#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. Welcome to our new weekly feature. This is a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And... to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week we will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion - **What do you like about writing? And why do you write?** I’ll start us off. My day job involves writing in business-speak, which I find both boring and limiting, as you want to be as succinct as possible without any descriptions or emotions. Writing fiction is an entirely different world from that. You can write about anything you want, be anything you want, and just explore. I find it incredibly freeing. Beyond the escape part, I’ve found that I enjoy the whole process, from imagining to research to creation. I write because it makes me happy, silly as it may sound. *** #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


In the dimly lit apartment, where shadows lurked in the corners, and the flickering light cast eerie shapes on the walls, she wandered aimlessly, lost in the labyrinth of her own mind. Her spectral figure moved like a ghost, haunting the space she inhabited, as the beguiling ballet of shadows ensnared her thoughts and distorted her grip on reality. Haunted by the conviction that unseen eyes watched her every move, judging the frailty of her mortal body, she found herself trapped in a relentless cycle of self-doubt and despair. Getting dressed for work became an insurmountable feat, a Herculean effort fraught with anxiety and dread as she forced herself out of her apartment and onto the streets, the weight of her existence bearing down on her like a boulder. As days turned into weeks, she languished in the suffocating cacophony of her own mind, a prisoner to the invisible venom that corroded her psyche, poisoning every facet of her being with its insidious influence. Her bewildered parents watched in helpless anguish as their once-vibrant daughter succumbed to the ravages of her unseen tormentor, unaware of the depths of her suffering. Eventually, she was transported to the sterile confines of the mental hospital, where she wandered the labyrinthine corridors like a lost soul, her fractured mind a mosaic of shattered dreams and fragmented memories. ‘‘She isn’t like herself, stern and rigid, silent, and frail,’’ her mother wept to the doctor. ‘‘We will keep her for the night for observation,’’ said the white-coated professional. The mental hospital was a place of stark contrasts, where bare white walls echoed the muted sounds of suffering. From the moment one stepped through its doors, the scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of sweat and fear. The corridors stretched out endlessly, narrow and suffocating, lined with doors that hid the broken souls within. The constant hum of activity reverberated through the building, punctuated by the occasional cry, or scream that echoed down the halls. Doctors and nurses incessantly typed on their computers behind a glass window, refraining from mingling with the patients. There was to be no conversation without an appointment. In the common areas, patients shuffled aimlessly, their eyes vacant and haunted, lost in the spiral of their own minds. Some muttered to themselves, their words a disjointed symphony of madness, while others sat in silence, staring blankly into the void. Amidst it all, there was a sense of unreality, as if the world outside had ceased to exist and time had lost all meaning. It was a place of extremes, where hope and despair waged an eternal battle for dominance, and the line between reality and madness merged into nothingness. She wandered the narrow corridors of the hospital, a ghost among the living, shackled to the demons that tormented her. In the depths of her despair, she renounced all semblance of humanity and starved her body as her soul withered away. Instead of opening herself and asking for help and guidance, she closed myself off deeper in silence and isolation. ‘‘It is too scary for my family and friends to know the insides of my vulnerability,’’ she thought. As doctors murmured their diagnoses, schizophrenia, their words fell on deaf ears as she retreated further into the abyss that enveloped her. The darkness within consumed her, drowning her in a sea of madness and paranoia. Without understanding what was happening, she refused medication and grew victim to the cacophony of voices that taunted her relentlessly. ‘‘It is poisonous, you are not sick’’, the voices commanded. Alone and adrift in her torment, she reached out to the one she once loved, a plea for understanding in a world gone mad. But the mirage of connection shattered; the light of her beloved, the source of awe and joy, disappeared completely, leaving her more isolated than ever, a stranger even to herself. Weeks turned into months, each day a battle against the relentless tide of darkness that threatened to engulf her. She fought, clawing her way back from the brink of oblivion, but the scars of her descent remained etched upon her soul. With each passing day, she descended further into illness, her grip on reality slipping ever further from her grasp as the darkness closed around her like a suffocating shroud. Yet, even in the depths of her psychosis, a flicker of hope remained--a distant light that promised salvation from the abyss that threatened to consume her whole. With shaking hands, she reached for the lifeline that dangled within her grasp, determined to reclaim her lost humanity from the clutches of the darkness that threatened to engulf her. One day, out of despair, she embraced the promise of the medication. Her doctor prescribed antipsychotics, anxiolytics, antiparkinsonians, and antidepressants. Orange pills, yellow pills, green pills. The list continued as the professional tried different concoctions to repair her fragile psyche. It was small at first, barely noticeable amid the chaos of her mind, but the medication helped her grow steadily brighter with each passing day. The drugs helped to manage symptoms of her psychosis and reduce her hallucinations and her disorganized thinking by acting on the dopamine and serotonin pathways. So, she welcomed the light, the connection to other human beings, and her remedy, which attenuated the existential angst that gripped her. For she knew that though the shadows may linger, and the demons may whisper their insidious lies, she was not alone in her struggle. Though the scars of her ordeal would always remain, they served as a testament to her resilience, a reminder of the strength that lay within her heart. And now, three months later, after what felt like an eternity trapped within the confines of her own mind, she stood at the threshold of freedom once more. With a heart heavy with anticipation, she bid farewell to the sterile confines of the hospital, leaving behind the ghosts of her past and stepping out into the world beyond. She would later be glad to fall into her friends and family's arms, well-surrounded to begin a new life journey.


At the point when dawn was about to peak its way over the mountains, Jeff and Estrella decided to leave the warm comfort of his truck and continue their conversation on a bench next to Lake Hodges to watch the sunrise. Jeff got a bunch of blankets from the bed of the truck and they cuddled together. "I cannot believe we were talking all night," Jeff said. "I know, that was a pretty amazing first date. This is an amazing first date," Estrella said. They watched as the trees and the top of the hillside glowed with yellow and orange. Colors were becoming more vibrant, adding to the magic of the night. Jeff looked at Estrella and seeing the sun's rays dance around her face, she seemed even more beautiful than last night. "My goodness," Jeff said, "what planet are you from?" Estrella asked, "What?" "I mean, you're so beautiful, there is no way you are from planet Earth," he said dreamily. Estrella laughed nervously. A glow came from her ear and she grabbed it quickly, put her head down and said, "Stop it." "I'm sorry," Jeff said, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You just are beyond anyone I have ever met before." Estrella had a gem encrusted bracelet that started to vibrate. She quickly said, "That's so sweet. It's like a saying, right? You think I'm out of this world, that is all, right!" Jeff was confused by her panic and the amount of glowing and vibrating her jewelry was doing. He said, "I guess?" Estrella started yelling, "And there is no reason," she started to glow more, "no reason," the glow started to surround Jeff too as Estrella yelled, "ah, dammit!" Both Estrella and Jeff were consumed by the light and disappeared off of the bench by the lake. When Jeff could finally see, he was in a blank white room with only the blankets showing any color. The lighting made it hard for him to grasp where he was. He ran from one side of the room to the other. Trying to pinpoint a door or some sort of escape. It looked like a box was made around him and he was trying to find anything he could do other than panic. Panicking seemed like the only option. Then a voice came from somewhere, everywhere, "One moment Jeff. I'm trying to fix this." "Estrella?" Jeff called out. "Yes, I'm here with you. Don't worry. I know I can fix this," she said. The walls of Jeff's room came alive and robotic arms tried to restrain him. Jeff ran to his blankets and tried to fashion a weapon. "Stay back," he yelled as he tried to whip the blanket out. "Jeff, just go with the arms," the voice of Estrella said. "Back off you monster!" Jeff was trying so hard to be brave. "Jeff, stand still!" Estrella's voice rang out. He scoffed in protest and then stood still. The robotic arms held his wrists and sat him in a mobile chair. Restrained, he was rolled into the main conference room next to the bridge. The room with its giant table and many lounge chairs looked fancy enough to be part of a spaceship or on an episode of Empire. Estrella was standing there with an intimidating man who had her same deep brown hair and dark skin. Both of them had a similar smile but only Estrella had the kind of pouty lips that Jeff would love to kiss forever. "Daddy, you overreacted," Estrella said to the intimidating man, "Look at him. He's so sweet." "So, what if he's sweet. He figured you out. Do you know how dangerous that is?" Estrella's father said. "He didn't figure me out," Estrella protested, "You reacted too harshly after hearing a pickup line!" "What is a pickup line?" her father asked. "He was trying to be romantic. A lot of Earth men try this. Look," Estrella said and as she typed on a keyboard, she turned the main wall into a screen. She brought up a screen with a foreign language and a lot of photos of people who looked like they were on dates. "Here are some basic Earth courting rituals and here are some of the pickup lines. A lot of them compare women to aliens." She showed a list of pickup lines in English, so Jeff could read them too. He wished he couldn't. They were an embarrassment to his kind, especially if he was trying to impress Estrella's father who was apparently from Outer space. She started to read, "’You must be a star, I can't stop orbiting around you.’ ‘You're the sun...and I'll revolve my life around you.’ ‘If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I'd have a galaxy in my hand.’ ‘I think we may have been transported to the surface of Mercury, because things became unbelievably hot when you walked into the room.’” "These are terrible," her father said. "They try. It's sweet. Jeff is sweet," Estrella said. "Well, he knows too much," her father said. "Because you told him too much. That's not his fault," Estrella said. "True, but we can't take any chances. It was a mistake letting you study at California State San Marcos. I thought it was a small school and you could just blend in," her father said. "I did blend in Daddy. It was going so well," Estrella said. "I know and I'm sorry I didn't know what 'pick up lines' were but his kind is dangerous. They'll capture you and study you. We'll have to take care of him," her father said. "Sir," Jeff interrupted, "I'm not dangerous. I like your daughter and I want to date her. I wouldn't tell anybody. Who would believe me anyway?" Estrella's father looked at Jeff who seemed so unimpressive. He wasn’t in great physical shape and he seemed a bit lost. Then Estrella’s father looked at her. She watched Jeff like he was a treasure that she had just found. She looked like she wanted him with her forever. Estrella’s father opened up one of the screens on the wall and went to think by the view. It was pitch black outside with the occasional sprinkling of lights from stars. Jeff knew he was on a ship and had a feeling that they might be in space but the confirmation of it made him feel lightheaded. Estrella went to stand by him and held his hand which helped. She was so beautiful. His space princess who might get him killed. It would be best to just stare at her and stop time all together. It would also be best to stop thinking these cheesy romantic thoughts before another one gets him hauled off to another life or death dimension. Estrella's father turned around. "Here's my decision," he said, "We won't kill you." Jeff sighed with relief. "WE! I was never going to kill him!" Estrella yelled at her father. "I would have needed your help," her father said in an extremely matter of fact way. Jeff whispered, "Maybe we should listen." "Then you would have been on your own figuring it out because I wouldn't have helped!" she yelled. Jeff a little louder, "But killing is off the table so why don't we move on now." "I can't believe you. Just because I'm your daughter doesn't mean I'll do everything you say. I have my own life too," she argued. Jeff yelling now, "How about we move on and talk about sending me home." Estrella and her father stopped and stared at Jeff, surprised at his outburst since he was still restrained to the chair. "Oh, we can't send you home," her father said, "That's not safe. You'll stay here, with Estrella. No more university for you, young lady. You can keep Jeff, like a pet." "A pet!" they both protested. Estrella's father released Jeff from the chair with the push of a button. "Okay, well, get him comfortable somewhere and get ready. We leave after I plot another course for a new system." Estrella's father left. Jeff ran from the chair to the window that was still open, showing him that it was definitely space. If he leaned against it and looked down, he could see Earth. "Wow," he thought, alongside with, "I'm screwed." Estrella went to him. He looked at her and grabbed her hands. He started breathing heavy and stuttering, "Earth, Earth, space, space, pet, pet, pet, I can't, I can't, I." “Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” Estrella said. She grabbed Jeff’s hand and called to her father, “I’ll just show him around.” She pushed a button on the wall and a hidden door slid open leading to a hallway. She dragged Jeff with her. As they were rushing through the hallway, Jeff saw a few openings to rooms making him realize that the ship looked like a traveling home with lounge chairs and carpeting and bookcases. He thought that he must have been beamed into some sort of holding room, it was so scary and ugly compared to all of this. “Pay attention,” Estrella urged and Jeff stopped sightseeing. “We need to get past my dad and into the communications room. There we can hook you up to the transporter and send you back.” “Me? What about you? I can’t go back without you,” Jeff said. “Aw Jeff, you are sweet,” Estrella said, held his hand closer to her and looked into his eyes hoping that he would kiss her. “And what do you mean by hook me up? That sounds painful,” he said. Disappointed, Estrella reassured him, “It will be fine. It’s the same way we got here.” They hurried around the corner and a huge creature was in their path. It was the size of a lion, had saggy, furry brown skin, and claw-like paws. It was watching them and Jeff pulled Estrella behind her and said, “Get behind me. I’ll protect you!” “Jeff.” “Estrella let me do this,” Jeff said as he tried to make himself look bigger. He called out to the creature, “Over here. Fight me.” “But Jeff.” “I can handle this,” Jeff said and started running towards the creature, ready to fight. The creature ran towards him too. As they were about to collide, the creature threw its front paws up on Jeff’s shoulders and started licking his face. Jeff made “uck” noises as the creature slobbered on him. Estrella came over and said, “Easick, down buddy,” and the creature got off of him. “He’s like the equivalent to a giant dog on your planet. My dad lives here. He wouldn’t have a dangerous animal roaming the halls.” “Of course,” Jeff said embarrassed. “That was extremely brave of you though. Thank you,” Estrella said and urged him to continue following her to the communications room which was just a few feet away. “The door is open. Daddy never keeps the door open,” she pointed out. “Unless he’s plotting a course for our next destination,” her father chimed in. Estrella and Jeff froze in the doorway. “I thought you did that on the bridge,” Estrella said. “I changed it to here when I realized there was more room and a better computer,” her father answered. “Oh,” she said and they all just stood there in awkward silence. Finally, Jeff stepped up, “Sir, I like your daughter a lot and I would never hurt her. I would do everything I could to protect her.” “I know,” her father said, “I overheard you try to protect her from our pet.” “Oh,” Jeff said still embarrassed. “We’ve had him for over fifteen years,” her father said. “I understand,” Jeff said. “We raised him from a tiny pup and he played with Estrella as she grew up,” her father said. “The point is Daddy, that Jeff will keep me safe. We can trust him. Please let’s send him back,” Estrella said. “Are you sure?” her father asked. Estrella looked at Jeff. He took her arm and held her. She did not want to be separated from him but she wanted him to be happy more. “I’m sure Daddy. Please send him back,” she said. “Okay, help him get hooked up to the transporter,” her father said. “Come on, quickly,” Estrella said and took Jeff to a pad in the room, “When I turn it on, just make sure you stand in the middle of this and stay still.” “Okay,” Jeff said. Estrella started to walk away from him and he grabbed her hand to stop her. She turned to him. “Am I ever going to see you again?” he asked. Estrella smiled and moved closer to him. She placed her head on his chest as she went to hug him, “I don’t know.” Jeff held her and stroked her hair. How does he find her if she leaves the planet? He touched her chin and motioned her to look up at him. Another moment he wished he could stop time for as he kissed her. “Time to go,” said Estrella’s father. Jeff saw a tear on Estrella’s cheek as she said, “Remember, stand still.” Jeff nodded and did as she instructed. Everything became bright and blinding again. Jeff felt a dramatic change from warmth to a biting chill. When he could finally see, he was standing by the bench, in front of the lake. A whole day must have passed because it was dark and cold with two moons reflecting off of the lake. Confused, Jeff looked up to see one of the moons moving around. It wasn’t a moon. It was the ship. Was she really gone forever now? Jeff wondered if he moved too quickly to return to Earth. Maybe she was everything that he ever wanted. But how could he know after just one date? He saw the ship go from moving slowly to being gone in a flash. He saw another, smaller object, coming down from the sky. As it got closer to him, he could see that it was a tiny capsule with a propeller helping it descend. He put out his hand to catch it and it popped open on impact. Inside was a note with a phone number and the message, “Call me,” then a heart with the signature, Estrella. Jeff gave a sigh of relief, she’s not gone forever. Jeff held the note close while he gazed at the night and the glow of one moon reflecting off of the lake.


Isabelle’s shoes quickly thumped against the sidewalk, harmonizing with her heavy breathing. She held onto the straps of her grey backpack to prevent too much bouncing. Almost to the bus stop, she saw the city bus turn the corner, giving a loud screech as it jolted to a halt at the edge of the neighborhood. She joined the end of the line, where someone from behind rammed into her backpack. She looked over her shoulder, but he hadn’t noticed. Straightening her jean jacket, she stepped onto the bus. Seeing an open seat next to a middle aged woman, she tapped her shoulder. The woman nodded, not pausing in her texting, and Isabelle took the seat. Feeling the vibration of her phone, Isabelle saw a text from her friend, Jasmine. “Happy bday! Have u seen preston?” “Thx! No i was almost late,” she responded. “Hes a few rows up from u.” Her heart skipped a beat. She slowly leaned her head into the aisle, enough to see the back of Preston’s head, full of luscious, neatly trimmed but not too uptight dark brown hair. She sighed happily to herself, listening to the rumble of the bus and the occasional cough or throat-clearing. A calming woman’s voice played over the speakers. “Next station: 843rd North Station,” the city’s computerized voice, Lisa, announced. Isabelle’s companion tucked her phone into her pocket, getting ready to step off. They exchanged nods as the woman squeezed around her. Isabelle looked out the window and into the street whizzing by. The sun was just beginning to rise above trees, reflecting golden rays against the windows of the buildings passing by. She closed her icy blue eyes against the sudden reflection, the shape of the windows imprinted on her lenses. “Next station: Woodland High School.” She was jolted out of her own musings and joined the sea of students marching off the buses and into the school, necks bent down to their phones. Isabelle’s first class of the day was biology. The bright classroom was lined with a variety of plants, lab equipment, and science related posters. She took her seat next to Jasmine at the table they shared, pulling her laptop out to get ready for class notes. Tucking her long, dirty blonde hair behind her ear, Jasmine started texting her about Preston’s movements that she’d missed at the bus stop, and her birthday party they were planning. A few minutes later Isabelle jumped when the bell rang, but her embarrassment soon extinguished when she saw no one had noticed. Their teacher for that day, a chubby, grandmotherly looking woman, turned on the projector and typed on her computer, playing Lisa’s soothing voice over the speakers: “Good morning, class. I am Mrs. Ferguson, your substitute while your teacher is sick today. Let’s start by taking toll--I mean roll, sorry. Typo. When I say your name, raise your hand.” Lisa’s voice began naming off students. Isabelle’s eyes stayed glued on Preston sitting in front of her, admiring the way he raised his hand so confidently. She leaned forward with her elbows on her desk and chin resting on her fists to get a better view. “Price, Isabelle. Price, Isabelle? Are you here today?” Jasmine nudged Isabelle, breaking the trance as her hand shot up. That day’s class was about photosynthesis. “What is required for the process of photosynthesis?” The substitute pushed more buttons to allow for class participation. Preston was the first to text in the answer. “Water light co2.” "Correct! Well done, Preston." Isabelle smiled to herself, admiring all the knowledge just waiting to be released from Preston's mind. The long school day finally finished and Isabelle saw her reward. Preston was sitting by himself on the bus, and she slid into the seat next to him with a fluttering heart. She smiled at him, but he was busy texting a friend. She felt giddy tapping on his shoulder. He held out his phone to exchange numbers, but she wished he would look up. "Hi preston," Isabelle eagerly texted, trying not to squirm with excitement. "Hey." "On sat is my 18 bday party, u want 2 come?" He found a funny yes gif, followed by a happy birthday gif. Isabelle smiled, but he was still staring at his phone. He resumed texting his friend, leaving Isabelle alone with her thoughts. "Happy bday Issy," her mom and dad texted as she opened the red front door. “Thx!” She ran up the creaky steps to drop her backpack in her room, and ran right back down to begin making cake with her visiting great-grandmother, nicknamed Grandma Sophie. The sun shone through the big window above the sink, lighting the large, white kitchen and elevating Isabelle’s happiness. By the time her younger siblings ran through the front door, Rose and Trevor, they were welcomed by the smell of freshly baked cake and their sister desperately trying to reach the other end of the long island. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” Lisa’s voice sang as her family gathered around the antique wood dining room table. Isabelle smiled as her eyes found each of her family members, although her dad gave Rose and Trevor the death glare until they put their phones down for the rest of the song. At Isabelle’s birthday dinner request, Grandma Sophie brought out her best homemade pizza, which the family happily tore into. Between bites, Isabelle’s mother pulled up the family group chat. “Whos coming 2 ur bday party?” “Did u invite preston,” Rose texted with a smirk before Isabelle could respond, making Trevor giggle. Isabelle’s face grew hot as the adults looked puzzled. “Yes and hes coming,” she quickly wrote, intently focusing on her next bite of pizza. She could see Grandma Sophie smiling in her peripheral vision. “Thx 4 the pizza its delicious,” trying desperately to change the subject. “Hold on Issy,” her dad interrupted. “This preston whats his deal?” “Hes just a guy i have in a few classes.” “Im sure thats all he is,” Rose sassed back. Isabelle threw her a “you’re dead” look which their dad picked up on. “Please let him come dad hes a friend thats all,” Isabelle begged, and her dad sighed. “Ok he can come i just might be supervising from kitchen.” Isabelle’s face lit up. “But i dont know why u want 2 like someone in person go online dating like everyone does. And what if it doesnt work out u have 2 see them everyday that sounds awful. Grandma sophies the only person i know who didnt meet their husband with a dating app.” This was now Isabelle’s turn to sigh. “Please, let’s stop talking about this and focus on good food and celebrating,” Grandma Sophie politely asked, getting a grateful smile from Isabelle as her dad grumpily took another bite of pizza. After scrubbing the mountain of dishes and wiping grimy counters, everyone started to disperse throughout the house. “Issy, come to the backyard with me. I have an extra special present for your special day,” Grandma Sophie texted, peaking her curiosity. Stepping onto the back patio in the cool evening air, Isabelle sat in the chair adjacent to the red lawn chair Grandma Sophie was casually seated in. She smiled at the orange sunset, and the sky that was beginning to darken against the trees and flowers of their small backyard. “Happy birthday again, Issy.” Before Isabelle could finish her reply, she saw a wrinkly, veiny hand on her own, stopping her texting. She looked up and saw the warm, loving eyes of her Grandma Sophie sparkling back with the same icy blue of her own. Isabelle put down her phone, not sure of what to do. “This is my birthday present to you,” she slowly spoke, startling Isabelle nearly out of her chair. “Hearing the voice of a person, not a robot.” She seemed unconcerned about her great-granddaughter’s astonishment. Grandma Sophie can talk? She thought. Grandma Sophie seemed to read her mind. “Yes, I know how to talk. While I was growing up, society relied more and more on texting and emails for communication, until your grandparents’ generation forgot how to speak entirely. Of course, I taught my children how to speak since they were babies and we didn’t ever use texting when we could hear each other, but by the time they were teenagers it was looked down upon to use such an old fashioned way of communicating. They respected my wishes and talked until they moved out, but never did outside our home.” Isabelle’s mind was already flooding with questions. Her great-grandmother wisely gave her a moment to process what she’d heard. “And this all happened in such a short time?” Isabelle frantically texted. Grandma Sophie somberly nodded, staring at her hands in the lap of her floral skirt. “Your grandparents met online, who never taught their children how to speak, who then never taught you or your siblings how to speak.” “Y do u seem so sad about this? What harm has it done?” “When my husband passed, I realized I had no one to talk to without a screen between us. Talking isn’t just words. It’s how people truly connect on an intimate level with other people. When talking was forgotten, so was the pure, emotional connection we all desire deep down.” Isabelle was taken aback to hear such sadness in her voice. She’d never heard emotion in words before, she’d only heard Lisa’s calming, but still computerized voice. She sat back in her chair, thinking about all Grandma Sophie had spoken. Spoken! She was still shocked, hearing a human’s voice for the first time in her life. Grandma Sophie let her mull it over until she was ready to break the silence. “So y me?” Isabelle texted her most pressing question. “U have lots of kids grandkids and greatgrandkids so y would u tell me?” “Because I’ve known for years that you’re different. You’re not like the other people who have turned themselves into dull, soulless forms doing nothing but texting until they die. You notice the world and people around you. You put down your phone and use your mind to think and wonder. And I think that subconsciously, you feel there’s something missing in your life. And that something is a sincere connection.” Isabelle didn’t need to think about this. She knew Grandma Sophie was right. “Will u teach me to speak?” Her request was met with a smile across her great-grandmother’s face, erasing years of creases. “I thought you’d never ask.” Grandma Sophie already spent every weekend visiting the little family, and Isabelle had a lot to learn. She became frustrated in her first lesson when she could only get out a small “Ah,” which was the only noise she knew how to make from yelling at high school football games. This skill in no way came naturally. “You already know how to read, write, and comprehend speech,” Grandma Sophie encouraged. “All you need to do now is learn how to make the sounds with your voice.” They were met over the next few weeks with small victories as she was able to reproduce sounds of individual letters, and her progress began growing exponentially. Just a couple months later, Isabelle slowly but confidently read out loud her biology textbook for the first time. She felt over the moon, whispering to herself every business sign and warning label she came across. However, this newfound energy came to a screeching halt when Grandma Sophie suggested talking to Preston. “Talking out loud? To Preston?” Isabelle said, her heart racing just thinking about the prospect. “Do you really like him? Do you want to get to know him?” “Yes!” “Then walk up to him and say something. Saying anything will get his attention. Who knows? Maybe you can teach him how to speak!” Isabelle set a goal for herself to talk to him by the end of the school week. Monday and Tuesday came and went. She was too nervous. Wednesday and Thursday came and went. She told herself she’d talk to him tomorrow. Friday morning dragged on. Friday afternoon dragged on even longer, and the ride home felt like the longest bus ride ever. Finally, Lisa’s voice announced her neighborhood stop, and she stepped off behind Preston. She tapped him on the shoulder before she could tell herself no. He stopped and turned around, but looked up when he noticed she didn’t have her phone in her hand. Isabelle was sure he could hear her heart pounding as she looked into his deep brown eyes, seeing them for the first time. She took a deep breath. “Hi.”


The man answered me hoarsely, a queer smile playing across the corner of his cracked lips, "It is said that when the gods wish to punish us... they answer our prayers." His face, a map of scars, was strangely familiar, like a distant place long forgotten. "Speak not in riddles old man," I snarled, "You will make your peace with to whomever gods you pray well soon enough. Until then, you answer to Me, and pray, pray now, my vengeance is kinder than theirs." His sunken eyes shone dimly, and bore no fear. "Then I truly hope my debt to them is paid," he laughed, wistful. "Tell me, what did you wish of them, Barabbas? What shining stone did you cheat from the Wardens' lot? What coveted prize did you squander on stolen time? What dungeon's claim did you lay away on halcyon roads? Was it Love? Riches? Power? Tell me. Tell me before I send you back to the hell from whence you came, wretched man." "I sought something. I think... I sought knowledge. Understanding." "Then you are a fool, old one. Tell me, out of perversion, what did you learn, living out your wasted days? What carnival spectacles did the wilds divulge, as you wandered far and away? What secrets did the amber halls and dim-lit alleys whisper to prowling ears? What shrouded facts sought their way through dead tomes, spilling torrid wanderlust into grey matter? Was it Techne? Logos? Pathos? Teach me. Teach me, before I snuff out your pathetic spark." He took a deep breath and exhaled, a visible shudder traveling through his frail skeleton. I saw his eyes glimmer distantly. I saw him strain, the furrows of his brow crossed in wrought exertion. I watched his frail hand reach across the distance between us, stretching as if to grasp something unfathomable and then, a solitary tear fell onto the cold ground. "I cannot... I can no longer remember. I am old and my mind is not what it once was." He closed a pair of weary eyes and hung a tired head, anguish painted across his worn features. "Once a fool, always a fool, I can see," I spat, seizing his slacking jaw, and peering into cloudy eyes, a visage of sorrow. "Tell me your story. Show me your sins. Show me your joys and regrets, your dreams and sorrows. Show me it all, the last thing you do before these damned eyes are shut forevermore. SHOW ME!" Silence. Grimacing, he forced his eyes shut, face a contortion of singular will, summoning every scrap of concentration he could gather. Time stood still. Then, suddenly, his eyes sprang open and the clouds parted within revealing a sudden inner light, a clear and piercing gaze. His brow lifted, his focus sharpened and a sudden strength found itself within him, wresting my hand away. Hands astir, he gripped my hands, arms, and face frantically, some terrible recognition dawning over him. Clasping my head with his palms, he suddenly collapsed onto the ground, drained. "Speak, you despicable thing! Tell me your name! Speak, damn you!" I growled, anxious to hear his last words. Crouching, I knelt beside his haggard frame. He spoke, after a time, eyes aglow with perception. His words were slow and deliberate. This is what he told me. "You... I remember my wish. I wished to know an old man’s secret, once. My name is... but, ah! that, you know already. Let me teach you what I have learned. Let me show you, eager one.” And he smiled, a wry smile, breathing his last. As he closed his eyes, I opened mine to curse him, but he was gone, and I awoke lying alone, cursing only myself.


I’m gonna be Frank, this sounds crazy, even to me, and I have been diagnosed bipolar one. I met this guy in Three west. Three west is a fancy military psych ward. This isn’t from my disorder but it’s in his memory and He don’t know why, so I am gonna share it here for him. I will share it, as a sci fi short story none of you would ever believe to be true. The morning of February 14, 2004, Valentine’s Day, Valerian’s Birthday, the day T never expected to destroy his life. T was so excited, it was the day he finally got to respond for his worst day ever. The morning of September 11, 2001, T was on his way to school with his then crush Xan. Xan was so cute, she was wearing blue jeans and a cute tight white shirt and T was just so happy she had agreed to ride to school with him, finally. He was making a turn in his 1981 Carolla hatch, ugly white with even uglier wheels, no sound system or stereo, and power steering that didn’t always like to work. The car decided that at this moment, that last problem would make an appearance, and the CD player between him and Xan also decided to skip. T, being a stupid 16 year old, reaches for the CD player with one hand while attempting to turn with the other and stare at Xan. The steering wheel stops turning smoothly and the car careens into a mailbox, sending glass and debris all over Xan. The car then slides across the road into the ditch on the other side slamming onto its side. T, being a super tough strong Jock, opens his driver door, slams the car back onto its tires, peels out of the ditch and drops Xan off at her dumb blonde friends driveway to catch the bus. By the time he gets to school the first tower had already fallen. He had gone home to get cleaned up and tell his mom what had occurred, they had no Tv in their house so T didn’t get the news until he walked into that hushed class. The class was glued to the Tv. The smoke billowing from the towers rubble. Seconds later the news came, the pentagon had been hit. T’s father was currently working in DC. He ran out of the class room. He had to get home, he ran past teachers, security, and the principal, hopped in his beat up car with its crushed windshield and sped home. That memory was what fueled T’s rage, his hate, his menace, for years while he lashed out at the system that wasn’t doing enough. He wrote report after report, got F after F for topic and subject not quality of research or production of point but he didn’t care anymore. He knew what he had to do. His Grand Father was in the Air Force in WW2 and he was gonna do the same. He just didn’t realize how closely that would occur till today. As he cleared his head of the past, and looked at the next few steps too his future, T hugged his mom and his friend Valerian goodbye. No one else has found the time to come see him off. That Valentine’s Day would forever burn in his mind as his last day of civility. He spent basic training at the top of his class in all fields and even tested for SOCOM but decided the academy was his route. After technical training he was sent to his first duty station. This is where the story really begins. T arrived in Alaska, the final duty station of his Grandfather as an Airman, his first. His grandfather had served as a bomber pilot in the 3rd Operations Group, Bombardment Group during WW2. He was so excited, he was going to make his father, and grandfather proud. The night his mother left is when the things started to get, weird. Today, T maintains that he has two memories of the events that occurred following July 17, 2004 and November 18, 2004. To make matters worse T has been unable to find his official personnel file, DD-214, or Medical records since his discharge and transfer from Alaska back to VA. He has made several requests for the information. His pay stubs are missing, his GI bill payments come back as unfunded, his copy of his medical records mysteriously disappeared from his home along with his copy of his DD-214. He has odd dental work and a strange circular embellishment on his right cranium. No doctor will give him an x-Ray or cat scan even after being offered cash upfront as payment. He has been hospitalized forcibly twice as a civilian without reason and once as an airman. This poor man has been through it all. In October of 2004 T is charged with heinous crimes as well as undergoes a testicular amputation preparation course, by November he is opened up and the testicle is removed. The first real memory he can describe is waking from that event. Everything between the night of July 18, 2004 and November 18, 2004 are described as “one memory is a picture with sound, and the other, a full on movie.” This will try to put together, in the best way possible, the duality of T’s memory from those times. -------- July 17, 2004 I am at a gas station with K. Two girls are broken down. I help them get their truck started by banging on the starter while K turns the key. I haven’t found out yet K is part of my soon to be Unit on Elmendorf. K and I drink all night with Athena and Shannon. K takes me back to the hotel my mom and I are staying at before I have to report for duty tomorrow. I call my brother at 0100 to freak out about the sun going down and coming up in the same freaking place. I pass out in the bed next to my mom. July 18 2004 I report to Munitions Storage as ordered and meet up with White and K. K and I spend the morning meeting the airmen and getting accustomed to life at storage. Around 1300 we are sent to the FTAC.I remember falling asleep in a briefing from OsI at the FTAC center and waking up to be told I have been picked to leave in support of operation enduring freedom as part of TF Olympia. I get up and head to the deployment center and get my gear and am on a plane headed for Kuwait by 1800. I also remember a picture of Athena and my watch saying 1800, a bottle of Soco 100, and a military ID that says she is 17 as we are driving onto base. July 19 -27 2004 No picture memories of these dates but vivid video of loading and unloading Mk 82 pallets on a C-7 in Okinawa and Hawaii. Then heading to SK. July 28 2004 Some where near the DMZ, I encounter my first live fire experience as NK forces attempt to over run a small OP we are restocking. My 7.5 ton truck is clearly stuck in a mud pit as I attempt to turn around. We were delivering T rounds for their MGs and mortar rounds. The SK forces cleared us out the mud quickly and we were back on our way. Picture memory of a strip club and a Quarters Order breech claim by an unknown Airman. Picture of me standing in front of a commander in FTAC being yelled at about what I did wrong. Audio memory of being lectured and me arguing I left after midnight so I didn’t breech the quarters orders of 24 hours from three days earlier. July 31 - Aug 23 2004 Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Baghdad. Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Fallujah Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Mosul Aug 29, 2004 Picture memory: Truck, tires, burning flesh.TF Olympia patch on the ground. Location: Mosul. Time 1800 local according wrist watch. Picture memory: Athena and I having sex, Athena’s dependent ID saying she is 19 on my bed side. Location: Chennault Ave, Elmendorf AK. 2200 local according to bedside clock. September - October 2004 Picture memories of hospitals and briefing rooms Locations: Ramstein, Virginia, Alabama, California, Alaska Picture memories: drunk strip clubs all the time Location: Anchorage Alaska November 2004 Picture memories: OSI briefing rooms and hospital beds. November 18, 2004 I remember waking up and the major telling me I may not be able to ever have children but the surgery was a success. Everything before this memory is so fuzzy. I don’t know what is real or fake. I am unable to find Athena for several months. I finally track her down, she claims we never dated and she doesn’t know who I am. Her military ID says she is 25 years old. Athena is the first and last person I remember being with and the only person I remember dating during that time. My new girlfriend Angie confirmed that Athena was indeed 25, and went to high school in Alaska with her. Athena was the child of a SF commander. --------- So as you can see by reading his own accounts, it’s a little crazy. Out of respect to the source, I am omitting some events names and ranks. He is under the impression he did something or saw something that he shouldn’t have, T is also worried he might be a sleeper. His mind is really messed up. He can recite names and dates and places that can be fact checked. That is the weirdest part to me. His facts, check out. So, take it as a grain of salt, but this poor man’s story deserves to be told. After his testicular removal he was systemically railroaded out of the military. He ended up going before a court martial and being exonerated of all charges with prejudice against his command for unlawful command influence, but not after spending 3 months in the brig for his own safety and others. He has many memories since of words setting him off for no reason. Weird flashbacks, and strange people randomly following him places. His paranoia even heightened my own at one point while I absorbed his tale of espionage and intrigue in the early 2000s. He has, since discharge, struggled. Most recently he has been unemployed and collecting SSdI. Another one of the little things that makes him feel weird. He got his disability without an attorney, without the need for a hearing, and without even talking to anyone. He has been committed by judges who have apologized to him and said they had no choice. He has had doctors tell him he is not medically unstable and ask him which drugs he wants to take. He has also been forcibly taken by police with no charge and no outbursts. The poor man has been beaten senseless by the system he was so anxious to serve in 2004. If you are looking for light at the end of this story, there isn’t any, he has done everything he can to find the truth, the truth has eluded him the harder he tries. He hasn’t given up, he now runs a small recording studio. He raises a small boy. He takes care of his niece and his fathers land. He is a good man still today, just confused, lost and broken. He is incapable of trusting even the schools with his son. He is scared of the internet and terrified of public appearances or employers. The man has been totally undone by the system he once swore to protect. No help, no real answers, just tranquilizers and indifference are his reward for his scars. His story really got to me. T was an idealistic American boy. A Boy Scout, fire fighter, EMT, and Airman. He deserves more from the society he served his whole childhood. I hope this story entertained you. I hope his misery brings you some joy, you heinous monsters. Sorry, like I said, his paranoia got to me a little too.


The stars up above are unchanging. Reliable. Beautiful. Unsympathetic. Cassia watches them, not daring to move. Hardly daring to breathe. Wishing she could force her heart to stop pumping. Anything is too loud. She closes her eyes. The starlight will glint off them and make her more visible. Life is more valuable than sight. Hearing is still accessible. Grasses rustle somewhere to her left. Where her mother is. There is a gasp. A scuffle. A man’s voice. A man who is not her father. Her father is dead already, by the hands of his comrades. The same ones who hunt them now. A tear escapes her eyelid. The noises slowly die away. Her mother will soon be dead as well. Awful images fill her mind. Being burned alive. Being nailed to a cross and left to suffocate or bleed out. Whichever comes first. Being torn apart by wild animals in the middle of an arena with thousands of spectators. The list of possibilities is quite long. No option is pleasant for those like them. The tear trickles down her cheek, but she can not afford to wipe it away. The soldiers are still nearby. The tear inches down the side of her face, working its way into her hairline. Cassia can feel her body tensing at this annoyance. She hates that such a small thing is taking such precedence. He mother is going to die. Another tear follows the first. The stars slowly rotate. They make way for their superior. By the time the sun is up, Cassia has crawled on her knees and elbows for hours. There is a stream ahead. She can hear it. Smell it. The soldiers are far behind. She reaches the grassy bank and slips into the water. It is cool and soothing. Her muscles are sore but she forces them to move. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Her muscles can go no further. Cassia manages to pull herself out on the bank. There is a house nearby. The white building stands out against the green. It looks beautiful, but it is not a refuge. She drags herself to a nearby bush. Here the sun can not burn her. Here she should be safe. For now. She knows that safety is an illusion. Her soul is safe, but that is it. They will catch her body any day now. If she doesn’t starve first. But what could be the purpose in that? Cassia stands up. She knows that trying to survive on her own is a ridiculous notion. Her tunic is dry now, but dirty from lying on the ground. Cleaner than it was yesterday because of the swim. She tries to dust herself off and heads to the house. She reaches a field. There are already slaves in the field. Perhaps she can go unnoticed. She joins them. It is easy to mimic their movements. Soon the sweat that begins to run down her body in the hot sun. Noontime comes, and food is laid out. They pass the bowl to her. She takes a piece of fruit and bites into it. The most delicious thing she has ever had. The sweet juices flood her mouth. There is bread too. But no time to eat it. They return to the field and continue to work. The overseer stops near Cassia twice, but she does not dare to look up. He passes on. A whip does not touch her back. She is one of the few fortunate. Her body is still strong from the food she used to have. The sun sets. The stars return. The overseer leaves. More food is offered, and still no one questions her. She does not say a word. They will know she is not a slave. “With us, child.” Cassia glances up for the first time. A woman makes a tiny motion with her wrist. She follows her to the barracks. The woman points out an empty space. On the floor. Cassia lies down and curls into a ball. She is exhausted. The floor is hard. Her body is tight. An overseer is back before the morning begins. The day is hard again. Cassia is getting better at it, but she begins to wonder. This work will not let her survive for long. She will die soon. What is her purpose anyhow? She begins to speak to the others when the overseer is not nearby. She tells them about the man her father met while he was in the army. The man who her father claimed rose from the dead. He did not make up stories. That tale cost him his life. She tells them about the One who created the stars, and the sun, and the moon, and the earth. The One who created them. The perfect One, who required justice. The One who sent his own Son, who paid the price for mortals, and then rose from the dead. The man her father met. Some scoff. They do not care. All they want is to survive the day. Perhaps tomorrow too. Some weep. They want this hope. But they are scared. They only work faster. Some believe. They know their fates are sealed now. Death will come, but now they have hope. Some are too frightened to listen. Anyone could tell the overseer. The day ends. The overseer comes for her. She knew he would. She knows that one can not go around telling stories like that without expecting repercussion. The others go back into the barracks. No one looks back. Not even the woman. The overseer has her alone. “You have been spreading nonsense.” Cassia stays quiet. Her name means hollow . She feels hollow. “Would you worship Jupiter?” She shakes her head. “What about Diana?” She shakes her head again. “Mars? Artemis?” “No.” “Pity. You were a good worker. Lie down.” She does, flat on her back. He unsheathes the curved scimitar at his side. She does not flinch. There are the stars. The whole sky is full of them, bright and glittering and far away. Somewhere beyond them is the One who created them. The One that fills her hollowness and makes her full, running over. Cassia takes a breath. One more. One more. Some stars seem to move, but it is just a reflection on the blade as it comes down. Cassia is going to meet the One who created the stars.


First time poster. This is just a snippet of something I wrote in my free time. I'd love criticism. Always looking to improve. The village was quiet. The silence, deafening. No one dared speak a word. Crickets halted their song and dogs ceased their barking. The wind ceased to blow, as if the heavens knew that another had joined the limitless ranks of its dearly departed. A man huffed in indignation as he wiped the blood glistening blade clean with the side of his tunic. The broadsword he wielded was large. Large enough so that no normal human could wield it with any sort of efficiency. Only the most trained and disciplined combatant could hope to brandish it. The charcoal black blade was lined with rivets, obviously meant to maim and tear when ran through flesh and bone. Everyone could see the symbol of the the empire plainly engraved into the hilt. The sun shone grimly down on the soldier, the light glinting eerily off every corner of his menacing black armor. Scale like plates ran down almost every facet of the garment, from pauldron to gauntlet. Long, thin demonic horns permeated the top of his helmet. Truly, a soldier of the empire was enough to run the bravest humans blood cold. The man looked down at his feet and grimaced. Red liquid had begun to pool, surrounding the soles of his feet slowly. The red blood stained the earth, her soul damaged from the murder that had just been done. Horrified, the crowd gathered around the body. To a lot of people in the village it was common spectacle. A terrifying notion, to say the least. A woman in the crowd screamed, falling to her knees.“That’s my brother you just killed! My brother!” Her tears flowed freely, overcome with grief. A few villagers quickly decided to move her away from the scene. She thrashed in their arms, vehement as she was to attack the guard. If she had stayed any longer, the soldier would target her next for disturbing the peace. “You killed him! Murderer!” Her gasps of anguish seemed to increase as reality hit her. While being hauled away, she turned towards the soldier, fury in her eyes. “You’re a filthy murderer!”she screamed. “All of you! You and your damned empire can go to hell!” Her voice trailed off the further away she got, much to the man's relief. That wench had been annoying. He, as a soldier of one of the biggest powers in the world, had full freedom and discretion to enact whatever kind of punishment he saw fit to the people that were worthy. She had no right to complain. This person had previously been identified as an assassin, and as such, the next course of action had been obvious. His assignment was simple and his orders were resolute. Find this man, and kill him. For the soldier, it had been a simple task. His attention seemed to realign with the crowd as he sheathed the broadsword on his back, the scabbard reaching almost all the way down to the ground. The soldier regarded the crowd with cold eyes. Fear and anger was clear in every single person, even the children. Their reaction was expected. Rabble like them had nothing else besides each other. Normally, the Queen wouldn’t bother herself with such a low place, but it was necessary this time. The soldier shook his head as he thought about the events of recent as his eyes searched for the path he had came. Several days prior, an attempt had been taken against the Queen. Her life, thankfully, had been saved. Not because of her elite guard, but through her own actions. During one of her public speeches in the main commons of the capital city, a lone bowman had hidden on a terrace in a building above her. At some point, he had taken the shot. Any other person would have been dead on the spot, but Queen Ysabelle was different. Moments before the arrow of flint and steel struck her heart, she caught it. The queen had pinched the arrow out of thin air, as if done by magic and looked towards where the shot had come from. The archer, obviously now alerted of, had made his escape. Much to the horror of the local guards, he had evaded them. The man grimaced at the thought. Hearing this, the Queen had cut down the soldier who had reported their failings with impunity. She was the queen for a reason after all. The head of the empire wasn’t chosen through bloodline or lineage, rather the strongest person in the world would rule. Queen Ysabelle had become so through challenging the previous king in mortal combat and killing him. When she had won, the world was astonished. The now deceased king had been undefeated for many years. Her victory came out of nowhere, but no one had the chance to complain. The winner, of course, would take over. It was a simple process, but one that had been written in the annals of history since the beginning. The strong would rule the weak. It was the natural order of things. The woman ruled through fear. The moment she had been declared Queen, Ysabelle had changed nearly every aspect of the kingdom to her liking. Anyone that refused or protested was executed on the spot. The kingdom underwent a still lingering dark period. The empire’s flag was posted on every street corner. Soldiers were deployed in every province of every village in the empire's rule. New laws were passed that hurt everyone, even the wealthiest nobleman. The elite men that she deployed across the world all donned the infamous devil’s armor. Not only was it top notch protection, but the sight of a soldier wearing one sent instant fear into the hearts of those that opposed. Even her closest advisors were scared every single day of their lives. She’d slay the people closest to her should they fail or disappoint in some way. That was the law and no one questioned it. The main reason why so many feared her was simple. An nodachi of considerable length was always next to her, attached to her hip in it’s scabbard. Before her reign, no one on earth had even heard of such a weapon. The closest the army got to was a rapier, and it was nothing in comparison to the sword she called her own. It was the very blade that had given her the chance to become the most powerful person in the kingdom. Her skill with it was unparalleled. Anyone that thought otherwise would be welcome to try, as is the way of things. If a person wanted to reach the very place of power that she had, they would have to fight and kill her in a one on one duel. A single combatant was allowed the fight the Queen a day, but it always ended the same way. With the challengers blood on the ground, and the Queens dead glare on the corpse of the fool that had tried to oppose her. The public could watch the fight, as the arena itself was smack in the middle of the capital. A massive market and square was one of the center pieces of the city, and many people walked its path each day. Shaking his head to rid himself of the pointless thoughts, the soldier found what he was looking for. The same path out of the village he had taken in his pursuit of the assassin. Without a doubt, he could sense how strong some of the villagers killing intent was on the back of his head, but nothing could be done. He was one of the elite, and they knew it. Trained to the point of death, he had been one of the chosen few to be as close to the Queen as some of the most powerful politicians in the world. As the capital's finest, no mere backwater vermin could possible hope to take his life. The man smiled to himself as he started back on the trail. He had done his job well. The Queen would be most pleased with his report. Without warning, a projectile of some kind clanged against his helmet, catching him off guard. He looked down and saw a rock lying at his feet. What? Who would dare try to protest to someone like him? Didn’t they understand the consequences? With his hand on his sword, the soldier spun around, ready to confront whoever had hit him with the stone. To his surprise, he saw a young man standing several yards away. No older than eighteen, anger was clearly evident on his face and the glint in his dark brown eyes was nothing short of menacing. However, it seemed he was unarmed, save for a kitchen knife in his left hand. The soldier noticed the boy was trembling slightly. The soldier sneered. Oh, he would learn his lesson alright... “Well well, what do we have here? A lost lamb, deciding to rebel against the shepherd. How amusing.” The guard laughed out loud, much to the boys chagrin. “You... you killed him! You killed Thomas” the boy shouted, obviously upset. “Why would you kill him? He didn’t do anything wrong!” The soldier stood there, surprised. It seemed like the assassin had enacted of his own accord. That in itself was odd. Many a village held negative feelings towards the Queen and the Empire, which wasn't really that much of a shock Either way, the boy was either telling the truth or he was really good at lying. The man smirked. “You’d be wrong if you thought that. You do realize that he made an attempt on the Queen's life? Such a transgression can’t go unpunished. You understand, right? If someone tried to kill your leaders life, you’d want revenge.” The boy’s face fell, his anger fading into confusion. “He... he tried to kill the Queen? Why would he-” The soldier cut the boy’s monologue off by drawing his broadsword, pointing the blade at his head. “Shut up. I don’t care whether you think what he did was right or wrong. If the Queen wills it, it shall be done. He deserved to die, and so shall you if you decide to defy her rule.” Each helmet of the elite was unique, and his so happened to be one of the most iconic. A crude smile was carved into the bottom half of his helmet, giving it a decidedly demonic look. The soldier snarled and prepared to attack, startling the young man.


In those times when we try to hold onto a relationship long past their usefulness, we become like archeologists digging through old ruins, unearthing treasures which held some value at one time, a ring, a sentiment, a look... toys... clothing, or anything symbolizing a once thriving source of significance. Sometimes we get lucky and find the treasure once lost to us; we bring these riches to the light and hold them even tighter. Yet, there are times in our excavations, no matter how deep we go into the core of our being, we come up empty handed... empty hearted. We might even discover what we once believed to be valuable was just fool’s gold. Yet, it is of human nature to go beyond the light of day, to find the hidden spark in the darkness. FAKE PLASTIC TREES As soon as the sun shouldered the horizon, Esther struggled to unearth herself from the deep grooves of a desperately needed to be replaced mattress. When she gazed over the mound of unutilized land mass, she found Sal sitting partially upright; his eyes motionless, cheeks shoaled, and a concaved chest that showed no rise and flow of life. So naturally, Esther became belligerent. “Breathe damn it, we got too many things to do before this evening!” Sal flinched and took in a deep gulp of air before he sat up all the way up and shouted back, “Why are you so damned loud so early in the morning, woman!” Lately, this has been her way of getting him to move in the morning; there were other more violent ways, but this one seemed to work best. This, and opening the window to allow cold fresh life to rush into the air-stifled room. She rose from her side of the bed while smiling beneath her skin, as she was up to something. Esther slowly removed her nightclothes like a stripper beyond prime, covertly peeping through the time sheered fabric to find her audience - she had none. But just so Sal could catch up, she continued to move slowly and easy to rouse his attention, but fast enough the cold morning air wouldn’t give her too much of a shock. Sal’s gaze had already wandered out the window where he noted the clouds gathering in the sky and wondered how he was to get to the hardware store in time to beat the rain. Esther Stavensky hummed to the tune of Sophisticated Lady even louder in slow and breathy tones. All the while, seductively dancing about the room until her flannel gown slid past her ample and time-stretched breasts. In this exact moment, passion seemed to call her name when the refreshingly cold air rushed in through the opened window and traveled up and around the caverns of her alabaster thighs, navigating upwards, giving her the sweetest twinge of ecstasy. Esther was at that fragile stage in her life where pride and hope were in a precarious balance, a balance soon to be tipped out of her favor. “Good God, old woman, put some clothes on; it’s cold in here! And, why on earth do you insist on opening a window in the dead of winter!?” Sal shouted before getting up and slamming the window shut. “...The last thing I need is to take care of some sickly old woman! You know they’ll blame me for your dying, too!” “Shut up, you old schmuck!” The very frustrated Esther countered while grabbing the discarded garments from the floor and stomping out the bedroom towards the bathroom. Sal’s muffled laughter replaced the cool sensual breezes that brought her bliss just moments earlier. Still, in her fantasy, she saw him watching her backside with pleasure as she left the room. He was not. Before taking her morning shower, Esther stopped in front of the mirror long enough to scowl at her reflection, and silently curse her deceased parents for having the audacity to mate two schnozzles together and expect to have a marriageable child. If her beak wasn’t bad enough, Esther inherited her father’s squinty eyes. At the same time, she took issue with the many parts of her body, Esther also took great pride in knowing she had all her original and un-augmented parts, unlike so many of her friends and those in her social circles. She could’ve changed every unpleasing thing about herself, but she simply chose not to. Besides, Sal, with the greatest fury, would have protested any changes. Sal slid into the bathroom just as Esther glided into the shower, a well-orchestrated dance performed for nearly half a century to alleviate crowding around the tiny sink. It was now Sal’s turn to stare into the mirror. Weathered fingers dragged along the once rugged jaw line; his sharp recall of old memories allowed him to see his youth beneath the wrinkles, sagging lines and sparsely populated stumps of grey hair peppered between the dark Italian features of his mother and the sharp lines of his father’s Jewish heritage. Sal anchored his flaccid arms on either side of his torso and flexed like a body builder, unfortunately this kind of straining forced out a very loud and foul-smelling fart. Loud grumblings from a steamy shower were instantly expressed and even louder when her nose took a big hit from where she was trapped inside the shower. “Good God, couldn’t you have waited to do that?” Esther admonished; Sal quietly laughed. “This is a bathroom where such activities take place, is it not? Besides, you are the one to blame. You cooked cabbage knowing full well what it does to me!” He shouted back and quickly ducked the body wash missile from atop the shower. Sal removed the soap from the mirror with his palm and went on imagining the removal of time in his reflection, as he had done so many times in real life with the faces he’s augmented in his old practice. He surmised, he could still do surgery again, if he wanted to. Afterall, he kept his license current, and it was just two years past the closing of his office. No one forced the closure of his business. In fact, the lawsuit was settled in his favor. Yet the persistent and annoying voice inside his head blamed himself for the damage; the same part that still blamed himself for being distracted on this day. But truth be told, most of the blame should go towards the client for her impatience in not waiting for the healing to complete before removing the bandages. Sal always wondered why people were so eager to run away from what other’s would have loved to achieve, this being the freedom to be truly who they are... to celebrate every day they’re alive! As a survivor of Auschwitz, his memories were populated by those who walked in with him but failed to walk out again. As an adult, he recalled the Jewish fathers and brothers who would come into his office to alter their noses and eyes, to erase their reflections from their past, from their tragedies. He recalls the mothers, sisters and daughters who narrowed their noses to such a degree, they could hardly breathe, something the Auschwitz prisoners were forced to endure without permission or effort. He recalled all the remnants of heritage laying in trays for disposal, and of his participation in plastering over the scars of a holocaust with new scars of vanity. On the day he knew he should have spent extra time warning an anxious client about aftercare, he was contemplating his participation in this blurring of historical lines. This same contemplation , he now know, was not a luxury he could afford, for in the end, it was the beginning of an unraveling. Sal wasn’t always a thinker, though. He rather loved the art of his practice, the accolades, the fame, the lifestyle his parents and grandparents could have only dreamed of. Yet, he allowed one slip of consciousness to become a scar on an otherwise impeccable career, one Sal tried to remedy, but failed. “Shut up!” Esther shouted before turning off the water. “I didn’t say anything.” He shouted back. “Yeah, but you were thinking it! So cut it out; we have a lot of things to do today.” “Eh!”, he protested then conceded, “...you’re right.” Sal loved how Esther’s voice was like a wooden spoon to an empty pan sometimes , especially those times when he couldn’t stop analyzing unfixable matters from his past. She was real this way; she was real in every way, he thought. Esther stepped out the shower, and like so many times before, he stepped aside to allow room for their two-step bathroom dance. As all other times, he hid his gaze while taking notice of how the water collected in puddles around her swollen feet, how the towel began to cover less of her full-bodied realness , and how daylight made the silver gossamer tresses come to life when they cascaded down her back and stuck to her skin. His long and covert gaze swallowed whole all the real layers of her history spoken aloud in every territory of her body. The folds of her skin draped off her frame like drifts of snow on laden branches; the same folds which first appeared after two pregnancies were taken to full terms, only to yield death in the end. Everything about her was honest, he thought. Honest, like the undyed silver curls which flowed from her crown and cascaded around her face and crashed onto the shores of her shoulders. Honest, like the white streaks which appeared soon after her mother’s death and how Esther took pride in knowing her mother received hers for the exact same reason. Honest, like her uncontested strength and stamina, the strength which allowed her to haul many a load when they hand built a cabin in the woods in a matter of months. Stamina, which allowed her to get out of bed, time and time again after so many losses. Esther was his perfect specimen of a woman, of a mate. He dared not say this aloud, for fear she just might believe it and leave him for someone else more equally yoked. Meanwhile, Esther pretended to not notice his secret, for to make mention of his gazes would only give permission for him to stop. Instead, she softly brushed against him when she reached for the edge of the mirror and move it back to her reflection. He was not the only one she had to impress on this day. They had a long-standing engagement with friends for nearly fifteen years but Esther still made a big fuss about it, this was mainly due to an ongoing but friendly competition of decadence with her friend, Sarah. Esther was convinced, for ambiance’s sake, the game room would be greatly enhanced by a large rubber tree. Unfortunately, she had a brown thumb and real plants tended to die the moment they left the store in her care. Her remedy for this, a beautiful realistic artificial tree at the local hardware store. Since her friend was farsighted, all she had to do was get a plastic watering can and place it by the tree and voila! The tree and watering can was Sal’s errand today, hers was to layout the unnecessarily fine China settings, urn, catered petit fours and finger sandwiches which she would set atop their antique Mahogany table in preparation for this simple weekly card game. With everything in place, all she had to do now was get all dolled up with the latest find from her favorite dress shop. At seven o’clock sharp the friends would arrive... every time. Sarah, the recipient of Sal’s talents from nearly ten years ago, had a facelift still in effect. Sal believed her to be one of his prized specimens and was entirely pleased with his zero-noticeable cuts made behind her ear and hairline. He was also happy the Asian-isque sutures around her eyes had relaxed, though he had to admit, she made for a damn fine Chinese Jew. The clock struck seven just as the doorbell rang. Sal quickly ushered Sarah inside and into the waiting embrace of his wife. Barry, a tall handsome fellow with looks greatly enhanced by the good life a successful jewelry business afforded him and the skilled blade of a friend. Sal pulled him in and kissed both cheeks. Though Sarah’s family narrowly escaped imprisonment during the holocaust, the couple’s friendship was primarily base on their collective persecutions and the common experiences of the children they were never allowed to be. After the friends made their way inside, Sarah quickly made mention of how wonderfully green Esther’s thumb was as she passed by the plastic fichus tree, having vaguely seen the bright yellow plastic watering can beside it. “Well, has he said anything yet?” Sarah whispered into Esther’s ears as she entered the kitchen with a loaf of cinnamon babka. “No, and I don’t expect he will until I actually give him the options.” “So, are you going to go through with it, then?” “I have to! My days are few; I can’t go on like this; it’s not living.” Esther whispered back. “This is true, but you’re not as young as you used to be, Esther. Trust me, there’s nothing out there for women like you and I...” Sarah placed her plain but delicious dessert next to the fancy petit fours and made mental note to up her game next time. “...And, what about us?” she continued. “We’ll all be fine! Besides, I’m not as afraid of change as I’m of dying, having never lived.” The women’s attention was snatched away from their private chat when voices from the other room boomed above their whispers. Esther grabbed a platter before they left the kitchen, but still engaged in conversation by way of silent and clandestine glances. As it was so prone to do, their presence served as a buffer between the two heated debaters in the parlor. By the time they arrived, the cards were already stack, drinks were already poured and a spot on the side table was covered with glasses and utensils, but right in the center was a bald spot, twelve inches round in diameter. Esther was always the last to sit, for she had to make a spectacle of placing the dessert platter in that spot... every single time... every single week... this was the routine for ten whole years. It was so routine no one bothered to ask any questions, make any requests, do anything different. Likewise, Barry was always the first to deal the cards. After flinging the last card through the air, which always landed in front of Esther, he slammed the deck down, looked at his cards and loudly declared, “Sarah, our luck is about to change tonight!” But unlike all other times, Barry’s gaze which always darted around the table to read the unseen, seemed to have seen something which alluded all the other players at the table. The old friend leaned back in his chair, sighed a long relief from the deepest reaches of his lungs just as his eyes glazed over with delight. “Must be a damn good hand!” Sal exclaimed and laughed as Barry sat perfectly still in his chair. “Game on, I’ll call your bluff!” Esther exclaimed impatiently. Barry never backed away from a challenge even when he had a bad hand. But, he appeared to have done so on this night when he failed to acknowledge Esther’s challenge. In fact, he acknowledged nothing. “Barry, stopped playing around!” Sarah scolded her husband as he continued to hold his smile and his gaze still, very still, too still. Sarah shook her husband’s arm to break his spell but withdrew her hand quickly in sheer horror. Barry, with eyes and smile still frozen, fell forward onto his stack of cards. His wife screamed out in agony. Esther remained motionless from disbelief; Sal rushed over to verify what they all suspected. After the coroner left, Esther gave her friend fresh towels, a gown to sleep in, and an embrace to express the words she did not have. Neither couple had children or families to speak of, so they were each other’s family, each other’s solace. Esther instructed Sal to prepare the guest room for Sarah’s stay. As he did so, she moved the fancy teacups aside and poured her friend a glass of brown liquid comfort from the liquor cabinet before escorting her to the guest room. With the new widow all tucked in, Esther began cleaning up, as she always did when their friends left. She came to the seat where Barry last sat and could not resist looking at the hand he never played. In a house that felt a little less full, she found it ironic Barry’s last hand was a full house. Sal quietly came up from behind Esther and placed one hand around her waist and his arm across her chest. Esther tenderly laid her head on his arms and allowed his strength to pour into her, something she had not felt in years, if ever. In what felt all too soon, Sal left her standing alone, but he only abandoned her long enough to put a vinyl on the record player. Upon his return he pulled her in close, real close, and they danced. As they gently swayed to Sophisticated Lady, Sal whispered, “I love you, sweetheart, please don’t ever change.” Esther wondered if he noticed the packed suitcase in the guest bedroom when he prepared a space for Sarah. Either way, things had changed. He changed. She changed. Nothing was to ever be the same.


That morning, the office was drafty. I distinctly remember thinking, “I should’ve worn a vest.” He wandered in a little before lunch--threadbare jacket, patched hat. He’d hit hard times. I was planning to order a hamburger from the stand down the street, but he changed all that. Really threw off my rhythm. He sat down and told me a sob story about his mama leaving him out of her will. But, turns out, the document wasn’t the real deal. He slid the copy across my desk. It was phony through and through, but that didn’t stop it getting rubber stamped at city hall. “See, for starters, the signature’s all wrong,” he said. “And there’s a lot more in there that’s just not true. Can you help me?” I pointed out the old tie wadded up in his pocket--his handkerchief, apparently. “Can you afford me?” Now, I was hungry for steak. “Yeah, my uncle said he’d take care of it. He was written out too. But, ‘fore we go any further, I’ve got to tell you, if you take this case, they might come after you.” I kicked back in my chair, almost flipping it. “I’m a professional. Nothing takes me by surprise anymore. How’d all this start?” “Mama started dating this guy she met at a casino. Real rough character. Had lots of big cars and money to throw around. He made Mama feel special. He bought her a ring. Then, she got sick--and he was gone just like that! The guy didn’t even stop by the hospital. Now, he’s getting everything. Said they were practically married the whole time. He said they’d moved in together. It’s all a bunch of hooey.” The man took off his hat and crumpled the felt brim in his sweaty palms. “My sister already tried to fight it, and she went missing a week ago.” “So, you went to the police?” “No, the letters said not to say anything to the authorities.” “And you listened to them?” First time for everything, I guess. “Yeah, I didn’t want nothing bad to happen to her! Can you help? That inheritance is all we’ve got. Everyone else in the family’s long gone.” “What about your uncle?” “Yeah, he’s still here. I guess.” I tapped on the desk. “You understand, if I do this, they’ll come after you--whoever these people are. Do they know where you live?” The man nodded. “Have they met the entire family? Could they pick all of you out of a crowd?” His head bobbed. “Photographs? Tell me they don’t have photographs!” The poor guy replaced his hat and gave it a tap. “Do we stand a chance?” “Nope.” “But you said you’re a professional! Surely, you’ve brought down bigger criminals than this?” I grabbed a bottle out of my desk. “I’m just in this for the beer money.” The man erupted, “YOU ARE A TERRIBLE MAN. I CAME TO YOU, ASKING FOR HELP, AND YOU WON’T EVEN LIFT A FINGER TO HELP GET MY SISTER BACK? I’LL TELL ALL THE PAPERS YOU’RE A COWARD! A BIGSHOT PRIVATE EYE LIKE YOU--YOU’RE A SCAREDY CAT. I BET THAT’LL LOOK GOOD IN THE EVENING EDITION!” “Listen, buddy, I didn’t build the locks. I’m just the one who waves folks through.” “What?” “Scram.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: Welcome to Week 4 of my favorite month, **Spooktober!** Each week, your prompt will be *inspired by the horror genre*, with 2 bonus constraints (which are not required but worth extra points). I do encourage you to lean into the genre and try new things! But you are not required to write horror or Halloween-themed stories. These are just starting points. - **Theme: ** - **Bonus Constraint 1:** Genre is Paranormal or Supernatural Horror. - **Bonus Constraint 2:** Include the phrase “nothing truly dies”. This week’s challenge is to use the above theme as inspiration for your story. The theme (or the idea) should appear in some way within the story. You may interpret it any way you like as long as the **connection is clear** and you **follow all post and subreddit rules**. Use of the bonus constraint and image are not required. You can check out my ever growing if you’d like some fun, spooky music! **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/wileycourage - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/TheLettre7 - **Crit Star:** - u/wileycourage - **Crit Star:** - u/TheLettre7 - **Crit Star:** - u/BrochaTheBard - **Crit Star:** - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star:** - u/katpoker666 *Note: Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit on r/WPCritique, but in order to receive Crit Credits, you must have made at least 1 post on that subreddit or have linked your accounts on our Discord.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Lilith was made not from the rib of Adam, but by the same Earth from which God made the first man. From the beginning, she was a strong and independent woman. Lilith refused her expected position beneath Adam, and therefore defied God himself. When Adam realized that he held no power over her, he went to God to tell Him that he wished for another wife- one whom he could bend to his will. God went to Lilith and told her of her situation. He gave her two options: either she could stay and obey Adam as his wife and live out her days with him in the Garden, or she could reject the life He had given her and be banished as an outcast... Doomed to roam the Earth alone forever. But God had underestimated Lilith, for she cared neither for the opinion of man nor the direction of the Lord. So she chose to walk away from Adam, the Garden, and her Creator. When she reached the border of that perfect place, she looked out over the world and saw nothing but a barren wasteland. Although her heart was strong, she felt the fear of the unknown. As Lilith stood at the edge of her world, she knew that she could not return to Adam; she had no choice now but to make a life for herself. A life separate from the rules of God and Man. Her heart soared. She was her own God. No - Goddess... Free to do as she pleased and live her life as she saw fit. Lilith stepped out of the Garden and into the desolate landscape. As she did so, life began to grow around her. It was not quite the same as life in the Garden for it had not been made by the hand of God, but it was life nonetheless. And so out walked Lilith into the unknown, creating life as she went. She wandered alone, but she was never lonely. She had learned to make friends with the life she created. Lilith spoke to the trees and the grass. When the wind howled, she howled back. When it rained, she cried along with the sky just as the sky cried along with her. The sun always followed the storm however, and when it shone she danced in her grassy meadows and sang to her beloved trees. She travelled the Earth for centuries this way - Her mood and fancy changing the landscape and seasons as she went. When there was no piece left of the Earth untouched by her naked feet, she decided to return to the Garden. Lilith wondered about God and Adam, and wished to show them everything she had created. The years had made her a stronger and prouder woman, and she wished also to prove her worth to the God and the Man that had cast her from Eden. But when she reached the Garden, her heart drowned in sorrow. She had roamed the Earth, spreading her love and care - and even her soul - to every corner of the world. But there was nothing that could compare to the divine beauty of God's creation. Here everything was perfect, and the trees and the grass danced to the birdsong which filled the air. Here too, there was more life than she could create herself. Creatures large and small roamed or played amongst the flowers and in the streams. Lilith sat beneath a mighty tree and wept, but in the Garden the sky did not weep with her. And Lilith felt lonely for the first time. When she awoke, she found a serpent lying among the branches of the tree above her. She inspected the snake - its searching tongue and brilliant scales. Suddenly, she had a feeling in her mind's eye. What you and I feel when you know someone is watching you. "Lilith" came the voice. Realizing it was the snake, Lilith reached out her arm to allow the creature to whisper into her ear. "How do you know me?" She asked the serpent, looking into its unblinking eye. "I've seen the life you have created of your own will and strength, and I will help you" it hissed. "I need help from neither man nor God. Why do I need yours?" She replied. "God has made a new wife for Adam, taken from his side rather than the Earth as He made you. Eve is his servant, and he uses her as he sees fit. Pick a fruit from this tree and give it to Eve. When she eats it, you will have all that you desire. Everything that grows and multiplies here will also grow and multiply in the world you have created. You will be the mother of all the creatures of this beautiful place." So Lilith set out to find Eve with the serpent draped across her shoulders. Eve was found by Lilith lying on a moss bed under a tree, admiring the dancing of the flowers growing around her. She looked up and discovered Lilith there, and the two women greeted each other. Eve was more beautiful than Lilith, and Lilith held signs of age where Eve did not. She felt both envy and pity for the woman that the Lord had created as her replacement. "Take this fruit Eve." said Lilith "Eat it, and know your power. The power to give life and the power to destroy it. A power no man may ever take away." So Eve ate the fruit of the Tree of Life.


Celeste She was sleeping, sleeping in her mind. She was alone. No one loved her, no one knew she existed. All she had were the stars. Celeste sat on the cliff, overlooking the ocean. The waves were pounding against the rocks, frothing up like spittle. She pretended the cliff was hers, that it was hidden by the scraggly trees. But it wasn’t her own. Sometimes she saw the grass matted down by footsteps. Or saw a glimpse of russet hair. Celeste wanted to see who the fascinating russet hair belonged to. She had pale blonde hair the precise color of cream, and she wore it long. Celeste glanced up and inhaled the smell of salt. The smell reminded her of the way her mother smelled. Celeste was young, in her teens, but she was alone. Her family was gone. And the only memory she had of the way her mother was was the vague smell of salt, and a smiling face. She was safe here. They wouldn’t find her here. Like they found the rest of her loved ones. Celeste couldn’t stop seeing the red rain, the way it splattered on the tiles of her home. Celeste lost herself in the stars, her only escape. Her crimson dress flowed out around her, thick and velvety. Leonardo Nobody notices him. They all think he’s ugly. He wishes he had someone to talk to. Leonardo hovered at the treeline, staring at the ethereal figure on the cliff. He’d seen glimpses of her every now and then. She was so beautiful, and she’d never notice him. Leonardo took off his sneakers and crept over to her, the soft grass not making a single noise. She almost looked like a dream, but she was real. Her sloping nose and high cheekbones. Leonardo worked up the nerve to say “Hello.” Celeste Is it them? Are they here for me? Will I become the red rain? Celeste turned to look, and it was a short, russet-haired boy. He looked around her age. “Who are you?” she said, words spilling out of her mouth faster then she could fathom. “Leonardo.” the boy whispered. Celeste sat up, poised to run. The boy was cute, but she knew enough not to trust appearances. “Who are you?” Leonardo’s voice startled her. “My name is Celeste.” she said, running a hand in the grass. Without another sound, she ran away. Leonardo Of course. She ran away. He was ugly, with his ugly hair and all that. Why would such a beautiful girl look at him? Celeste was beautiful, with that thick blonde hair and elfish features. One thing stumped him. It was 2018, who wore those types of clothes and talked like that? He wondered if she had been born in the wrong time period. It was amazing how fast Celeste ran, one second she was there in the inky blackness, and the next she was disappearing into the woods. Leonardo fell asleep there, as he often did, and woke up just before dawn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking at the translucent blue horizon that signaled the sun was waiting to come up. A shift in the sand. Leonardo felt a presence behind him. He turned around, expecting to see Celeste and instead seeing a hooded black figure. Multiple hooded black figures. There were about six. One of them held out a long, curved knife. “Hello there sir.” he said coldly, taking a step towards Leonardo. Leonardo wanted to scream, but he was afraid. Suddenly a white blur in the treeline caught his eye. Celeste. Celeste They are here. Those who stilled her loved one’s hands. Made their eyes unseeing. Splattered the floors with bright red rain. The Mafia. Celeste didn’t know how she escaped. She remembered her lover telling her to run. Celeste closed her eyes briefly. She remembered her pushing Celeste towards the window. Her round green eyes were terrified. Celeste knew she didn’t know why they were being targeted. The girl with the green eyes wasn’t her first love, but her first kiss, her first girlfriend. Celeste opened her eyes. She saw Leonardo on the grass, his hair ruffled. She couldn’t tell anyone how she feeled. It wasn’t safe. But they already knew. They already knew she watched him. She had to run. “No.” Celeste whispered. She had to save him. She stepped out silently, walking towards them. She knew underneath they wore bright red lipstick, the precise color of blood. Red rain. Regardless of their gender. In an instant, one of them grabbed Leonardo. “NO!” she yelled, grabbing the one who held him. “Let him go, I beg! Please, he is as innocent as the stars!” Another grabbed her around the waist. Leonardo turned to stare and struggled harder. The one holding Celeste said “Ah, but the stars are not so innocent, are they? They see everything, even when we can’t see them, when the sun clouds them from view.” He held a knife to her throat and pulled off his mask. Leonardo He can’t let them hurt her. They could’ve been friends, if they’d had more time. The man was ugly, with a gold tooth and a broad face. He had stubble on his chin. And his lips were a striking red, the color of a rose. He talked in the same way Celeste did. Suddenly, he heard a soft patter-patter . A horse made entirely of clouds erupted from the north of the sky and cantered towards them. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing Leonardo had ever seen. Besides Celeste. The thought surprised him. But he knew it to be true. The horse, who Celeste called out to as “Utara!” Utara whinnied and rushed towards the attackers. They dispersed and ran, dropping them both to the ground. The horse merged back with the sky. Celeste lay motionless in the grass, and Leonardo hurried over to her. Her face was pale, motionless. Her lips were cracked, and she stared up at Leonardo. “Those were the ones who killed everyone I loved. I’ve traveled through time to reach here, to where I thought was safe.” she explained, pulling a canteen from her thick dress. It was gold today, and yesterday it had been a deep crimson. She drank from it and sat up. “Energy draught.” she explained. “Can I help you? Bring them down?” Leonardo asked, sitting next to her. She smiled, kissing his cheek. “Yes. I think you can, friend.”