry out for a guard, she felt the splash of water against her skin. Her assailant must have vaulted them over the side of the bridge because she was now in the river. "Sorry about that," a low voice said, "The dragons got out and―well, one of them was about to eat you. They're not used to the smell of Fae." Sigrid had to squint to see, but sure enough, when she looked upwards, seven wingless serpents with feathers lined bellies flew among the clouds. Six of them were miles above, but one was circling the rooftops of the Jade Palace. Hunting . Oh, gods, it had been hunting for its dinner, and it had nearly snatched her up. “Thank you,” she spluttered, “my name’s Sigrid.” "I know," replied, "We just had dinner together. Here give me your hand." Sigrid allowed herself to be pulled to the riverbank. The man jumped up onto the riverbank first, and Sigrid almost drowned herself in the river because it wasn't just any son of the Empress, but King Zhao, the eldest and most handsome of them all, he wasn’t too much older than her. "Your majesty, I―I didn't see you there." Pulling herself onto the riverbank, she took a few steps away from him, keeping an eye on the dragons above. "How?" “My sister, Queen Liao, summoned them, but she forgot that they had an appetite for Fae magic. So I came as soon as I heard.” “Just in time.” Soaked through the skin, she was thankful she had worn the emerald green dress instead of the ice blue one her maid had laid out for her. "Your shaking. Should I take you to a healer?" "Oh no, that won't be necessary. I'll go back to my rooms and take a bath." “I could join you.” A blush slowly began to creep across her face. “Oh.” “What I meant to say,” the King corrected, “is that I can walk you to your rooms.” "Well, in that case," she said, wringing out her dress, "lead the way." Later, after waving the young King goodbye and washing the river out of her hair, she penned a letter to her father. First, informing him that the journey had gone well and that her reception had been warm. Then, pressing a kiss to the letter, she sent it to the Winter Palace, knowing that she would probably get a response in a week or so. The next few days in the Jade Palace were the highlight of Sigrid’s life. Everything was so new and delicious that she could hardly sleep. Nevertheless, every morning she arose with a smile on her face, laughed unabashedly with the members of the Jade Palace. Her ikebana lessons started at noon and went well past sunset, and after that, she danced well into the night; King Zhou at her side. The two of them on teetering on the cusp of something more. Stealing kisses and long looks from across the room, the two indulged in each other's company shamelessly. His presence was almost as sweet as the flowers, and although no word had come back from her family, she knew one would be coming soon. Happy beyond reason, Sigrid had fallen in love with the city of eternal summer and was considering extending her month-long stay for a couple of months. Surely, she wouldn't be missed too badly if she stayed a little longer. During those days, Sigrid could have sworn she had swallowed the sun. On the night before Summer Solstice, Sigrid lay in her bed staring at the moon. Drenched in sweat and starlight, she had been tossing and turning for hours. Her heart in her throat, she fought the urge to be sick. Pressing her hand to her ribs, fire lanced across her skin. Was she dying? Breathless, she panted; the waves of pain radiated through her every few minutes. Until it stopped, the world holding its breath as power slammed into her. Ancient magic so old and terrible her vision went white for a moment, and then ice exploded from her fingertips, frost covered the room, and the worst part wasn't the fire in her blood, but the fact that she knew what this meant. Had heard the stories of it as a child because her family, like all other ancient Fae bloodlines, found its might in blood. Passed down through the generations, the transferal of power from one ruler to another only happened from Tsar to Tsar, whether they died or yielded the power themselves, but for it to have come to her could only mean one thing ―her family was dead. Weeping, Sigrid vomited into a nearby pot. Each of them would’ve had to have been murdered if the ancient power had found its way to her; a sixth daughter, the twelfth and last child of Tzar Waldheri. The details of her family's murder would come later, but first, she had to get home. At daybreak, she went straight to the Empress to thank her for her generous hospitality and apologize for her hasty departure. Her eyes were glassy when Sigrid told her the news, but even in her grief, she instead that she leave the following day, after Summer Solstice. Relenting, she obliged, ordering her handmaidens to start packing up for tomorrow’s journey. They would leave at dawn. Children giggles and people danced in the golden sun of the Summer Solstice festival. The wind carried the sweet floral scent of the gardens, mixed with spices and cooking meat, but Sigrid didn’t feel any of their warmth or joy. Tossing a nearby stone into the water, she jumped when King Zhou’s breath was hot against the shell of her ear. She had to catch herself before she fell into the river. “Sigrid.” “Zhou.” “My mother told me about your family. My condolences” “Thank you.” The silence hung heavy between them, Sigrid refusing to look at him, but he held her hand anyway. His skin honeyed and warm to the touch, a stark contrast to her pale pink skin that burned easily. “Would you like to dance with me?” he asked. Smiling, she brushed her raven hair away from her red-rimmed eyes, “I would love to dance with you.” Twirling under the golden sun in the crisp summer breeze, the two royals danced to the beat of booming drums. In her young life, Sigrid had never met any Grand Duke or nobleman that could keep up with her on the dance floor; but sure enough, King Zhou was as light on his feet as she was. His lively eyes were the colour of black tea in the sun, and for those few moments, she lost herself in the music― her last taste of freedom . In the small hours before dawn, Sigrid left her rooms to take one last look at the gardens. It had rained a few hours ago, and the air still smelt of rain and freshly cut grass. Walking along the gravel path, she memorized every petal and leaf, the feel of the rising sun against her face, and the sound of birds chirping; the world coming alive. A branch snapped behind her. “Were you planning on saying goodbye?” Zhou asked. Eyes to the ground, she kept walking. The sound of gravel crunching behind her followed. “I left you a letter on my nightstand.” "You left me and all nine of my siblings a letter. So forgive me if I don't feel special." “They all say different things,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. She spun around to face him. Still dressed in his nightclothes, his hair was mussed, almost as if he had come running― maybe he did . “You’re going to be Queen soon,” he breathed, closing the distance between them. He held her shaking hands. Overnight an empire had fallen into her lap, and since then, her hands hadn't stopped shaking. It was an effort to keep the ice at bay. “Tsaritsa,” she corrected, “My title will be Tsaritsa.” “Tsaritsa then...and why exactly does that bother you?” "Because where I am from, women don't rule. They support their husbands, bare heirs, and take care of the people and the land.” A sob escaped her lips. “I don’t see how that’s different from ruling?” "Well, in our laws, a woman cannot be Tsaritsa without a Tzar, which means my wedding to a Grand Duke will be held the day after I get back. Our coronation the week after.” Confusion creased Zhou’s brow, “But a man can be a Tzar without a Tsaritsa?” “Yes.” "Well, that's absurd." Then, it hit her how different the Fae Kingdoms were from the Kunlun Mountains, where the line of succession was passed down through the women. Empresses that married Kings and chose their successor rather than leaving it to birth order chance. "Well, that's just how it is." Sigrid brushed her hand over a budding peony, swallowing her tears. "Then change it. Rewrite the laws." Tempting, very tempting . "Yes, but then the High Lords would stage a coup, and that would help no one.” Six bells sounded in the distance. Time to go. Sigrid bowed slightly. "It was a please to make your acquaintance, your majesty." “Sigrid, wait. I’m not an immortal Fae like you, but even after I am gone, you and your descendants will still be welcome to visit.” Zhou snapped the stem off bright, blush pink peony and gently slid it behind her ear. “There will always be a place for you here.” She leaned into them. “Even if I had eternity with you, that wouldn't be enough, perhaps... perhaps it is best that we part ways now.” Staring into his dark eyes, she knew they need not exchange dangerous words like I love you . Grabbing his forearm, she pushed herself up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ignoring the burning in her throat, her eyes, her lips. "Don't come looking for me... please," she whispered, pulling back to wipe away the stain of frost she had left on his face. The bits of ice falling softly to the ground, “I won’t return―but I will remember you, for an eternity and then some. The ice does not forgive or forget.” Because winter’s promise is not to love but to endure. Sigrid took one last look at the Kunlun Mountains from her seat by the carriage window, the Tower of Heaven looming high above the Jade Palace. A bejewelled city decked out in finery and flowers; its people kinder, warmer and more lovely than any summer sun. Staring out the window, she watched the sparkling city until it was nothing more than a golden bead against the horizon until night fell and the stars winked to life above. The end. *** “Babushka, what happened to Tsarevna Sigrid when she went home.” “She married a Grand Duke, who became Tzar, and together they had several round-faced children, who looked just like you.” Roksana reached out to grab her granddaughter’s nose, earning a giggle from the small child. “Do you think she ever saw the King again?” “No. He was a mortal man remember? He would have died in a blink of her immortal life.” "Yes, but Babushka, love is supposed to win. Shouldn’t she have gone back to marry him instead? He could have lived with her in the castle over the boiling lake.” Emine pouted, pulling the covers up under her chin. "No. He couldn’t. She had a duty to her Kingdom and her family to uphold. As you will do when you get older. Descents of the crown must always put the crown first. Doing otherwise would be a mistake.” Roksana didn't have the heart to tell Emine that the girl from the story never travelled to the East again; she never went back, to see the King or the gardens; or that dangerous, terrible things happened to Princesses who lost themselves in love― blinded themselves with it . “I think her true love was the King,” Emine whined, a yawn swallowing the end of her sentence, sleep pulling at her eyes. “Goodnight, sweet rabbit," kissing her granddaughter goodnight. Standing in front of the fireplace, she reached for the jewellery box on the mantle. Cracking it open, she pulled out a blush pink peony, as bright and fragment as the day it had been picked, all those centuries ago. Enchanted with preservation spells, it did not wilt in the frost-bitten land or wither under her icy touch. She had never told anyone about the flower and rarely spoke about that summer; she had forbidden herself to reminisce, but tonight felt different. For the first time in a long while, she was alone― free . She had severed―endured―her sentence, and now she was free. Winter’s promise is not to love but to endure, to yield to no one and nothing―and neither did she. Pressing a kiss to the flower, flecks of ice bloomed across the petals. Swallowing hard, her throat burned with unshed tears as she put the flower pack into its box. The memories of that summer solstice clung to the velvet of her bones.


I was thirteen when I came here, shipped away from my home so I wouldn’t ‘damage the family name’. It’s all about appearances you see. If I had stayed there my father would never have been elected; ‘the Prime Minister can’t have a son like you’. That’s what my mother told me while she was pushing me into the back of the Rolls. Six years have passed since then; for all this time these red and white tents have been my home and today is no exception. Welcome to the Freak Show. Sure, the ground changes every few months but it’s reassuring to know that wherever we are in the world this little haven will always be the same. I think we’re somewhere outside Leeds, nobody tells me these things anymore. Regardless the ground was frigid beneath my large, stomping feet. The sun shone with a cool severity, it was for show mostly and did nothing to warm us. Alexandra (the Bombastic Bamboozling Bearded Lady!) handed me a warm cup of something or other. Dan the Strongman ranted on about how he could taste the cinnamon hints in it, it just tasted like grass in hot water to me. The drink scolded my tongue slightly and I exiled myself to the facilities. I stared into my drooping eyes through the mirror, my greying, bulbous face filled up all the space on the wall. With a heavy head I inspected my tongue and washed every nook and cranny of what my dear sister used to call ‘the North Face of the Eiger’. Until I was five years old my life was comfortable, my parents told me I was a late developer but at the very least I could still sleep in a bed at night. That’s what I miss most about that life - well it would be if I could remember any of it. Since then I’ve had to sleep sitting upright or my leaden skull might snap my neck; that’s what happened to the last guy anyway. You know who I mean. You probably saw the film, or the play; the world has never grown tired of putting us on display like animals, exploiting our condition. The doctor thought I might have a combination of some neurofibbywibby disorder and Proteus syndrome. Proteus syndrome, what a laugh. Did you know it’s named after an old and forgotten Greek sea-god who can change his shape? Whichever sick physician thought that up has a lot of guts, I can tell you every last one of us would change our damn shape the minute we got the chance. Alexandra helped my get my gnarled trunk through my sleeve while my other arm lay withered by my side. It was going to be quite a busy day today; we had three shows lined up. The sound of children’s laughter began to cross the horizon and the sweet and roasted scent of fresh peanut brittle wafted over the park. I poked a large, solitary eye through a tent-flap. Tickets were being stamped, small bodies were spiralling down the Helter Skelter and miscellaneous faces began to light up like as yellow sponges and pink tigers were won from the stalls around us. MC stuck his long neck into the dressing room, ‘Positions people!’ he cried, ‘We have an audience to astonish!’ Alexandra asked me if I’d seen the grooming kit, it was on her chair and she led me to the ring. Hundreds of eager little faces filled the tent, nibbling away at popcorn and slurping Tongue Gulp! by the gallon. MC waltzed in front of the lights, singing a little song and dancing a merry jig to keep the audience entertained. This episode lingered for a few minutes while James Brown, our clown, searched desperately for his comedy hand buzzer. Alexandra grabbed my hand with a giggle and I felt a little jolt travelling through my body. James snatched it off her while we lost ourselves to laughter. His snarl twisted into a grin as soon as the spotlights hit his face and MC sauntered off with sweat running down his nose. After a while it was Alexandra’s turn to perform. I watched her for a little while, the spotlights glinting off every facet of her silver sequined dress. She’d been going on and on about getting this new outfit for months and I smiled as she span around in front of the ecstatic crowd. She joined me back in the shadows breathing heavily and holding both her thumbs up. ‘You’re going to kill it!’ she whispered excitedly. My gross feet dragged across the sand and my eyes shrivelled away from the lights. I searched every gleeful face in the tent looking for them. I would do it every time I walked the ring but I knew they would never be here, the darling family of Britain. Looks can be deceiving. There was an uncomfortable silence interrupted by a child’s cough. MC’s voice crackled through the loud speakers and I felt every eye in the room scouring over my sunken body.


My name is Selina Chan and I’m a mother of two boys. My oldest boy is Jamal and he’s ten years old. He loves to play basketball and video games with his dad. My oldest boy looks more like his handsome father. My youngest boy, Isaiah, looks more like his mom. He has his mom’s high cheekbones and her small chin. He’s six years old and he loves to collect superhero comic books, especially Spider-Man comics. Yesterday was nice. My husband was at work, and I was at home with the boys making scarecrow decorations out of construction paper. My youngest boy made the best scarecrow. His scarecrow reminded me of the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. We made a mess out of everything, but we were having so much fun. My boys had paint and glue on their fingers and faces. There were pieces of construction paper scattered on the floor. I had paint on my orange sweatshirt and my tie-dye shorts. We had a blast throwing construction paper scraps at each other. I didn’t have to go to work and it was Saturday, so my boys had the day off from school. After we made our scarecrows, we cleaned up the mess. I took my boys into the kitchen and I used a washcloth to clean the paint off their faces and hands. We swept up the shreds of construction paper and we put our scarecrow decorations on the dining room table. We watched our favorite superhero movie, Black Panther. It felt so nice to sit on the sofa and watch a movie with my boys. The wind was blowing softly outside and I could hear the autumn wind rustling the leaves around on my porch. After the movie ended, my oldest boy played his video games and my youngest boy read his new Spider-Man comic book. I was in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies and listening to the music playlist on my phone. Everything seemed fine and I was in the kitchen shaking my butt to Snoop Dogg. I was taking the second batch of cookies out of the oven when I heard my youngest boy crying in the living room. I thought he had hurt himself, and that panicked mother mode came over me. I bolted out of the kitchen to see what was wrong. What’s the matter, babe? I could barely get the question out of my mouth. Isaiah had his Spider-Man comic book in my face, showing me the nemesis who killed Spider-Man. My kid loves Spider-Man to the point of obsession. He has every Spider-Man toy, video game, and poster in his room. We’ve watched every Spider-Man movie with the different young actors. Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland all had my son’s blessing. So when he found out that a villain named Kraven the Hunter killed Spider-Man, he almost lost it. I had to calm him down. He killed Spider-Man! He shouted with tears in his eyes. I held him and he finally calmed down. We were sitting on the sofa and I had him on my lap with my lips buried in his curly hair. My oldest boy kept playing his Need for Speed video game, and he didn’t let his little brother distract him. Seeing tears in my youngest boy’s eyes made me sad. He laid his head on my chest after letting his comic book fall to the floor. While I was wiping the tears off his face, he told me how Spider-Man died. A villain who called himself Kraven the Hunter tricked Spider-Man into believing he was his wife, Mary Jane Watson, by drinking a potion that gave him the ability to shape-shift. Spider-Man went to rescue who he thought was Mary Jane. He heard her screaming and he swung through the window of an abandoned building to see the imposter Mary Jane lying on the floor with her hands and feet chained together. Spidey set the imposter free and when he tried to carry her out of the building, she transformed into Kraven the Hunter. Kraven hurled Spider-Man through a brick wall before stabbing him through the heart with a poison coated dagger made from the tooth of a lion. Whoever wrote this Spider-Man comic book was an asshole. Why would you kill Spider-Man knowing a child would read the comic and find out that their hero dies at the end? What the fu--? Never mind. Anyway, I tried to do something that would make my little angel happy again. I offered him a chocolate chip cookie, but he turned me down. I held him in my lap for a while, and my oldest boy glanced around at us with an amused look on his face. I asked my oldest boy if he wanted a cookie and he shook his head at me. Damn, it seemed like nobody wanted a cookie. Isaiah drifted off to sleep, using my chest as a pillow. When I saw he was asleep, I slowly stood up from the sofa, trying my best not to wake him up. I preferred to see him sleeping, not crying. My oldest boy looked around at me again. He gave me a puzzled look when I bent down to pick up his brother’s comic book. I smiled at him and blew him a kiss. He blew a kiss back at me before returning to his video game. I gave my youngest boy one last look to make sure he was still asleep. Without being noticed, I tiptoed out of the living room, holding Isaiah’s comic book in both of my hands. I grabbed my phone and made my way up the stairs. The stairs creaked beneath my feet, which annoyed me. Years passed before I finally made it to the top of the stairway. We have a long-ass stairway in our home, and I burn a few calories every time I walk up and down the stairs. I walked into the bathroom, gently shutting the door behind me. I laid the comic book down on the bathroom sink while taking a deep breath. Smartphones come in handy when you need to research something. I did an internet search on this Kraven the Hunter guy. He was born in Volgograd, Russia, and his actual name was Sergei Kravinoff. I read that he was a Soviet immigrant, and his father was an aristocrat. He first appeared in The Amazing Spider-Man comic, issue number 15 in August 1964. Legendary Marvel Comics writer, Stan Lee created him and the artist who drew his design was Steve Ditko. He was a frequent Spider-Man villain. Kraven the Hunter was a big game hunter and he would seek to defeat Spider-Man to prove he was the greatest hunter in the world. He didn’t use guns and his weapons of choice were spears, darts, axes, nets, whips, poisons, and gases. He consumed a witch doctor’s herbal potion to enhance his physical power. I know what you’re thinking. Why the hell would I need to know all this information about a comic book villain? You’ll find out in a second. I needed to channel my spiritual gifts, and I needed to insert my spirit into my baby’s Spider-Man comic book. I know that what I just said sounded insane. Gathering information about Kraven the Hunter would help me defeat him. After shutting my eyes, I went into a deep meditative trance while chanting an ancient Chinese language under my breath. I tied my hair back and I removed my earrings. War entered my mind. This Kraven the Hunter guy needed to pay for what he did. He killed Spider-Man and he made my kid cry. It was kick-ass time. Time turned inside out for me. My body went into warp drive. My cells, my fingernails, my skin all regenerated at supersonic speed. I kept my eyes closed until I heard the revving engine of a motorcycle and thunder above my head. When I opened my eyes, I was on a motorcycle and I almost ran into the back of a car. I swerved while punching the throttle. Rainwater was beating down on my motorcycle helmet. Flashes of lightning stretched out across the night sky. I was wearing a black leather catsuit and it hugged my curvy figure. I had two gas-operated, semi-automatic handguns strapped to my waist. I had a Samurai sword strapped to my back. Hearing the motorcycle’s growling turbocharged engine sent a wave of hypnotic euphoria through my body. I was shooting between cars like a bullet. Judging from my surroundings, I could tell that I was on the Brooklyn Bridge. My eyes caught a dark figure swinging from the bridge’s cables above me. I knew that the figure was Spider-Man. This meant that my magic successfully inserted me into the comic book. Never get in an Asian mother’s way. No car could stop me. Every time a car would turn into my path, I’d swerve out of the way while punching the brake. I had to keep up with Spider-Man. He was moving faster than the lightning in the heavens. A streetlight would illuminate his suit. His web would shoot out, attaching itself to every streetlight pole. My motorcycle left the bridge and I didn’t even notice. I felt like Trinity in The Matrix. My motorcycle was my black stallion. I forced my motorcycle to do a 360 degree swerve and my back tire was spinning out of control. After I parked my bike, I removed my helmet, letting the rain wash my face. I shut off my motorcycle’s engine while looking up to see Spider-Man sitting on top of a streetlight. Lightning flashes would illuminate his silhouette every second. I was about to yell out to him, but he saw me. He swung down from the streetlight and he landed on the roof of an abandoned car. He moved with breakneck speed. A loud thud echoed through the air when his feet slammed down on the car’s hood. He landed so hard on the car that he blew out its windows and its tires. It scared me, but I still approached him. He had a slender, muscular definition, but he also had a pre-pubescent appearance. I knew Spider-Man was a teenager in the early comics but I remembered that he had a wife, which meant that he was an adult by now. We slowly approached each other with the rain falling in our faces. The rain caused the black spider logo on his chest to glisten. His suit was a dark sapphire-blue combined with a crimson red. The spider web designs on his mask and suit gave him that distinct edgy appearance that separated him from other superheroes. When I heard this adorable squeaky voice emerge from behind his mask, I almost giggled. He was so polite, but he kept a cautious distance between himself and me. I guess his Spidey sense told him I wasn’t a threat because he stepped closer to me after he asked me who I was. He called me, ma’am. As he got closer to me, I had to look up at the teardrop mirror-like eyes attached to his mask. The silver eyes on his mask reminded me of mirrored wrap-around sunglasses. It was mesmerizing to see the burst of lightning in the night sky reflecting in his silver eyes. He was so tall, and I wanted to see his face because I knew he’d be cute. I already knew about his Peter Parker identity. I almost told him to remove his mask so I could see his cute boyish face, but I kept it professional. When he asked me who I was, I told him my superhero name which was Kill Girl. It was a crappy name, but it was the best I could do. The situation got funny when I told him that Kraven the Hunter was going to kill him. I explained everything to him, including my son crying over his death. I even told him he was in a comic book. Seems like superheroes don’t know they’re a character in a comic book until you tell them. As I was talking to Spidey we both heard screaming coming from the building we were standing in front of. I told Spider-Man again that it was Kraven the Hunter pretending to be his wife, and that it was a trap. I told him I wanted to be his sidekick and that I would help him defeat Kraven the Hunter. I said to him in these exact words, I’m sorry sweetheart, but Kraven’s gonna kill your ass if you try to fight him without my help. He listened to me and before I knew it he had his arm around my waist, whisking me up into the air using his web-slinging ability. I’m afraid of heights. I had my arms wrapped around him and I was screaming at him, telling him that if he dropped me, I was gonna kill him. In seconds, he swung me into the building through a broken window and we both landed hard on our feet. Knowing what would happen, I wasted no time pulling out my guns and aiming them at the Mary Jane imposter that was lying on the floor. Spider-Man stood behind me and we watched as the fake ass Mary Jane slowly rose to her feet before transforming into Kraven. I finally got to see Kraven the Hunter up close and personal. He had barbaric muscles in his arms and tattoos decorated his dirty skin. He had on a vest that looked like a sleeveless tiger fur coat. He wore a choker that had bony spikes attached to it. His height overshadowed me and I could see a beastly rage in his eyes. A thick bushy mustache concealed part of his lips, and his ex-convict facial features looked sort of handsome to me in a caveman way. When he spoke to me, his voice sounded like thunder and it vibrated the surrounding air. He never asked who I was and he assumed I was Catwoman because of my black leather suit. What an idiot. I knew he’d be misogynistic. He looked like the womanizing type. It offended me when he said that I reminded him of a hot stripper he saw at a gentlemen’s club a few weeks ago. He called me his little Asian flower, which sounded racist. And he loved my long platinum blonde pigtails, which reminded him of Harley Quinn. He wanted to see my eyes, but my black mask was covering the top half of my face. He told me not to hide my beauty behind a mask. He also kept staring at my cleavage, saying that my boobs would make a lot of men salivate. He said a few other things to me that I can’t say out loud. While he was talking dirty to me, he reached into his vest to pull out something and that’s when I pulled the trigger. One bullet clipped his shoulder, but it didn’t phase him. He tried to throw a poison dart at me, but Spider-Man shot a string of web in his face. He cussed at Spider-Man while trying to get the sticky web out of his eyes. I tried to shoot him again, but both of my guns jammed. That pissed me off. Out of my rage, I threw my guns down and I ran toward him, jumping up in the air and kicking him in his chest. His big lumbering physique went tumbling backward. He tried to throw a few punches at me, but he kept missing. A fist would swing past my face, missing my nose by an inch. I didn’t want those heavy hands to hit my face, because I knew they’d do some damage. I had fun kicking him in his stomach and kicking him in his back. He’d throw a punch at me and I’d punish him with a few sidekicks to his face. Even Spider-Man punched him around a few times. Mr. Kraven the Hunter didn’t have a chance. He made my kid cry and I killed his ass within a few seconds. I did a handstand while kicking him in his face. I kicked him as hard as I could, knocking his ass through a plate-glass window. The last thing I heard was his screams exiting the building and becoming more distant. When I peered through the shattered window, I saw what happens when you fall from a five-story building. You go splat on a concrete sidewalk. Spider-Man peeked over my shoulder, and I heard him gasp when he looked down to see a bloody pancake that used to be Mr. Kraven. I thanked Spidey for his heroic service. We hugged each other and I told him how much my son idolized him. I reached up to touch his mask and I wanted to see his face, but a child’s voice and a loud knock in my head sucked me out of the comic book like a vacuum cleaner. Just like that, I was standing in the bathroom in my sweatshirt and shorts again. My youngest boy was banging on the bathroom door asking for his comic book. I opened the door to see a cute, curly-haired pint-sized man in a Spider-Man T-shirt and shorts looking up at me. His pitiful doll-like eyes still had tears in them. His little pink lips were upside down. Without hesitation, I handed my son his comic book while smirking at him. I folded my arms and giggled when my little angel flipped to the end of his comic book to see a beautiful, mysterious female superhero in a black costume rescuing Spider-Man. His mouth dropped open when he saw how Kill Girl annihilated Kraven the Hunter by throwing him out of a five-story window. I watched as a smile slowly bloomed across my little boy’s lips. I saw those dimples again and his eyes lit up. My youngest boy was happy.... But something told me that I had some explaining to do.


Cardboard shoe boxes tower high the walls of our cramped entrance hallway of the apartment on East 23rd street. The ones I need are in a large box at the bottom of this wobbly pyramid. I hold the box above it against the wall, and using my thumb and the very tip of my pinky finger, pull the green box labelled Hoka out. A voice rings out behind me, “You have ten pairs of shoes in the hallway. I think you need to get rid of a few.” “But I need to rotate my shoes to protect my feet,” I say defensively to my wife Melissa. “Ten pairs?” I can’t see her face as I’m still pushing the boxes against the wall to prevent the pile from collapsing. That would be a mess so I better simply agree. “Ok, I’ll throw one out.” When we first met, I was a bit resentful about how controlling she could be. But lately I have been reading of the need for spouses to simply be heard. It’s understandable, isn’t it? If you wipe your forehead and say “it’s hot today”, and the person you are talking to doesn’t echo the same emotion, and says something different like “look at that Great Dane!” you will probably feel a flash of irritation. Didn’t he hear me? Does he disagree? What did I say wrong? Still holding the stack of shoe boxes against the wall, I successfully slide it down to a safe landing. I put on the Hoka shoes with a maxi-protection extra thick stack. I feel three inches taller. So this is what it feels like to be 6 feet. “Those shoes don’t match your running shorts,” she says, frowning. This isn't negotiable. “It’s a 50 km race today. I need to wear these Hoka Speedgoat 5s to protect my knees.” “Everyone we know is going to see you. The other runners will have matching outfits. I don’t want my husband to ...” I wave my hand dismissively. “Remember? The MRI showed my knee meniscus is partially torn. It's more important to protect that cushion in my knee than to look fashionable.” “You are 38 years old. I don’t think it's a good idea for you to be running this much.” “It keeps me healthy.” “Call me the second you finish, to let me know you are ok.” "Will do Lizzy." After hearing my agreement, her face loosens. "I'll make you your favorite meal when you are done,” she says, and we give each other a quick hug before I leave. Sitting in the F-Line train on the way to Central Park, immersed in the metal-against-metal screeching of the train making its way uptown, I think about why I spend so much time running. Some people practice mindfulness, or meditation, or yoga. Those don’t work for me. Two seconds after I sit down to meditate or hold a yoga pose, I wonder why I am doing this and my mind races to people and places and plans. They say in the modern world we overuse the planning part of our brain, and making us feel stressed. We only need to get a few things done each day, but that part of our brain that makes plans keeps churning and churning like a coffee grinder that has run out of beans. Better to “live in the moment” they say. Running does that. One foot after the other. The need to vigilantly scan the New York City walkways for obstacles keeps me focused. On the positive side, people that I might feel threatening are now just scenery that goes past when I’m running. I’m invisible except to the other runners, who often give me a quick look over or a nod and a smile. Races are friendly. People from every age, gender and ethnic group are here on the same mission. Ultra marathons attract a special sort of non-conformist. No one seems to have put any thought into matching their running shoes, shorts, and jerseys in the crowd that gathers to run the Hudson Valley 50 km. I wish good luck to a few strangers, and then I see someone I know well. “Good to see you here, Joe!” I say. “Same here. I'm running this to get ready for the Hard Rock 100 in July." I look down at the black sports tape covering his left knee. “ACL tear,” he says, “The doctor told me to stop running, but I keep going.” I nod. “A friend of mine recovered from that." A white lie, he recovered from a simple ankle sprain. I hide my schadenfreude that my meniscus injury seems more manageable than his ACL. A horn blares, and then the run begins. Soon, we’re running over the George Washington bridge toward New Jersey. I see the greenery and the high cliffs created from the seismic shift that lifted New Jersey two hundred feet higher than the New York side of the Hudson River. As we climb the steady incline of the bridge, Joe gains distance and steadily disappears amongst the swirl of runners ahead. I concentrate on the rhythm of running. I try to maintain a steady distance with the woman in the pale yellow Lululemon shirt ahead of me while I let my thoughts float to other daydreams about seismic shifts, nature, and the meaning of life. We've reached Palisades Park, the halfway point, and spread out string of runners does a large meandering circle through the park following the arrows taped up at every junction. From the heights above, we descend on a trail from Hawk's Nest to the Hudson River embankment. On one downward leap, we knee wobbles, and then I feel it bend like butter and pop out to the right side in a horrifically unnatural position. In the next instant, I’m rolling down the stairs. Over and over, uncontrollably. Then the pain hits me. I scream. Laying on the ground, a few runners just go past without saying anything, but soon one of them stops and calls for help. After a long wait, I'm being transported to an ambulance in a blur of pain, panic, and passing out. An EMT gives me a sedative and everything goes black. An unknown period of time later, I awaken. The lights in the room are bright. I smell the antiseptic sharpness of a hospital. Taking in my surroundings, the first thing I notice is how cold I am and that I’m wearing paper pajamas for some reason. While I’m still taking processing what's going on exactly, a nurse walks in. “Oh you’re awake? I’ll let them know,” she says, and then leaves the room. Soon, a doctor appears, walking in together with my wife Melissa. They look at me with concern. The doctor says, “Hi Jake. While you were in the emergency room, we took a few X-rays of your legs. It appears that low bone density, combined with all the running we’ve heard about from your wife, has weakened your knee joints and hip sockets.” He pulls out a laptop and shows me a colorful looking diagram. He moves a scroll bar and points at things I don’t recognize. I didn't realize x-rays are colorful these days. “Looking at this slide, your fall has shattered your femur and right hip socket. We will do our best to put things back together. But currently there's a chance you will never run, or walk, again.” “That can’t be true,” I say, my voice shaking. I’m gripped with a deep sense of panic. “Our physio will teach you how to use a wheelchair, and in the meantime your wife Melissa can help push you.” I look at Melissa. “Great!” she says, smiling. “Now I can keep an eye on you every second.”


The first rule was to never stop time. You weren't selected to join unless you had impeccable morals. The power we held was...incredible. There's seventeen of us, at least so I'm told, scattered around the world. I've only met Rashim, the one who recruited me. That was seven years ago...or was it eight? “Dr. Melrois, room seven has the pneumonia case. Young child.” “Thank you, Evi,” I said as I picked up the clipboard. I had established this clinic in Suriname as part of Doctors Without Borders. “Hallo, ik ben docter Melrois. Laten we eens naar de patiënt kijken.” I said when I entered the room. It took me a few minutes to understand their broken Dutch to learn what had happened. I ran through the proper exam steps and ordered x-rays. I took them to the front desk to sign forms when a man staggered in, blood dripping from his head. “Nurse, take over please,” I said grabbing a handful of gauze from behind the desk. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened at our small clinic. “Sir, take a seat, let me stop the bleeding,” I said as I pressed gauze against the wounds. “Evi, could you get me the triage kit?” The bleeding stopped after a few moments so I prepared for sutures. “You wanna to tell me what happened?” I asked. The man reached up and gently grabbed my wrist. “Sean...” he whispered. Rashim? I hadn't recognized him. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. He said nothing. I recognized the signs of blunt force trauma on his body. He pointed down the hall. “Evi, I'm taking him to room six, please bring me a suture kit and some ice,” I hefted him up and tried not to run down the hall with him over my shoulder, Evi close behind. Once inside I asked my nurse to leave and closed the door. Working quickly, I cleaned the wound, numbed it, and began sewing it together. I normally didn't work that fast but I instinctively knew something was wrong. “Don't tell me you got scratched by a howler monkey,” I began. “It was actually a white faced saki--a big one.” He smirked. “What happened?” I asked as I finished my knot and applied iodine to the wound area. “You know the first rule? Well, I never told you what happens when you stop time. It's addicting, more than anything you'd ever know.” Rashim began, “What are you telling me? You got hurt from..from an addiction?” “No, it's what's inside the time freeze.” “Inside? You never told me--” “The wolves--beasts that hunt you! But only when you freeze time.” Realization hit me as I glanced at the door. Was something waiting for us? “Are we in danger now?” “No, they can only hunt when you use the amulet.” “So they aren't hunting you now?” I watched him shake his head. I could only assume he was telling the truth. I paused time once during training. Well, and that other time to save that patient from bleeding to death. “Can we stop them?” I asked. Rashish stared at the wall, a distant look in his eyes. “The others...there's only three of us left.” Rashish whispered. He rose and started to leave. I followed him “What do you mean? The other time stoppers?” I begged. “I tried to warn them. But Jerome, he was doing it too much. They're all...doing it.” Rashish winced his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. He pushed through the door and walked outside, walking towards the street where scooters zipped by. I could see what would happen. If pausing time was addicting, I had no idea how to treat it. “Let me hide your amulet for now.” I offered, stepping close. “What? Now?” I saw his eyes go wide and my stomach knotted. He was not able to control his addiction. “Or else you'll die?” I decided to make it as urgent as possible. “No no no, you can't. I need it to protect myself.” I tried to snatch the necklace but he was faster, my hand closing over his, as he activated it. It felt like falling into deep snow as time stopped. I looked around and saw Rashish's expression. “It's all I have. You can't take it.” He whined as he flinched way. I was reaching for my amulet when I heard them. Wolves. They rushed out of the surrounding alleys and bushes, a deep snarl coupled with a chuffing laugh. Their forms were incomplete, they were wolves, but they seemed out of focus. Their bodies were lithe, gray forms, with fragmented after images breaking away from them, like reflections between two mirrors. “Run!” Rashim commanded as he rose to fight. I tried to pick up a rock to throw but my hand passed through it. Panic hit me hard as I faced seven rushing forms. I backed up and ran into Rashish, and we toppled down in a pile. I closed my hand over my amulet in a desperate attempt and let the power activate. Time resumed. The scooters on the street resumed their motion, along with the wind blowing and the leaves moving. Underneath me, Rashish started laughing. I rolled off him as the rush hit me. Clarity of thought washed over my mind and I saw things come into focus I had never thought of. Why my girlfriend liked me. Why the government never had enough money. I could comprehend the weather patterns and sense each person who drove by. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. “Now do you understand?” Rahish smiled. He struggled to pull something out of his pocket before he grabbed my hand and dropped a collection of amulets into it. Slowly, he pulled his off his neck and gave it to me. “I have the clarity now, but it'll wear off.” “What do I--” “Take them to Sam, he'll know what to do. That's your mission now.”