*I just wrote this relatively short short story, however I am not sure how I feel about it. I would really appreciate any input you might have! -- “Don’t fucking go down there.” The man said to me. I ignored him as I opened the door. As I open the door I look down and see a rickety wooden staircase, going down into a black abyss. The only hope of light came from a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. “Listen you little fuck, don’t take one step down those stairs or you will regret it.” He spat. I stared into his eyes. His eyes were angry, meanwhile mine were blank. HIs eyes had fire in them, a desire to stop me from going downstairs and ruining his life. “Look, I know you people don’t take bribes, but I have money. A lot of money.” The man bargained. They always bargain. One step down “You will regret this!” The man got up and reached for his gun he had tucked in his waistband. He walked to the top of the staircase and aimed the barrel of his pistol at my eyes. I continued to stare at him with my left foot about to fall onto the stair below the one I was on. If my intelligence is correct then there is no way I can let this man get away with whatever insidious crimes this man has been committing. Rumors have it that there are several children hidden in that basement. This man needs to come to justice and I will be the one to serve him that. “Please man. I’m begging you.” The man drew the hammer back on the gun, making that cliche gun sound you always hear in the movies. The man wasn’t going to shoot me, we both knew that. I walked down two more stairs when I heard the gunshot. That loud crack that leaves a ringing in your ears, making yourself wonder if you are still in reality or if that was the end. The same gunshot I hear just about everyday. I looked up at the man, who was lying in a pool of his own blood by now. I let a brief sigh of relief out as I continued down the steps. As I made it down to the bottom of the stairs I turned on a light to see something worse than I was expecting. Children. Dozens of them. All sitting down, some of them shaking, most of them crying. This is why I do this job, to get scum like this off of the streets. To cleanse the world of people like this. It is not a beautiful job, nor is it an easy job, but it is a job that has to be done. I continued to stare at the children, counting them, and then began to make my way to the top of the stairs. “Good shot, Dieter.” I said to the man who killed the damn swine that was hiding these despicable children, “We got a 22 children downstairs, all appear to be needing of cleansing.” I said with a smirk on my face. “I think we have room on the train for 22 more!” Dieter laughed.


I adjusted my gray paisley tie one more time in front of my hotel room mirror. All of the wrinkles of my navy suit were ironed out yesterday and my hair was carefully sculpted out of my face. I dreaded hobnobbing and networking - but at least I looked like I did. Turning to reach for the TV remote on the bed, I reached over and flipped off the news that played in the background. One last check that my shoelaces were actually tied - and yes, they were - and then I grabbed my briefcase to head out the door. I nodded politely to an elderly couple that walked past me, as I pulled the door noiselessly shut behind me. They looked like they were about to head to the pool. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’d be sweating profusely and shaking hands with all sorts of germy people. So yes, I’d take a chemically treated pool over all of that. But it was my turn to represent our company at the conference this year. The company wasn’t paying me to lounge around in the pool. Yet. The hotel room doors all faced towards the center of the expansive hotel lobby, with two glass elevators on each side. Potted palm trees stretched up to at least the third floor and I wondered whether or not they were fake as I rode the glass elevator down. Once the elevator reached the lobby, I walked out to the sound of a rushing fountain in the middle. This place was really going all-out on the tropical feel. I followed the crowd of power suited men and women to the convention center, checking my wristwatch every so often to avoid eye contact. I’d need a bit more included-in-conference-fee coffee to get there. Finally, I made my way to conference room C for my first session of the day. I found a table off to the left in the back that looked uninhabited. I set down my briefcase on a chair and pushed it in, before wandering back to the hallway where the continental breakfast and coffee spread was. I was lucky that I was an “early worm” type of person. None of the pastries had been picked over yet and the coffee bar was pristine. Quickly selecting a danish and a coffee with just a splash of cream and Splenda, I speed-walked back to my table, silently hoping it would remain uninhabited. No such luck. I think I did a pretty good job of hiding the disgust on my face and set down my breakfast in front of my briefcase. A tall, slender man with a clean, chestnut crew cut started to unbutton his gray suit jacket and set his briefcase down two chairs to the right of me. “Good morning,” I attempted to greet him, taking my briefcase off of my chair and setting it on the floor between the legs of my chair. He laughed, and at that moment, I realized I must have come off as sassy to him. “Good morning to you, too.” “Sorry,” I grumbled, setting down the danish my stomach was groaning for. “I’m kind of a bear in the morning.” Well, that was putting it lightly. And hopefully, I wouldn’t run into him later, so he wouldn’t realize I’m a bear all the time. “Aren’t we all?” He joked, then slid out of his jacket and set it on the back of his chair. “I think I’ll hit the breakfast bar too. Can I interest you in a peace offering?” “I don’t need a peace offering. Thanks, though,” I waved him off. Those kinds of gestures always seem nonchalant, right? He smirked, then turned to fix his own breakfast. I pulled out my phone to see a few unread emails. One of which was from Nicholas Doyle, a colleague I had been working with and corresponding to via email for the past few months. We were tackling a huge multi-state project - he was the visionary, and me, the detail-man. I guess it was a bounce-back email saying he’d be out of the office for a few days. Hmm, nothing too crazy. “So, I haven’t seen you at one of these before,” my tablemate announced. I looked up to find he’d picked up a bagel and a coffee during those few blissful moments of silence. “First time?” He started munching on the bagel and watching me expectantly. I set down my phone and took a sip of my coffee. “I went a few years ago. I’ve been busy lately, but I was able to make time for this one. Not too far of a commute for the company to send me.” He nodded along as I spoke, continuing to eat his bagel. “Well, I hope it’s worth your trip.” A glob of cream cheese fell onto his plate and he dipped his thumb down to the plate to retrieve it before licking it off his finger. “What company did you say you’re with?” I cleared my throat, setting down my paper coffee cup. “I didn’t.” I fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Why the interest? “I’m from Beckworth and Associates. You?” “Graystone.” He broke his iron stare on me to take the black lid off of his cup and take a sip. “I’m Nicholas Doyle, pleased to meet you.” The saliva in my mouth dried up instantly. Oh crap. “Beckworth...” He stroked his chin during the pause. “Do you know a David Levy? I’m working with him on a project.” I better hope I do. Otherwise, I don’t know myself. “Levy’s a solid guy,” I stated, too embarrassed and terrified to fess up that Levy was me. “Hard-working, diligent-” “Detail-oriented. Saved my ass quite a few times. I owe him, big time,” he professed in a quiet tone, holding his coffee cup like it was a precious gem. Looking up to me, he reached over the empty seat between us and patted my back. “Give him my regards, will ya?” I nodded and the crowd’s murmurs dissipated as the speaker took the podium. Nicholas withdrew his hand and we both listened to the speaker while finishing our breakfasts. I was starting to feel paranoid like he was eyeing me up and down. Was I just so out of my game that I didn’t know what it was like to flirt? Wait, did Nicholas freaking Doyle even swing my way? The speaker finished quicker than I anticipated and was rewarded with full applause. I brought my hands together clumsily and groaned inside when I saw Nicholas’s hand shoot up for questions. An attendant with a microphone sprinted over to his side. He took a deep breath before speaking into the microphone. “Great talk, thank you for sharing with us. Say... how do you recommend maximizing teamwork on long-distance or virtual projects?” I stopped swirling the last bit of coffee that had grown cold in the bottom of my cup. Oh great, he was talking about our project. I thought we were a pretty functional team? The speaker gave some brief answer about really “trying to get to know each other” before getting started and Nicholas thanked him politely. He leaned back into his seat and smiled knowingly at me. I couldn’t tell if he was complimenting me - I mean, my associate - or throwing him under the bus. After that session ended, I got up quickly and lost him in the shuffle on the way to my next room. I attended a few more talks, before deciding to retreat to my hotel room to recharge my introvert energy. I bumped into Nicholas again outside of the conference room. “Hi, stranger,” he laughed and patted me on the back. He was definitely touchy-feely. “What session are you off to next?” “Oh, uh...” I struggled to come up with an answer as he walked in step with me. “Just going to sit out the next one, gotta charge my laptop’s battery. It’s about to die.” I patted my briefcase for effect. He didn’t have to know I hadn’t cracked it open once today. “That’s too bad,” he replied. “I’ll catch you later then.” He paused to turn back towards the conference rooms. “Wait!” I called after him, stepping out of the stream of people to follow him. Well, here goes nothing. “Yes?” He stopped mid-turn and I caught a good whiff of his cologne. Oh, damn. “Would you... like to grab dinner tonight?” The words tumbled out of my mouth and it was probably all in my head, but my tie felt tighter and tighter around my neck. “Oh.” Oh. Oh? Wait - Ohhhhhh . I backed away, knowing what was going to happen next. It wasn’t my first rodeo. “You know what, don’t worry about it,” I muttered under my breath, speeding away. I wasn’t exactly running , because that isn’t a classy way to exit - but I surely was power walking my way back to that stupid tropical lobby. Back at the glass elevator I took earlier, I pounded the “up” button with my fist, not making eye contact with that elderly couple, back again from the pool. When the elevator chime dinged, I stepped in, watching the second hand tick by on my wristwatch. I made it through most of the day. I could probably say I got sick and had to cut out of the rest of it. Not too big of a deal. Getting off on my floor, I took a sharp right out of the elevator and strode up to my room, digging for my room key in my suit jacket pocket. Just as I grasped the glossy plastic card, I was startled to find a long, masculine hand splayed on the door, right in front of my face. I looked up to find Nicholas study me with dark, stormy eyes. He was pissed. Before I could open my mouth, he leaned into me, looking even angrier. “You have some explaining to do.” He removed his hand from my door and looked at the key card in my hands. Shaking, I slid the key into the reader and twisted the handle when the green light flashed. I stepped inside, not sure what to do when Nicholas followed me. The door clicked shut behind the two of us. “Look, I don’t know what you want-” I couldn’t even finish that sentence. He pushed me into the wall next to the bathroom, silencing my mouth with a furious, passionate kiss. I could swear he was trying to bite me, to draw blood. Kinkier than I was into, but I wouldn’t argue with him right now. I clawed at loosening his tie and he pulled off my jacket, throwing it to the floor. I’d have to iron that again later. He pulled back from me, our chests heaving in sync. “So, Levy... What do you say to maximizing some teamwork?” Oh hell yes.


TW: contains descriptions of gore appropriate to the sixteenth century and there are references to miscarriages. A king does as he pleases and anyone who disagrees is a fool. Wolsey, my lord chancellor, who the pope made cardinal, erred in being too slow to deal with “the king’s great matter” which was how the need to legitimately free myself from my first marriage became known. Thomas More who I promoted to the same position, forfeited his life when he put conscience before obedience to the crown. When Thomas refused to take the oath of succession and denied I was the Supreme Head of the Church of England, it was only a matter of time. Both men lost their lives; one before he could be tried and beheaded, and one who actually was. I was sad about More’s death because I learnt much from our religious debates. Until things took a turn for the worse, I enjoyed our little spars. He must have known I had no choice but to have him executed for his treachery - although I showed mercy by transmuting the manner of his execution to beheading rather than the hanging, drawing and quartering of his parts which is the standard punishment for treason. I dream of him sometimes in the dead of night, but that is inevitable with someone who was once a friend. NEVER LET IT BE SAID I HAVEN’T BEEN A JUST KING! ** At first, Anne Boleyn was my dream girl. Beautiful, vivacious, and intelligent, she was going to give me everything I desired. I knew she would satisfy me in bed, but I also hoped to confide in her and assumed she’d continue to support my interests. Above all else, I needed her to provide me with a legitimate male heir. In return she would be my queen, gain undreamed of riches, and her family would be given lifelong prestige. Loving her was a kind of madness. I was such a pitiful wretch I actually trembled in her presence! She must have wanted me, but her refusal to yield and become my mistress made me crave her all the more. She was the only woman who denied me, and it spurred me on. I was crazy for her sweet pert breasts (I called them my doxies). My soul drowned in her bright eyes, and at every opportunity I would try to kiss that fine gazelle-like neck - even when she perkily brushed me away and said, “No, the queen might see and be upset.” Anne created a stir everywhere she went. Her alluring voice and elegant French ways were the talk of the court. She’d first been sent to Brussels, then to the French court, by her father for seven years and returned a true daughter of the Renaissance. She had an air about her quite unlike other ladies of my acquaintance. I knew if I stalked this enchanting creature long enough, I’d win my prize. Later when we were together, she joked she’d had no choice in marrying me. It was boldly devilish coming out with something like that, and I laughed heartily at her archness. She further shocked me by saying I’d “pestered her by bombarding her with letters and gifts” when she withdrew from court for a year. Could she have been trying to escape my advances? Not possible. It was just another ploy. One of her schemes which had me had playing into her hands. And it worked. It made me all the more determined to catch her. Like Jacob who had to serve Laban seven years for his daughter Rachel and then was tricked into marrying his older daughter Leah, I had to wait seven years before I could marry Anne. We slept together a little before marriage, but only when the marriage was certain. Divorce from my first wife Catherine should have been straightforward, but for political reasons the pope refused to grant me one. I grew increasingly desperate. I certainly could never have imagined the trials and tribulations that lay ahead as I fought to marry my dream woman. The very fabric of my country’s religious landscape was being altered as a result of the reforms I made. I could not turn back. Although Anne had been the maid of honour to my first Queen, I did not let that deter me. I can hardly believe I once loved Catherine and did my best to comfort her in her miscarriages. It was only after years of failing to provide me with a male heir, I realised the marriage must have been cursed and that I’d been wrong to marry my brother Arthur’s widow at seventeen. By marrying Catherine, I had unwittingly “uncovered my brother’s nakedness.” In doing so, I had gone against Scripture. For doesn’t it say in Leviticus that if a man marries his brother’s wife they will be childless? NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WASN’T A PIOUS KING! That being the case, I had no choice but to look elsewhere. In the early days, it was easy to pursue Anne at court. When she emerged from Catherine’s bedchamber, I ran after her in the corridors. I ignored Catherine’s tearful pleas not to embarrass her in front of courtiers by flirting openly with her maid of honour. As far as I was concerned, our marriage was over. I had been supremely kind to Catherine in the past, but my patience had long worn a beard. NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WAS NOT A TENDER-HEARTED KING. Shortly after this, Anne retired from her position as maid of honour and retreated to her family home at Hever. Distance is no barrier to a lover’s heart, and I deluged her with letters and gifts. I was amazed when she kept sending them back, possibly out of a sense of misguided propriety. I couldn’t believe it! Most women would have been falling over themselves for half the attention. Anne’s sister had happily given herself to me in the past even if it had ruined her reputation. I knew Anne couldn’t resist for ever and my need grew so urgent I even told the court I couldn’t manage without seeing her. I camped nearby at a friend’s house and besieged her daily. By the time she consented to marry me, they had long been calling her the “great homewrecker” and the “great whore.” An accusation that no longer appears as unjust as it once did. ** I don’t know what I was expecting, but not long after I had Anne, the craving stopped. It was as if all the fire of passion that had driven me had been extinguished. She was better than her sister who just lay there like a sack of potatoes while I took her, but really no different to any other woman in that way. Perhaps after waiting for so long to achieve my goal, I had grown bored. Now she was mine, there was no need to chase. By her second pregnancy, my eyes started wandering a little, but after all I’d gone through to make her my Queen, I could hardly rid myself of her without just cause. For a while, she became more compliant, and we had a few months of happiness. I decided I would bide my time. But when she miscarried again, I could hardly contain my disappointment. The stillborn baby boy lent proof to my doubts. Anne always maintained she miscarried on account of my jousting accident when she’d feared I was going to lose my life. She kept telling me I was never the same after the horse fell on me and I lay unconscious for two hours. Either way, it seemed unlikely she was ever going to be able to give me a son. The fate of my second marriage was now sealed. Ironically, before the miscarriages, Anne had given birth to a healthy girl at Greenwich palace. At least my daughter looked like me! As Elizabeth was our firstborn, I did my best to cover over the embarrassment, but there were none of the expected bonfires and rejoicings a male birth would have merited. I could almost hear the bawdy remarks in taverns up and down the land. No doubt my predicament was a source of merriment at court; I could read the guilty looks and hated the way the talk dried up as soon I entered a room. Secret scornful laughter mocking my failure. ** NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WAS A KING TOO PROUD TO LEARN FROM HIS MISTAKES. The strength of character, the witty personality that had once so delighted me now grated. When I heard Anne laughing with her coterie of male admirers, I felt as if she was insulting my manhood. When she wasn’t doing that, she was accosting me about reforming practises, constantly asking whether some of the money from the dissolution of the monasteries could be used to fund places of education. She said I had agreed to this, but I don’t recall making such promises. Nothing worse than a meddlesome woman! Who was she to harass me? Once convinced our union was doomed, I could think of nothing but finding a way to get rid of this woman who’d made me a laughing stock in Europe. Though it occupied my every waking hour, I came up with nothing. That was when I turned to my right-hand man to see if he could find a solution. Cromwell has never disappointed me. Yet. Unlike More and Bishop Fisher who steadfastly refused to accept the new faith to make me head of the church and were destroyed for their treachery. It didn’t take long for Cromwell to resolve my problem. He has the most practical turn of mind of any man I’ve known. He understood my infatuation for Anne had turned to something else. I had become obsessed with the need to rid myself of this burdensome woman. The woman I had once adored now hung about me like a plague. I could hardly bear to breathe in the same air. In his customary style Cromwell sorted things out and before long Anne was escorted to the Tower where she was charged with having committed adultery with five men, one of whom was her brother! It didn’t surprise me. The pair of them were always sneaking off in corners and giggling together. No doubt laughing at me behind my back! I could well believe her capable of it even though she strenuously protested her innocence against every charge brought against her. She claimed she had never once been unfaithful. She had always been true in word and deed to her king. How could I have been so deluded? How could she have betrayed me thus? How could she have lied so? And how could I ever have fallen under her spell? ** She has been hunted down and will be slaughtered tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I daresay she will be waiting in a high state of dread, not knowing when it will be. I have already been more than magnanimous in acceding to her request for a French swordsman; that way her end will come swiftly for she only has a little neck. I consider it a final act of kindness towards a treacherous wife who was once queen. NEVER LET IT BE SAID I WASN’T A FORGIVING KING. Tomorrow or the next day, I will wait on Tower Hill for the cannons to announce the witch’s death. Then I will turn horse and ride to Hampton court. I anticipate celebrating with Jane once the deed is done. Jane is not well educated, but she is loving and submissive as a good woman should be, and I plan to marry her soon. I know we will be blessed with a son. I can HARDLY wait.


Today I am a tiger. Running through the jungle. I am hungry. I come upon a beach. On the infinite shore is a woman and in the water are three kids having a time. The woman tans just on the edge of the wood. It is Mishi. I go up to say hi. She notices me and begins to panic. "Calm down... I mean you no harm... it is only me." But instead a monstrous roar comes out. She trembles in fear. She falls to her knees and she sobs. "What's wrong?" I say. It comes out as an even more ferocious roar. Off in the distance I hear children screaming. She notices them too and begins to sob even harder. Through her sobs she begins: "Please... for the love of God... do what you will to me... but leave my children alone." I am confused. I had no plans to harm her children. I just wish to eat. I fulfill Mishi's wish and my own in one action. I pounce on her. I tear her body to shreds with my claws and sink into her neck with my teeth. She is no where to be found. I am now a red tiger... dripping in blood but not satiated... still hungry. The kids are gone... no where to be seen. But I can smell them... I can see the path they took into the woods. I can hear their crying. They just want their mom. I panic. I begin to run into the woods aimlessly. As fast as I can. I just run and run and run... and then I sense it. A tiger. The most familiar tiger in the world. The most beautiful tiger in the world. My queen. She speaks. "Hey what's up? Why are you covered in blood." "I just ate Mishi." "Oh yeah?" She asks, and with a seductive glance she continues: "How did she taste?" And then I felt it. The greatest feeling in the world... that feeling deep down inside... that feeling only a man knows. And in an instant she is upon me. Holding me down with a force I cannot understand. "What are you waiting for?" She says through my core. And at that moment it happens. From the white furry nether regions it comes out. War drums. bum BUM bum BUM bum BUM "there's my man." She lets out with a joyous squeak I cannot believe what I am seeing. A huge purple penis... throbbing in unison to the drums. For a moment all I can see is this huge purple... purple... throbbing to the drums... dancing to the drums. And then she brings me out of it. "Hey now! I want some!" I hear her come through from no where in this dream within a dream. And I look at her. She presents herself in a way only a tiger can. And I do the only thing a tiger can do when presented with such sights. I pounce on her. And we dance that eternal dance. The divine waltz. The scene is just too much to take in. And I can hear her... "I'm... I'm... I'm" I cannot help but close my eyes. I open my eyes and look down. Everything has vanished... and floating in the clouds amidst a fantastically infinite colorful space there it rests. A huge purple penis. Nothing else. The penis absolutely still... as if frozen in time... the clouds and colors buzz around it in sync to a mysteriously divine sound... the ambiance radiates as the purple statue remains in absolute stillness. "Huh... would ya look at that", he thinks, "now that's new." And at the realization the immense statue began to shake. Slowly at first. But then faster. Now vibrating at a finer speed... resonating. And in its resonance a hum begins and the image blurs. WUUUUUUUUM-wuuuuuum-WUUUUM-wuum-WUM it is coming to a point... and at the moment of silence the blurred image solidifies and at the peak of the purple pyramid is a brilliant white orb... rotating ever so spectacularly Radiant... perfectly colorful... perfectly circular... perfectly new... perfect. I fly towards it with all I am and reach out for this artifact; I have it in my hands. And then it happens. The infinite purple plane I now stand upon begins to buzz. wum-WUUM-wuuuum-WUUUUUUM-wuuuuuuuum and as the tone speeds cracks flow into the plane from his feet. And in an instant cracks of light fracture the plane. Brighter and brighter the light between the cracks become. The resonance of the plane, the hum, the tone... becomes unbearable. "We gotta get out of here!" He screams out to the purple planar void as he launches into the infinite space beyond. And he runs and runs... he flys and flys... forever and ever he goes... and then he forgets where he is. He stops and thinks about why he moves. He cannot remember. He turns his head and looks back. And he begins to fall... at incredible speeds. All now in rewind. No idea why he's falling... he looks down into his hand. He clutches a white orb. He probes it... inspects it. Solid. Sturdy. He cannot remember what it is but it looks oh so pretty. He looks up. He can see the milky way now. And in the next moment he notices our solar system. And in the next moment the Earth comes into view... it's all moving way too fast. He closes his eyes and braces for impact. Darkness. Nothing. Then he feels it. This buzzing sensation. He has no body. No sense at all except for this vibration. It feels absolutely divine. Good vibrations... too good. And then above the heavenly vibrations and darkness he hears it. He hears crying. And it takes him away from this serene place. I open my eyes. I'm in a dark bedroom. There is this foreign woman going to town on my cock as mascara chases her tears. "WHAT THE FUCK!" I scream as I pull her by her hair and hold her in front of me with one arm as if she is a bucket of awful. She screams in pain. "PLEASE!" "Who are you and where is the Queen?!" I ask, as the echoes of libido turn to wrath. "PLEASE!" she sobs as she dangles. "Just please anything you want just don't hurt my children." And then it hits me--I am dreaming--And then I drop her. She collapses to the floor babbling... inconsolable. She rocks back and forth saying "please don't hurt my children." I get to my knees, stark naked and with my free hand I caress her shoulder. She instantly recoils and sobs harder. I decide to speak instead. I speak from the heart: "I didn't mean to hurt you... I'm sorry... don't cry. I won't do anything bad to your children. It's okay Mishi." And at that there is a sudden change in her demeanor. She is calm. She breathes. Slowly she collects herself. She wipes away the tears from her cheeks. She realizes what's going on. There is a strange naked man in her bedroom holding a pearlescent Christmas ornament. Calmly she asks: "What do you want?" Calmly I reply: "I want to know what is going on... how did I get here? What happened?" I can see the moonlight shine off her face. She looks at me blankly. Beautiful. I continue: "I know this is weird but I really don't know what the hell is going on... I mean I know where I was and what I was doing but the first thing I can remember here is you crying and sucking me off." She blinks a few times... incredulous she blurts out: "You raped me!" "I raped you?!", I reply incredulously. "I was sleeping and the next thing I know you have your hand over my mouth and you threatened my children. You said if I struggle you'd kill my children right in front of my eyes." Tears well up in my eyes. I look into hers. I say the only thing I can say: "I am so sorry... so so sorry." And she began to cry as well: "Why would you do that... why would you do that?" "I don't know. I honestly thought I was a tiger and I was hungry... and you said I could eat you... so I ate you. To be honest it was amazing... you were delicious. To be perfectly honest I am dreaming right now." And at that she started to laugh. Wild uncontrollable laughter. She is mad. Completely lost. "There it is!" I joyfully cry out. "Listen, Mishi, I know this doesn't make sense. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to go check on your kids. You'll find them sleeping. Then I want you to grab your phone and come back. If you trust me you'll do all these things." And mishi got up, threw on a shirt, and left the room. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She grabbed her phone and went to dial the police. And then she noticed it... as the phone rang Her house is immaculate. Oddly clean. She did not do this. In panic she ran to check on her kids. Peacefully they slept. And then she heard it. "911 what's your emergency?" And she drops her phone with the knife and runs to her bedroom and flips on the light. Her bedroom is immaculate... and there is one other difference too. Her bed is covered in brilliantly lush purple linens. On the center of which a white pearlescent sphere lays. Mishi is confused. All of a sudden. She hears a voice come from within. "You should of trusted me Mishi. I did not say call the police. I said check on your kids and grab your phone." She cries out: "I didn't call the police, I hung up on them! Come back!" "You called them. They are on the way. They will wake up your kids. This is on you. You should of trusted me Mishii." "Where are you?!" "Why I'm right here on your bed. What are you going to tell the cops when they get here? That a Christmas ornament raped you? Who is going to believe that?" And at that she began to cry. "Ah Mishi, don't cry. I'm just fucking with ya. The cops aren't coming this is all a dream." "But you raped me!" "Yeah but look on the bright side. I cleaned your house and got you new linens. And to be perfectly honest I don't ever remember asking you to go down on me... that was all you. Bye now." And at that. Silence. No more voices in her head. Just her. She picks up the ornament. It's just a normal Christmas ornament... even has a hanger attached to it. She inspects it seemingly forever. And no one ever came back. And she cried and cried and cried. Until finally she tightened her grip and crushed the ornament. The shards slicing up her hand before they spilled onto the purple linens. She watches as her blood trickles onto the broken fragments of our hero. "You should not have done that." The voice catches Mishi by surprise. She looks up. Before her is a woman. She hovers slightly off the ground in a booming black dress that ripples in resonance with an invisible aura. Her blonde hair ripples in a curious synchronization with the dress. And her eyes... her eyes glow red... so red... pure red. They exude an aura... a blood red aura.. an aura that ripples out of sync with her dress and hair... a faint red haze that seems to envelop her entire being. In an instant the haze turns solid red--a new red--and in the next instant it vanishes. And Mishi cannot believe her eyes. In her bedroom is a tiger... with transcendentally red glowing eyes. And as the Queen pounces towards the bed she lets out not a roar but a banshee wail.


“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Alan kept repeating to himself as he gazed out across Biscayne Bay from his twentieth-floor balcony. The shadows of the high-rise condominiums that line the Miami shoreline were beginning to stretch out across the bay as the sun slowly settled behind him. He took another sip of his gin and tonic and winced as it was much more bitter than he expected. The clouds out over the ocean were slowly turning from white to a soft tangerine as the last rays of the setting sun slowly settled on the opposite horizon. Alan’s lips again mouthed the words, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Today was his sixty-sixth birthday, and in five days, it would be the first anniversary of Colleen’s death. They had planned this retirement for years. And once their three children had scattered to the winds, there was no reason to stay in Central Ohio. Alan and Colleen’s kids were grown and gone, with lives of their own, raising their families, chasing their dreams - looking forward, not looking back to Columbus. That was the past. That was where they were from, not where they were going. With the house now empty, the Midwest winters seemed colder. And South Florida seemed more and more inviting. Linda and her mom often discussed them moving to Florida, and the more they talked about it, the more Linda encouraged her parents to make the move. It wasn’t that she wanted them to be further away. It was just that she wanted her parents to be happy and to start enjoying that third chapter of their married life together; to live out their golden years with people their own age and without the pressure and responsibility of raising a family. For almost a year, things were perfect. Both Alan and Colleen retired from their respective jobs and never looked back; it was a clean break for both. They sold the only house their kids had ever known, sent the dog to live with Linda, and followed the moving van south out of town to Florida. Over the next nine months, everything fell into place. Colleen made many friends both within and outside the condo - friends to play bridge with, friends in the book club, and girlfriends to simply share coffee and gossip. Alan was just as lucky; the condo had a men’s group that organized fishing trips, poker nights, football watching parties, and most importantly - golf. Alan loved golf but never seemed to have the time for it back in Ohio. Here he had nothing but time, and anytime was a good time to play golf. The plan was to spend the next twenty years together here in Miami. They had the financial resources to last that long. Then after Alan’s passing, twenty years seemed reasonable; Colleen would regroup with the kids and probably move somewhere close to Linda for the rest of her life. This understanding may have seemed a little morbid, but that was the plan, and they were just being realistic. Unfortunately, fate didn’t see it that way. Thirteen months after settling into their perfect new life, Colleen was struck by a massive heart attack as she was playing bridge at a friend’s house. She was not feeling all that well on that fateful morning, but it was bridge club, and she didn’t want to disappoint her friends by staying home. Besides, it was just indigestion, and it would pass once she got into the game. The EMS were frantically summoned at 10:14 that morning. Her friends desperately applied CPR until the paramedics arrived, but two hours later, Colleen was pronounced dead at University of Miami Hospital. It was not supposed to happen this way. The light of Alan’s life had suddenly and unexpectedly gone out. Alan took another sip of his gin and tonic. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten as a full moon broke the ocean’s surface on the distant horizon. It was the twelfth full moon Alan had watched take the night sky since Colleen’s death. And for the twelfth time in as many months, he sat alone on his balcony silently staring out to sea. As Alan quietly watched the moon make its appearance in the night sky, an unusually bright star slowly rose just below it. “It’s my birthday, and it wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he kept silently repeating. Suddenly he was jarred from his stupor by the sound of a loud knock at the door. It was either his friend Sam, who had promised to take him out and get him drunk for his birthday. Or it was the pizza kid delivering the pizza he had ordered. He set his glass down and slowly walked to the door. As he opened the door, to his surprise, it was neither. Well, it was a person holding a pizza. But it wasn’t the usual Hispanic kid with tattoos covering both arms and baggy pants that barely clung to his bony hips. It was a beautiful young woman. She had steel blue eyes like Colleen’s, but any other similarities ended there. She had dark brunette hair almost to her waist; Colleen was blonde and never wore it longer than shoulder length. The girl had a goddess-like Florida tan; Colleen was fair-skinned and burned easily. And instead of baggy shorts and South Coast Pizza t-shirt, the usual kid always wore; she was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian print sundress. Colleen wore sundresses, but for some reason, never Hawaiian prints. Alan just stared. “Pizza,” the girl said with a huge smile. “You ordered a pizza, didn’t you?” “Uh - yes, I ordered a pizza. Where’s the tattoo-kid?” Alan finally managed to stutter. Deferring his question with a question of her own, she politely answered, “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” “Uh, yes,” he said, still searching for words. “And how did you know it was my birthday?” “Let’s just say a little birdie told me,” she said as she skirted past him and headed for the kitchen. Surprised that she had just slid around him and entered his apartment without an invitation, Alan quickly closed the door and turned to follow her. “That little birdie wouldn’t be named Sam, would he?” “Sam? I don’t think I know any birdies named Sam,” she responded with a flirtatious tone to her voice as she set the pizza on the kitchen counter and opened the grocery bag she was also carrying. Alan hadn’t previously noticed the bag, and to his surprise, she pulled out several salads, olives, some sort of Italian dessert, and a bottle of wine, all of which she neatly arranged on the counter. “I didn’t order any of that,” he protested. “Oh, it’s okay Alan, it’s your birthday,” she paused, and with an innocent little grin, added. “May I call you Alan?” He felt his temper flare, but she was just so damn cute - and that smile. “Okay,” he stuttered. “And what’s your name?” “Stella,” she said as she spun on the balls of her feet, and standing on tiptoes, opened kitchen cabinets to get out plates, serving bowls and wine glasses. Alan couldn’t help but notice she was getting down two of everything. “Are you staying for dinner?” he inquired, still not sure if he should be upset or not. “Of course, it’s your birthday. You don’t want to spend it eating alone, do you?” Stella responded with a wink of her eye. Befuddled and a little annoyed, Alan started to snap - but she was so damn cute. “Okay, okay you’re staying for dinner, I get it. But who sent you?” She had found Colleen’s pizza paddle and slid the still-hot pizza onto it. “Well Alan, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. And besides, what difference does it make? It’s your birthday and none of your family or friends wants you to be alone, and more importantly, I don’t want you to be alone either.” Alan settled on to a nearby barstool and watched in amazement as she transferred the olives and salads to serving bowls, set the table, and even lit candles. “Mind if I get my drink?” he asked. “Oh no, of course not - but hurry back. Dinner is almost ready.” As he returned from the balcony, he pushed the sliding glass doors all the way open to let in the sea breeze and pulled back the curtains to allow for the full view of the moonrise over Miami. He started to plop down in his usual chair, but noticed she was patiently standing next to hers. Luckily, he realized in the nick of time she was waiting for him to hold the chair for her, which he quickly did with a smile. “Stella, this is beautiful - thank you,” he said sincerely as he settled into his chair. She poured the wine and they clinked glasses. “Many people love you Alan, and they don’t want you sitting up here night after night by yourself,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes. “Stella, it wasn’t supposed to be this way...” he said before she cut him off. “I know Alan,” she said, interrupting him. “But you’re here tonight and I’m here tonight. It’s a beautiful evening, the moon is rising - and Alan, your pizza is getting cold. So, let’s not talk about what was supposed to happen. Let’s talk about here and now.” And over the next hour, Alan talked like he hadn’t spoken in over a year, and Stella listened intently to every word. He also ate like he hadn’t eaten since Colleen’s passing. And as the moon slowly rose above their view as they sat at the dining room table, every morsel of pizza, salads, and dessert were consumed, along with the entire bottle of wine. Finally, pushing back from the table, happier than he’d been all year, he said, “Let me help you with those dishes.” “Okay, as long as you’ll sit and have another drink with me on the balcony when we’re done,” she said with a smile. “It’s a deal, Stella - I can’t thank you enough for the wonderful evening. Thank you.” It seemed like old times as they washed and put away the dishes. Alan opened another bottle of wine as Stella arranged two chaises side by side on the balcony. From the balcony, the moon was visible again as they settled next to each other and gazed out into the moonlit sky. The moon was so full and bright, almost no stars were visible, except for that one brilliant star that seemed to be following just south of the moon as it rose higher and higher over Biscayne Bay. “They say love is a tender thing, so why do I find it so painful?” Alan sighed. “Love is forever Alan, and pain always fades in the face of love,” Stella answered. She reached over and laid her hand on Alan’s. He responded by interlocking his fingers with hers. Staring out into the night sky, Alan spoke first. “Stella, do you know what I miss the most?” “Yes,” she said, “I actually do know. You miss the companionship of another person to share your life with. You miss your partner - you miss your wife.” Alan slowly took a long sip of wine. This girl couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old, he thought. His daughter was older than that. How could she know these things? And who in the hell gave her the right to say them. He had never laid eyes on her before this evening, and yet she seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Who was she? But the softness of her hand and the scent of her body next to his kept him from asking. The food, the wine, and the moonlight were all taking their effect. Alan was more comfortable, more at ease - more vulnerable than he had been since Colleen’s death. “Alan,” Stella asked. “I am also your birthday present. I’m sure you realized that by now.” “What do you mean?” Alan responded, though he actually knew what she meant. “I’m spending the night,” she said lovingly. There was a long silence. “Stella, I don’t know who sent you, and I guess at the moment, I don’t really care. I’m honored and flattered, but you can’t spend the night.” There was another pause, “I mean, we couldn’t do anything. I’m sixty-six years old - I’m not the man you are expecting. I’m not the man you deserve.” She squeezed his hand and leaned over towards him. “You are all the man I need, and besides, I still have one more gift for you.” Alan hadn’t previously noticed, but she had a small coin purse in her hand that she placed between them and snapped open. Inside was a tiny pill bottle with two blue tablets. She took one tablet from the bottle and held it out for him to take. “Stella, I can’t. I take nitrates for my heart, and a pill like that could kill me.” “Alan, I would never do anything to hurt you. This is a light dose, and it won’t interfere with your medications,” she said in a knowing and caring voice. “Am I healthy enough for sex?” he jokingly retorted, paraphrasing a popular TV commercial and holding the pill to his lips. “You are tonight, my lover,” she softly responded as she slipped from her lounge chair and onto his - straddling his body at his waist. Sitting atop him, she offered him the Sirens’ glass of wine. He paused, pressed the pill between his lips, and sipped the wine until the tablet was gone from his mouth. She took the wine glass from him and placed it gently on the table beside them. He sighed in resignation as he knew this might be the last night of his life, but he was powerless to say no to her. Smiling, she stood, still straddling him, and slid backward until her feet cleared his lounge chair. Now standing facing him, she slipped her hands up under her sundress and pulled her panties to her knees. She then wiggled them to her ankles and kicked them to the corner of the balcony. Alan realized she was now only wearing one last piece of clothing, the sundress. She had kicked off her shoes while they were doing the dishes, and there was no way she could have been wearing a bra as there were no tell-tail straps or lines. With an alluring smile, she walked forward and resumed her previous position sitting atop his lap. As she slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, Alan could already feel the effect of the little blue pill. His face was suddenly flush, his eyesight began to blur slightly, and for the first time in over a year, he felt a definite tingle in his groin and the beginnings of that long-lost firmness of his youth. Stella could also feel it, the unmistakable tightening of Alan’s pants as her bare crotch pressed into his zipper. She gave Alan a knowing smile of approval and a wink of anticipation, as Alan responded with his own smile of accomplishment, but with a slight hint of apprehension and fear. After pushing his shirt aside, she took another long sip of wine before bringing her lips to his. To soothe the blurring, Alan closed his eyes and soaked in the sweetness of her kiss that lovingly lingered on his lips. His head swirled with memories of so many kisses so many years ago. Stella’s touch and taste, and scent instantly brought back memories of his first date with Colleen. All the feelings of loss and loneliness vanished as Stella’s soft lips left his and started a long and luxurious journey across his face, around his neck, and ever so slowly down his chest to his belt line. There she sat up, unbuttoned his pants, and lowered his zipper. She then stood, and straddling the lounge chair, pushed his pants down and over his feet that dangled off the end of the chaise. As she returned to her previous position kneeling just below his waist, she slowly settled on to Alan’s lap and began their sensuous journey to mutual gratification. As the drug had dulled Alan’s normal sensitivity, their voyage to his climatic release lasted longer than he was accustomed to. But he was in utter heavenly bliss and didn’t mind if it took forever. The warm sea breezes of the Miami evening enveloped them both and carried Alan to an imaginary tropical paradise of his youth. And as Stella so sensuously moved her hips to the sound of a distant Samba band, she was inevitably compelled to cool herself by pulling her last remaining piece of clothing up and over her head before tossing it to the edge of the balcony. She now sat naked atop Alan’s waist, with her dark hair swinging back and forth to the distant rhythm. When Alan’s moment of fulfillment finally came, it was a total release, unlike anything he had experienced in years. It was like college; it was like the first time he had taken Colleen to bed over forty years ago. It was like they were both kids again. Alan’s lover collapsed onto his chest, and as he wrapped his arms around her to hold her tight, she responded with like affection. Their bodies seemed to fit so perfectly together. Her scent, her touch, the warmth of her body just seemed so natural. Alan drifted off for a moment into a dream-like sleep. Upon reopening his eyes, he gazed into his lover’s face - it wasn’t Stella at all, it was Colleen! “Colleen!” he stuttered. “Yes,” she calmly replied. “It was you - it was you all along.” “Yes, my darling, it was me.” “But - but where did you come from?” he said with his voice choked with emotion. “From that star,” she answered. “That star just south of the moon.” “Colleen - that star, that was you?” he managed to say as his eyes filled with tears. “Yes, my precious, that was me,” she reassured him. “That star just south of the moon,” he repeated as he struggled to search the sky for the star. “It’s gone,” he said after frantically scanning the night sky. “It’s gone; where did it go?” “I’m right here Alan, and I’m not leaving you again,” she whispered. There was a long pause. “Where am I Colleen - am I dead?” he asked. “No, my beloved, we’re together. Together forever, together someplace just south of the moon.”


It doesn’t take long for the children to find their way. They follow the ready-made trail, usually hidden by the warm arrays of leaves in their orange and browns. It’s funny how these trees, appreciated whilst they’re green and living, are so magnificent once their leaves fall and die. It’s almost poetic; the little children following the trail of death to find home. And they will find home with me. Under the solace of the branches they will be safe and sound, warm and snug around the campfire. They will come to their Wendy. It’s interesting isn’t it? The lies these adults will tell to keep their children from misbehaving and wandering off. “Go to sleep when we tell you or the Boogey Man will get you!” or “Santa won’t bring you presents if you keep behaving that way!” or “Don’t get lost in the woods or people will find you. They will hunt you. They will rape and kill you.” All these silly lies. There are no horrors out there for children. Children are blissful creatures, to be cherished by all those around them. There is no greater delight than sitting, watching these dainty pixies frolic in the sunlight. Take children out of the equation and there will be no laughter in this merciless world. Silly adults, no one would dare do anything to harm the babes. I can hear them getting closer. How delightful! Those delicious dead leaves crunch under their little booties like the bones of the defeated. I love that crackle you get, it’s like candy for the ears, alike to a passing breathe of someone close by, sounds of the living. I heard a story a long time ago, it’s an old tale, older than your own ears. He told me about this place. It’s so far away and you can only get there by thinking happy thoughts. It’s such a wondrous place. There are mermaids and pirates and Red Indians and such beautiful creatures. There are children there too. Lost children far from home who need looking after. Poor children. If only they had their Wendy. There’s laughter in these woods once more! Joyful joyful noise! I always did love laughter. It tickles the belly and it resounds in your head long after. He always made me laugh. He had such a way with words, he could tell a tale and it was like you were there! I was helping him fight a blood thirsty tiger in the depths of the jungle. I was swimming with him in that long forgotten wreck. I was watching him interact with those Indians, turning them red as he burned down their village. I was watching as my father’s hands gagged my mouth and defiled my young body. He said it was a part of life. Children get hurt because adults need it. Adults need to take a child’s innocence because they, themselves have lost it and are jealous. They need that act of gratification because there is nothing that can compare to it. I won’t let them do it. No one can harm the babes. Oh I hope these children will be more grateful than the last few that came by. They wanted to leave so soon just when I was getting into my story. They said that their parents would be angry if they didn’t leave right then. I told them not to worry; they’ll be safe with me. I gave them more tea and they soon settled down and enjoyed the rest of my story. I’ve recently realised that I tend to talk a lot, it’s my fatal flaw or “hamartia” if you like. He always told me that it was going to get me into a lot of trouble one of these days. He said that if I didn’t let other people get a word in that they’ll want to cut my tongue out and chop it to pieces. I quickly tightened up after that, but only for a little while. I can’t help it, I like to talk and if I don’t talk then who will? And I have so many stories to tell, the children love it when they sit around and listen to the stories of their Wendy. I should get the tea on! I can’t expect them to arrive here and not have tea ready for them. The sleeping bags are all neat and tidy, surrounding the camp fire so that they shall be warm while they sleep. It’s getting cold out and I don’t want them to catch a chill. The children are always so polite, they say their pleases and their thank you’s and they sip at that tea so delicately. They’re so delicate, like little birds; little birds with their breakable necks and hollow bones, that sing so beautifully. There’s nothing quite like a child singing. That’s what my father said when we used to go see the choir sing on a Sunday; all those little children singing so sweetly in their robes. I wasn’t allowed to sing because singing is an act of the innocent and I was a sinner, so guilty that I had to be punished. I sang though, as each blow dented my little body, I sang. I sang till my lungs burst and my throat burnt. I wasn’t good enough, but the children are and no one shall harm the babes. They sit so serenely on their sleeping bags, little legs crossed and hands in their laps, like little angels. They can see the tea brewing on the fire and I’m sure they are delighting themselves in the smell. They look up at me with their big seeing eyes as I pour them their tea and they take their sips so tentatively. I can’t help but beam at them, my little angels. I watch them for a while in silence as they chatter among themselves, their sweet voices filling the forest air. Uneasiness begins to creep over them and I take that as my cue to start talking. “Children, did you ever hear the tale of a boy called Peter?” They nod their little heads, their hair bouncing like leaves in the wind, “Would you like to hear a story about my Peter?” Again, they nod and they take another small sip of their tea. “My Peter was such a joyful little boy. He came to me when I was seven years old, a lonely only child with no friends my age. He found me and he saved me. He came from a land so far away that the only way to get there was to fly and he flew so majestically. The very first time he came to me, he flew all around my room, darting towards the corners only to pull back at the last second. It was so exciting watching this mysterious boy with pale blonde hair and clothes made from leaves dance around the room.” I notice the children snuggle deeper into their sleeping bags, getting more comfortable to enjoy my story. “He finally came to a halt and stood right in front of my bed, hands on hips, brazen as the day. He was so big back then, his shadow came to a halt just under my tucked up chin and I looked up at him, grinning. He pinched the tips of my toes with his little twig like fingers until I giggled and pulled my knees up to my chest, like this.” I go to demonstrate and I watch as a few of the children copy, “He smiled and sat on the edge of my bed and looked at me. “’Why are you smiling like that?’ He said. I couldn’t believe this was real. He was so beautiful, children. Such childlike benevolence radiated from him, I felt like he was ethereal. I didn’t want to touch him for fear of him disappearing and I daren’t speak for fear of waking my father up. ‘Why won’t you speak?’ He said, “Cat got your tongue?’ This made me giggle even more, I had to bring my hands up to cover my face. ‘Are you a mute? Did you get your tongue cut out?’ I shook my head rapidly. ‘Well then, I guess I’ll just have to make you talk.’ At this, he lunged at me, taking his twiggy fingers and dancing them over me, tickling me. I couldn’t take it and laughed so hard my belly ached! It was wondrous! Even after he stopped I still felt the tingles of his fingers on my legs and arms, little scratches that bled like the tears of laughter that fell from my eyes. I yelled at him to stop and he smiled smugly and disappeared in a flash, leaving me in my dark room with my awakened father’s footsteps looming.” The children’s eyes were drooping, they were feeling sleepy but there was still more tea in the pot so I shared it round, giving each little boy and girl a smile as I did it. “Peter came back multiple times after that night, and after he got me talking, I never stopped. I confided in Peter and in return he told me such magical stories about the land where he lived. Let me tell you my favourite: In the depths of the forests where Peter lived was a humongous tree house. It housed a group of children, Lost Children, and they lived there and they frolicked and played in the surrounding woods. These children, although lost, were free. There were no adults around telling them what to do, no chores or lies from their parents. There was just a Wendy. A Wendy was a lady who looked after them but never annoyed them. She made them dinner, kept the tree house clean and she told the children stories and tucked them into bed at night. The Lost Children were so grateful to have a Wendy like the Wendy they had. She was the best, loving and caring, like the mother they always wanted. This Wendy had magical properties that made the Lost Children love her even more. She had the power to keep them young forever. Never will they grow old into adults and learn to lie and hurt people. They will forever be blissfully innocent. “That story stuck by me, children. Peter talked of this Wendy so fondly and warmly, it was easy to love her even though I had never met her. That was the magic of Peter’s stories, children, he transported you to places you had never been before, he could make you love or hate people you had never met before because of the way he told them. You could so easily get lost in Peter’s stories, I know I did a couple of times, always so disappointed to know I was back. I always asked him to take me with him, back to his home. We tried once; he stood with me by the window, the dark night looming ahead of me. He held my hand whispered in my ear, telling me to think happy thoughts. I thought of his Wendy, of the Mermaids of his lands, of the pirates and the Lost Children. He then kept hold of my hand and told me to fly... “I can’t quite remember what happened after that, children, but after that day I never saw Peter again. He had left me. We jumped and then darkness... he’d disappeared. We’d been through so much and he’d gone, and I knew why. I wasn’t his Wendy. But I can be his Wendy, children. I can be your Wendy, so just lay down by the fire dears. Listen to my song and let it relax you.” As I sing, I watch them close their eyes. This part is always sad, saying good night. I had to say good night to Peter, as he closed his eyes. The boy who never sleeps forever reigns on awake in my dreams. And so will these children. I tuck them in and kiss each one on the forehead and then I sit and listen. I listen out for the forest sounds of birds chirping and little animals scurrying around in the undergrowth and just when I need it too, it all goes silent. So silent that I can only hear the breathing of those beautiful children around me. “It’s okay children, nothing to be afraid of,” I whisper, “No bogey man to get you out here. No bad people to come and rape and kill you. Just me, I’ve got you.” I can hear their breathing start to slow as they slip deeper into their sleep. “I’ve got you and I’ll forever be your Wendy. Go and join Peter in your dreams.” Their chests move slower and slower as the tea begins to take its toll on them. “You’ll forever be innocent, my children.” Then, nothing. They fall into the deepest sleep they will ever have, among the dead leaves of the trees. And I swear, they have never been so beautiful.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? 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! 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.**   *** #Weekly Challenge **Prompt: Set your story at an .** **Bonus Constraint (10 pts):** Include the sentence - *"There were worse ways to make a living."* **(You must include if/how you used it at the end of your story.** This week’s challenge is to set your story in an amusement park. You’re welcome to use the setting creatively (it’s encouraged!) as long as it is the main setting of your story. Be sure to **follow all post and sub rules**. The bonus constraint is encouraged but not required (you’re welcome to change the tense). You do not have to use the linked image. *** # Last Week: - **Winner:** by u/rudexvirus You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below (no poetry) inspired by the prompt.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. Use to check your wordcount. - **Leave feedback on at least one other story by 3pm EST next Monday.** Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **3pm EST** next Monday. *(Note: The form doesn’t open until Monday morning.)* ###Additional Rules - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post. 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. - **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 . - **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 1pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read the stories aloud and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and/or listen to the others! Everyone is welcome and we’d like to have you, we absolutely love new friends!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied **Note: There has been a change to the crit caps and points!** **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10 - 15** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **10** pts each (30 pt. max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 30 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | No cap | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.*   *** *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


I’ve never felt a coldness more piercing than the wind at the remote research site in Antarctica. Five days by myself conducting my first solo research expedition. It was my chance to prove that I have what it takes to endure the cold and gather samples of existing, or possibly new, organisms from a frozen lake nearly four-thousand meters under the ice. In fact, there were several worksites currently active alongside me, all with new researchers eager to produce some sort of rare find and be given a permanent position. We were positioned a few miles from one another, extracting samples from the same underground frozen lake. I had 2 days to collect samples, as we expected a white-out blizzard on the third, of which I would then hunker down and analyze my findings thus far. After that, a couple more days of sample gathering and then we’d be evacuated. Excited, doesn’t quite embrace the absolute joy I had for this opportunity. My first day went by smooth enough. I maintained the worksite, only losing a couple tarps when the winds picked up, and I inspected the excavation hole that was drilled by the research center when they deployed me. The hole was drilled by a mechanical boring drill, plunging deep into the glacier crust. Hot water and steel broke past the frozen layers and took quite some time. The greasy contraption that did the hard work lied a few meters away from my worksite. It wreaked a powerful gag inducing stench. The hole in the ground was large enough to fit my whole arm down, luckily there’s no need for that as they provided me with a pulley and sample collector to lower down. All that remained of my worksite was some wire fence to keep the wildlife out, a tent that’s seen its fair share of expeditions, and me. A shivering, kind of know what I’m doing, fake it ‘till I make it; me. The first day was a success. Not successful as in I retrieved any usable samples or anything. I *did* stare far too long at an elephant seal, who was snooping outside the northern perimeter, but I mean a success as in I’m still alive and didn’t lose anymore tarp *and* I had a better idea of how to use the equipment, at least. Once I covered the pulley system, extraction site, and remaining gear I ducked into my tent for the night and began preparing dinner. The first night I had imitation potatoes and, in quotes, “salisbury steak consumable dinner tray”. In fact, every night I was blessed with that meal. If not just the potatoes after the first night. That night I was woken by howling winds. The entire tent was shaking, and the sounds of loose rope were flogging the sides. There wasn’t supposed to be a storm until two nights from now. It was hard to sleep to say the least. The sound conjured all sorts of nightmares from my restless mind. The thoughts of unimaginable things lurking outside my tent. I imagined that elephant seal coming through the wire fence and greeting me through the opening of my tent. Seals are fine and all, until one just, flops into your room. I held my sleeping bag tight and closed my eyes. The next morning, I inspected the perimeter and fastened any loose tarps and rope. It wasn’t until I looked at the worksite that I noticed the tracks in the snow. They had been lightly covered after the wind and were very faint. They were probably mine from yesterday. I shook any doubts- I had work to do and samples to catch up on. I can’t be empty handed when they return to retrieve me and the supplies. I yanked the covering off the hole and pulley system and was immediately taken aback from the smell. The smell that I noticed on the drill had come from the hole. A stench, like decaying flesh. A sweet smell followed by bitter iron and rot. I pulled me scarf tighter around my nose and began to work. I pulled out a few ounces of dirt, water, and small fragments of rock. The pulley’s small engine block struggled a few times, so I was sure to let it warm up once I started it and let it cool after each use. Light flakes swam around the water sample like a snow globe. The dirt was clumpy and black, and the rocks were small and fragmented. Sharp and dense, though few rocks were the size of marbles and granulated on touch. I kept the remainder of the samples contamination free and set them aside for tomorrow, when I would look at each sample under a microscope and record my findings. My hopes were low, and so were my test samples. I needed more. I dropped the pulley a few more times that day but was only able to pull up more water and ice, all the same. My second night of sleep, or lack thereof, will always resonate with me. I was awoken yet again by violent winds. The sides of my tent flailed wildly, and the sounds outside mimicked that of rubbing metal and screeching animals. The sound was unbearable even after hiding under my pillow. I heard a crackling, low pitched splintering growl from the direction of the worksite. I sprung out of bed assuming the worst, that my worksite had been destroyed or something fell onto what samples I did have. But I when I flung open the tent entrance, nothing. Literally nothing. No storm, no wind, only the stars in the sky and a single light from behind the tarp covering the worksite. The silence of the arctic wrapped itself around me. And the horrific stench pierced the freezing air. I secured the flap to my tent and laid back in bed. I grabbed a book to read but only held it closely as I stared at the entrance of the tent, inevitably fell asleep. When I awoke the next day the air was still, and snow fell silently. The storm should have arrived, and perhaps it did, but the high winds were absent. I made my way to the worksite, bumping into the drill now covered in snow. Peeling back the tarp to worksite I started the engine block to the pulley and let it warm up. I wrapped another scarf around my head attempting to block the stench from reaching my frozen nostrils. I should’ve been in my tent looking over what samples I did have, but I needed more. I dropped a clamp and swab down the hole into the ice. It takes roughly 15 minutes for it safely reach the bottom. I paced around for a while trying to keep warm and I noticed the area around the hole. The ice had cracked in three different spots. Little fractures were visible, crackling off the cylindric hole two inches in width. I averted my attention to the pulley which was still dropping. It had been twenty-two minutes. I stared at the remaining line on the spool and there seemed to be plenty to spare, but how far down could this possibly go? I decided to let it run. I thought this was the break I had been waiting for. Maybe I would pull up a new microorganism, a fossil from some long-forgotten ocean dwelling species or- *new* species. When the line ran out, I pulled the joint to snap the collection tray on the other end shut and pushed a button, opening the swab. After a few moments I switched the motor in reverse and began pulling the samples back up, refilling the empty spool with line once again. I began prepping what samples I had collected for transfer back to my tent when the line from the pulley snapped tightly, halting completely. The motor made a god-awful screeching noise as white smoke erupted from the top, then suddenly began pulling normally again. The line must’ve gotten caught on something. I checked the temperature of the motor and placed some snow on top of the block to cool it down. The weather outside had been slowly picking up after my couple hours in the extraction site, and it was zero visibility outside. I placed my hand into the snow outside the opening of the tarp and felt around for the safety line attached to my tent, so I could find my way back. I yanked it above the snow, and it hung fastened in my hand, the other end disappeared into the wind and snow. I turned my head back to the pulley as the motor shut off. The sample had been retrieved and dangled above the open hole. I placed the swab into a sealant and opened the collection tray. From it fell, what seemed like, black straw. Thick strands of black, still wet from water, but bristly and stick-like. I felt like I had something worth investigating and began to get excited; imagining myself being appraised for discovering a new species of seaweed. But Christ, the smell must be from whatever this is. I closed the extraction site and made my way to the tent. Holding the safety line I walked what seemed like hours in the blinding snowstorm. Sure that I grabbed the wrong rope, the tent finally unveiled itself through the white haze. Once I made myself comfortable, I began setting up for sample inspection. I was so excited I nearly dropped it on the ground. I opened the sample container and instantly filled the tent with the smell of decay. If this wasn’t a plant, it might be from a carcass on the ocean floor. The winds from outside began to grow violent again. I placed the sample on the microscope tray, then turned to warm water for a cup of tea. I could hear the noises from outside like the night before. Howling and screeching noises from all around but my excitement for this new find distracted me plenty from worrying about the wind. I peeked into the microscope and saw- movement. Lots of movement. And not one shape of cell, but many. I grasped for air suddenly when the entirety of my tent was lit up from outside and the sides began to unravel slightly. The wind became so violent that I hadn’t even noticed the sound of a helicopter. A member of the response team burst through the opening of the tent and was startled I was even in here. “Hey, are you okay” “Y-yeah, I’m fine but, extraction isn’t for another 2 days what are you-“ “Were leaving. Now! In the chopper-“ He pointed out of the tent with his assault rifle and shouted again. “Now!” I grabbed the remaining sample from off the collection tray and slipped into my snow suit. We ran out of the tent and into bursting spotlights. I was helped into the helicopter and we began lifting off the ground before I could even put on a seat belt. As we lifted, the chopper blew snow off the worksite, and the tarp for the worksite as well. The cracks I seen earlier had grew so big that the machine used to drill the hole had slightly fallen in. I was informed that something had gone wrong. I was the only person alive from the five teams dispatched. One site had broken completely open, swallowing the worksite and scientist entirely. Another had sent a distress signal and when the response team arrived, they couldn’t find her. Instead what they found was a ten-foot trail of blood leading into the excavation hole, the entire inside coated with frozen blood as if she was dragged down. The response team quickly noticed the smell from the sample I had grabbed. It was confiscated immediately and I was told I’d be given credit for the find but would not be informed about any further research on the sample. When asked if I wanted to do another expedition, I declined. I took a cozy desk job instead. And though it’s been years since the incident, I still have dreams about the violent winds and I’m woken to the smell of decay.  Written By C.T.


\[UR\] It is a difficult task, that of dressing well, especially for exceptional occasions. It requires not only a sense of aesthetics and a good eye for detail, but also a perspective on how one is seen by others, a perspective no mirror can offer. One must be able to look at himself through the eyes of work colleagues, friends, and even by passers. That morning, Mr. Pearson made sure to dress at his best. Once showered and donning his undergarments, Mr. Pearson moved to his spacious albeit sparsely furnished bedroom, opened his wardrobe and meticulously inspected the hanging garments, pulling a brand new cotton shirt he had bought the week before, at his favorite grande boutique: the piece was white with thin pink stripes, traditional Italian collar and double French cuffs. For the cufflinks, he chose the model with a hexagonal shape in sterling silver and mother-of-pearl. A frivolous excess, to be sure, but one he could risk; you only live once after all. Covering the well-groomed shirt, his bespoke navy blue double-breasted suit, confected at a small *sartoria* tucked away at Via Solferino*.* The man who sold him the suit was an older gentleman at the time, probably long dead by now. Once Mr. Pearson entered the shop, out of curiosity rather than any compulsion to shop - although this was still his heyday, when money was not an issue - he was intrigued by the many pictures of men in colorful suits adorning the walls of the humble atelier, atypical for the Milanese style, and ended up spending four hours discussing cloth and cut with the owner. After only two fittings and three weeks, the gentleman had delivered Mr. Pearson the best bespoke suits he ever possessed, and for a quarter of the usual price. The navy blue one was the last remaining exemplar after almost a decade, but still fit him perfectly. For shoes, Mr. Pearson went with a pair of brown leather brogue boots. A gift from his now ex-wife for his 60th birthday, the year before. Mr. Pearson looked at himself in the mirror. He imagined his suits with epaulettes and thought to himself he would have made a fine admiral, like his father had wanted. He looked at the dresser to his right and saw, next to the stack of bills and promissory notes, coiled around the half-empty bottle of Four Roses like a beautiful and exotic viper ready to attack, a green *Hermés* polka dot tie. Perhaps even a fine statesmen, he thought. In another life, maybe. Mr. Pearson combed his hair, strapped on his golden-rimmed watch, and walked through the cloud of sprayed perfume in a careful way, so that every single molecule of the *eau de toilette* covered his body like a veil. He then moved resolute towards the large window in his living room, turned the now old, squeaky handles with his right hand and opened them completely. With his two hands, Mr. Pearson grabbed the outer edges of the window, cufflinks making a clicking sounds against the glass, and with his right brown leather brogue boot Mr. Pearson stepped up the window sill, then, in a somewhat untrained and careful movement, brought his left leg up. Standing on the ledge, Mr. Pearson buttoned his suit, pulled it down to fit the shoulders, and with a swift movement left his whole weight fall forward.


The first time she saw him was in his live stream. He was cute, funny, and a bit melancholy, like a prince from a classic fairy tale. She couldn't help but do the same again, her favorite thing: she used her skills to keep the camera in his computer on twenty-four hours a day without him noticing so she could see everything he was doing at all times. She saw him once again turn off his live feed, remove his makeup, and bare his frightening acne-filled skin, messy, shapeless hair, and dull eyes. There was nothing cute about it. But she kept sitting in front of the computer screen staring at him moment by moment, watching him take off his clothes, expose his body, change into pajamas that couldn't cover his bottom, get under the covers, and then stare at his phone and lose sleep. The light from the phone shone on his expressionless face in the darkness, making him look ugly and creepy. He flipped through the contents of his phone, tossing and turning. It was as if he was obsessed, because even though he looked extremely sleepy and kept rubbing his eyes hard from time to time, he still refused to put down his phone until the sunlight from the next day outside the window gradually entered his room, and then he finally gave in and closed those eyes. Still sitting motionless in front of the computer, she watched his sleeping face disappear behind the blankets from time to time, and then reappear half an hour later. She saw his eyeballs fluttering behind his eyelids. He was beginning to dream, she knew. She began to speculate about what was in that troubled dreams. What she looked forward to most was his weekly live broadcasts, the only time he would respond to the camera. She always arrived at his live stream on time, but never said a word to him, never revealed the secret beneath his heavy makeup. She liked to watch his cute face smiling at the screen, talking, upset every now and then. He never had more than ten people in his live room, and she was never absent. There were times when she was almost the only one left in his live room and he would continue his conversation, smiling. This would sometimes make her feel terrified. Anyway, she watched him finish his broadcast, remove his makeup, go under the covers in the dark, and then stay awake all night staring at the phone until the next morning. The same thing over and over every day. Her computer screen is always on 24 hours a day, and it's him and his messiest room on the screen. She is too different from him. Her room is organized and she doesn't allow any surface in her room to get dusty. If there is anything in common between them, it is that they stay in their rooms almost twenty-four hours a day every single day, eating, exercising, sleeping. He had no reason to go out, or dreaded going out. She was there just to see him, and therefore no longer had the intention of going out either. Yet that's not all there is to the story. She saw that he would always lose his voice every now and then in the darkness of the night after doing everything listlessly every day. At first she felt curious, she didn't quite understand why he would cry. It was only after watching many of his live shows that she gradually understood the source of his melancholy, his pain and his endless sense of deep loneliness. Gradually, she understood his past. Her curiosity about his helpless crying gradually turned into empathetic heartache from the beginning. She heard his cries in the darkness of the night emanating from the unsearchable face. She felt her heart tearing at times. She listened to every word he poured out into the night; listened to his deepest desire to be heard, to be understood, and to be seen; listened to his depressing memories, his helpless complaints, his rage, his despair. In his chest, which was repeatedly and strongly heaving with emotion, she saw her own heart. Finally, she fell deeply, for him. She wished she could give him everything he longed for, while doubting that she could do so. Doubt, she thought, where in her life had she ever doubted herself before? She felt afraid. She even felt more and more strongly the deep guilt for prying into his life without his consent for the very first time in her whole life. But what choice did she have not to do so? She knew he wouldn't love her, ever. If he knew the truth about everything she did, he would probably resent her, fear her, run away from her, and disappear from her world forever and ever. And now she longed more and more deeply than ever to see him and feel him every moment, so it became more and more difficult to take her eyes off her computer screen, and every time she peered at him, it always brought her stronger and stronger remorse, pain, guilt and insecurity. Finally, one day, the very first time in her whole life, she turned off the computer screen. Never once before had she turned off the computer screen she had used to spy on countless people. She thought doing so would cause her to fall into some dark abyss and meet her death, but now, she actually never wanted to turn it back on ever again. Gradually, for the first time, her oft-darkened room slowly became clear to her eyes. The dark, immaculate furniture gradually took shape. She stood up and drew back the curtains that had never ever been drawn once. She still missed him immensely, missed his smile, words and melancholy, deeply heartbroken for his tears and torment. While he didn't even know she existed at all. Did he not know? From the first day she peeked into his life, from the first time she listened to his agnony, he could feel, in the darkness, between all his emotions and the inmost passions of his soul and some vague, obsessive presence in the dark, there's a link that he had longed for. He was healed. For the first time in a long time, he and she walked out of the room together.