Wouldnt it be amazing to win the Lottery. I may not have won any significant money in any Lottery, but each and every one of us has won an amazing long shot lottery when we were born and we continue to win lotteries all through our lives. Not only did our sperm (One of millions produced by our fathers in their lifetime) make it to our particular egg which happened to be fertile and available at the time, but so did each and every one of our ancestors sperms and eggs in the same way down through our ancestral tree. When we say ancestral tree we are, each and every one of us on this earth, directly linked all the way back to some slimey primordal bunch of amino acids that first replicated in the warm clay sludge. That being the first pre-organism to survive and begat another just like itself. From these first twists of DNA forming and so on forward to the point where our first fish ancestor, finding that the pickings were pretty good in the very shallow shore mud, first pushed its eyes through the surface tension and looked around blurrily and went "Huh?!" Every one of those individuals in our ancestoral tree is also a total winner at life. Now that’s just the beginning of us. Add to this, the fact that before all those preceding generations had a chance to succeed, our earth had to first end up where it was at an appropriate distance from the sun with all the atoms and molecules required to seed the beinning of life. Those odds are, amazingly, even more astronomical. So that's the begat, begat, begat timeline. Along the way these same ancestors and ourselves have had to win lotteries on so many occasions just to survive. Any one single event; and ther have been thousands of them spread back along my ancestoral line, could have gone the othor way and I wouldnt be here. One single event could have wiped out my entire family tree and so so many more who share that tree. But my branch is my branch and I am here. Take, for one single example, an event in my time line around 1918, during World War I, before my grandfather had sired my father. My Grandfather was laying in a ditch on the side of the road in Lithuania. He was bleeding profusely from bullet wound in his thigh, with a shattered femur where a Russian sniper who had been positioned in the Church steeple up the road had almost succeeded in interrupting my family winning streak. His neighbour, a farmer and fellow freedom fighter, had dragged him into the ditch but now lay dead across him, with an exploded skull. That particular branch of his family tree was pruned when his head and the trajectory of another of the snipers bullets had coincided and all potential decsendants were snuffed out. Another Russian soldier walked up the road and as he passed heard my grandfathers moans. He stood in the embankment above him, laughing at his predicament and deciding to have some fun. He lifted his rifle and aimed it at my granfathers head. He fired and the bullet smashed into the dirt next to his head. The soldier cursed and reloaded but this time took his time taking aim. He fired and the bullet, and again it smashed into the dirt next to my grandfathers head. The soldier was furious now. Taking two steps forward he tried again and missed again. By now he was apopleptic with rage and stood directly over my Grandfather. He took forever to lining up the bead on his rifle (he wasnt going to miss this time) but when he fired, the gun jammed. Cursing loudly in Russian, he struggled to unjam the gun, jerking the cocking handle back and forth but with no success. So in frustration the soldier drew his dagger from its sheath and proceeded towards the very edge of the ditch to climb down. Suddenly, the sounds of approaching gunfire nearby distracted him. His head jerked up and glancing over his shoulder, he turned, ducking down and ran off up the road to seek cover. And now, here I am in my office in Australia in 2021. My daughter is working in the office next to mine and its my Sons 15 and 16th birthdays yesterday and tomorrow. Lifes a complete lottery every step of the way. And we are all the winners.


Cassidie had always hated Thursdays. A few lucky teenagers spent their weeknights pouring over homework or watching YouTube videos. Most others were out hunting Unnaturals, experimenting in labs with Unnatural compounds, or researching them in hopes of becoming a scientist. Everyone was involved with Unnaturals somehow. Cassidie didn't get that luxury. Instead, she got to spend every night sitting at the reception desk of Delilah's Funeral Home and Casket Emporium. Cassidie had no idea why it was called Delilah's. The owner, her father, certainly wasn't named Delilah. her late mother hadn't been either. As far as Cassidie was aware, there was absolutely no good reason to have it named as such. She had petitioned multiple times that her father change it to something that made more sense. Maybe Eli's Funeral Home and Casket Emporium , since that was his name. Nevertheless, the nonexistent Delilah reigned supreme, and so her name stayed on the sign above the door. When Cas's father died, she had thought for a moment about changing the business's name. A moment later she had sworn at herself for even thinking such a thing. It would have tarnished his memory, and she could never bring herself to do that. It wasn't as though the funeral home got much business. That may have been due in part to the fact Delilah's Funeral Home and Casket Emporium wasn't. There wasn't a single casket in the entire building, and there certainly weren't embalming fluids of recently deceased corpses. There were long-dead corpses, but those were in the catacombs beneath the basement and had been there for over two hundred years. Instead of ensuring that the corpses of the recently dead had safe passage to the family's cemetery of choice and a nice casket, the business was more of a halfway house. Cassidie had mentioned this to a classmate once. He had looked confused and asked who for, but Cassidie decided that he wasn't exactly worth it, and refused to tell him. Even with all that fun stuff, Thursdays sucked. Those were the days when she had to grant safe passage to the spirits who came through. More than once, she had seen the face of a childhood friend or a classmate go by, and every time it broke her heart. For months afterward, she would be quieter, more subdued. Then, when things finally seemed to be getting better, she would see another familiar face. And then they would be gone. Passing ceremonies always left Cass feeling abandoned. It was foolish to grow attached to spirits, but seeing people she knew and loved die was more than she could bear some days. The first time she had said goodbye had been when she was four years old. Her next-door neighbor and best friend had been caught in a fire that killed her entire family. Cassidie had screamed in terror the first time she saw her neighbor's ghost, but her mother had calmed her and guided her through the passage-granting ceremony. For a while, passage ceremonies became a normal thing for Cass. But then her mother had died, and Cass had been the only one who was a stable enough anchor to guide her into the spirit world. For almost two years afterward, she hadn't been able to look at anything that reminded her of her mom, including her own father. During that time she stayed with friends on the outskirts of the city. Eventually, she had to come back, but things had been different ever since. When she finally came back, she made friends with a spirit in limbo; a little girl named Melinoe. The only way for a spirit to be stuck in limbo is for a said spirit to have an unfulfilled purpose on the planet. Melinoe had been twelve years old when she died in a car crash. Her parents had survived, but Melione's father succumbed to guilt and killed his wife in a murder-suicide. "Hey, Cass!" said a disembodied voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Cassidie's head snapped up and she caught sight of the blue little girl in front of her. With a grin, Cassidie jumped over the receptionist's desk and hugged her spectral friend. That was one of the few perks of being a Necromancer: she could touch ghosts. "Melinoe! How're you doing?" The specter smiled shyly. "I've been alright. I brought a few new spirits by last night. You weren't here though." Cassidie flinched "Sorry about that. Mrs. Villegas assigned a three-page essay entirely in Spanish. I had to write the whole thing in two hours. You know how she gets when I don't turn in my work." The blue girl cracked a smile. "I know, I know! 'Ms. McFarland, you may be a Necromancer, but that doesn't excuse you from doing your work! Write to me thirteen verbs conjugated in the past participle form'." Melinoe burst into giggles before she could finish, and it didn't take long for Cassidie to follow suit. It took a while, but eventually, the two girls calmed down. Cassidie looked over at Melinoe, who had gone dead silent and was picking at her wisps of fingernails. "You aren't usually this... noisy," Cass noticed. "Is everything okay?" Melinoe looked up, phantom tears pooling in her hollow eyes. "Oh, Cass. I... I got approved." The all too familiar feeling of abandonment and emptiness spread through Cass's chest in a pang of pain. She had prayed that this day wouldn't come. It was too much to bear, the loss of another friend. She silently cursed herself for growing attached once more. When she finally spoke, Cass could barely keep the tears from her voice. "That... that's amazing, Meli. When is your ceremony?" The other girl's voice was small. "Today." Cass could feel Meli's hesitance and tried to take a deep breath. "O-oh. I guess I'll get the candles. Do you want to meet me in the basement?" Meli smiled softly. "If you say so. Thank you, Cass." She hugged Cass fiercely, her face buried into Cass's shoulder. "Thank you." -------------------------------------------------------------------- Cass burst into tears the second Meli floated through the wall of the room and into the basement. She couldn't think, couldn't move. For years, Cass had given Meli the cold shoulder. She had tried with all her might not to be connected to the girl. After long enough, she had given up and the two had become friends. It seemed like Meli would never move onto the spirit world. But the day had come, and Cass would be alone again. Cass's finger stumbled across the shelves of wax, finally coming to rest on the only candle she had never been able to use. Her mother had given it to her when she was young. One day, this candle will find its place. But that is up to you. Keep this and hold it sacred. She slid the candle into a canvas bag, alongside multiple others. Little glass vials filled with plants and herbs- anemone, basil, bluebells, holly, ivy, mandrake- were held in a leather pouch. She closed the canvas bag and moved from the storage cabinet. Cass's movement was slowed by her grief, feet scraping across the floor as she walked. Though it took a long time, she headed the basement, where Melinoe hovered silently with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Behind her, a blue and black vortex swirled calmly. Cass kept the sacred silence of the Passage room as she set the candles aflame. Her fingers lingered for a moment on her mother's candle before letting go. It would be time soon. The dried herbs and flowers filled the room with their scents, coming together into a beautiful aroma. She looked to Meli and nodded. A wind swept through the room, circling around Cass. As her eyes glazed over, she began to recite the words that had become a mantra to her. With the silence held sacred And the memory of days old Here we gather to witness the passage Of a friend into the eternal field I ask, O great spirits For your arms to stay open To you I entrust this souls Whose name is Melinoe Roman Take this gentle child Into you loving hands And bless her travels now Through the eternal light Her voice caught for a moment. The usual three stanzas had come easily, but now she remembered that there was another option. To add a personal touch. She had never done it before. But today she would. Her voice trembled as she spoke. Melinoe, my closest friend, I wish you safest travels You have brought me nothing but joy these past years And I know that you will find peace Though I shall miss you until the day that I die I shall hold you in my heart For you are my friend My confidant, my sister And my love for you shall never die Like the stars in the sky, my love shall burn on Even when I am gone, I shall love you For eternity and more Goodbye Tears pooled in both girl's eyes as Melinoe was drawn toward the vortex. "Thank you, Cass. Thank you." Cas smiled. "Goodbye. May your days be long and your peace be eternal." "Goodbye."


Sat at my computer desk in a steady stream of daylight, my stomach growled. It was another day in lockdown with no food in the house. "See you in a bit alright?" The shout came from the porch, followed shorty by the slamming front door and crunch of the keyhole. I hope he's quick, I thought as my stomach growled again. "Bloody lockdown. Can't do anything anymore." I text my girlfriend in frustration. "I know it sucks, seeing you this weekend tho <3 <3" I entered the lobby again and matched into a fresh game; anything to distract myself from the relentless boredom while I waited for my flatmate to return with the Subway. It was the middle of the second game when I heard the bathroom door close and the metal latch slide. I lifted up the headphones from my ears, "Yo, you back?" I called through my bedroom door. No answer. "Yo!" I yelled. "James?" Still nothing. I figured he'd probably come back for a quick piss and left again. Ignoring me while in a rush was something he did all the time so I didn't think much of it. I stuck my headphones back in and resumed my game. About half an hour and a few games later, I got the urge to piss; this morning's coffee going through me. I finished my current game and did a desperate walk across the hall to the bathroom. I tried the handle: locked. "James, are you there?" Surely he couldn't still be in there. "JAMES!" I yelled. Still no answer. Just to double check it was actually locked, I twisted the handle again. Yeah, it was. Had he passed out? "JAMES!" I screamed again. I was about to shoulder barge the door when something stopped me; an idea that made me shudder and back away slightly. What if it wasn't James? That would explain the no answering, and the getting home early. I very quietly tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled a knife from the wooden stand, returning a moment later with it out front. Was there really a stranger in the house? I asked myself. What if James is in some kind of medical trouble? Either way, I needed to find out. I pressed my cheek to the wood and tried to listen. When I heard no sound, I kicked the door. Then I leant back for some leg space and kicked it again, as hard as I could. The panels bended and bulged, but breaking down a door was apparently a lot harder than in the movies. Nevertheless, I kept kicking. Something strange stirred up inside of me. I don't know whether it was the boredom, the hunger, lockdown, isolation, the situation, general daily frustration, or something else, but something awakened within me; a sudden bloodlust that was ready for a fight and didn't care about the possible danger. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as my foot smashed into the flimsy wooden panels. I was ready to slice whatever was on the other side of this door into tiny pieces. After many dozen kicks the lock was dangling down from the handle with a two inch opening. I was about to give it the final push, when I hear the front door open and my flatmate's voice calling upstairs, "I'm back!" His voice brought me to my senses and I suddenly turned and ran downstairs, ushering him out. "We need to call the police." I explained. "There's a stranger in the bathroom." "I have something to tell you as well." My flatmate said with a glint in his eye. "Chloe couldn't wait for the weekend so she wanted to surprise you. I knew she was coming down today and I told her to hide in the bathroom. I thought it would be funny." I looked down at the large kitchen knife still in my hand, feeling the weight of my chest as it moved up and down, trying not to imagine what I could have done to my girlfriend had the door been just a little weaker.


Did you remember to lock the door? Before you answer that, I want you to really think about it. One, or maybe two of you, might have actually checked the locks as soon as you read the title. Maybe some of you habitually lock the door as soon as you get home. Twisting the deadbolt and hooking the chain just come as second nature. Did you notice anything out of place? Anything that could lead you to believe you aren’t alone? Would you even notice? What about the windows? There was a girl, and this was years ago, who did all the right things. She double checked the locks, walked through the parking lot with her keys between her fingers, always made sure her mace was in her purse, and always checked the back seat before driving home. Her friends on the night shift called her uptight, paranoid, and mistrustful. She called it being carful. She thought she was so carful. Here’s the thing though; None of us are as carful as we think we are. She always took the same route home, she always left the house and came back at the same time, you could set your watch to it. Her life was just so structured. It only took me a few days before I had her schedule memorized. That bat she kept near the front door? I moved it three different times, and she never even noticed. Not to mention the fact that she lived alone and didn’t have a dog. Does anyone watch the news anymore? The world is scary place. I knew that she kept a spare key underneath a rock near the gutter of the garage. It was a clever hiding spot, but it was easy to find. I could’ve easily just used the spare, but I didn’t want this to be easy, I wanted a challenge. I wanted the thrill of nearly getting caught. I’ve picked my fair number locks in my day (they’ll let anyone be locksmith nowadays) but where’s the fun in that? She had a sliding glass door that led to her back porch. More specifically she had a sliding glass door with a Legacy keyed handle set. If you pry at the seams just right the entire handle and lock will fall apart, and it’s only a matter of getting the right super glue to put back together. It only took me a matter of minutes to break in, and that was the hard part. After that I just unlocked all the windows. She never checked the windows. After that, after I actually had an *IN*, It was just a matter of time before I made my move. I would go into more detail, but I don’t want any of the more intuitive members of this subreddit catching onto my trail. You’ll just have to settle for this vague version, good luck even guessing the state. I didn’t come here to brag, in fact she was the best case scenario for a mark. No nosey neighbors, single, no dogs. No, I came here because I’m bored. You guys make it too easy. There’s no chase anymore, no slow build up and pay off. What ever happened to the nosey suburban housewife who’s always sticking their nose in places they don’t belong? The annoying neighborhood watchmen who couldn’t make the cut for the local police department? The little old ladies who have nothing better to do other than watch the street all day? God I’m Bored! Now, I’ll ask you again, And I’ll write it all in caps for the simple ones among you; DID YOU LOCK THE DOOR? How about the windows? Did you check to see if that door you rarely use hasn’t been tampered with? You’d be surprised at how many people will leave a side door in disrepair before actually getting fixed. Did you check? Do you feel safe now? Were you ever really worried? But here’s a little follow up question for the clever and the careful; When you unlocked the door when you got home, did you notice how loose the lock felt? Did it glide a bit smoother than usual? Was it actually locked? Did you notice that the big knife in the cutting block was missing? I know you’ve been eating out more often nowadays, work’s been hard lately, and all you want to do when you get home is order fast food, sit on the couch in your pajamas, and watch reruns of scrubs on Netflix. One last question, and don’t worry, it’s an easy one. Did you just lock me out? Or did you just lock me in? I’ll see you soon.


She knew when the anniversary was approaching. The weather changed in September. The oppressive heat of summer lifted, and the winds swept down from Oklahoma bringing slightly cooler air. Texas didn’t have a very distinct autumn season, but it did have a very definite football season. Jenna hated the start of the school year. While everyone was buying school supplies, Jenna retreated from her friends and family, hiding in her little house on South Park Street. The only thing different about this year was ten years had passed and the invitation sitting on her dining room table sat mocking her. The missive requested her presence at the class of 1995’s high school reunion. Jenna knew how long it had been. A reminder of that fateful night was due to get off the bus in 20 minutes. Jenna knew that wasn’t fair to think. Her daughter was a blessing and the love of her life. She also thoroughly loved being a mother. She would never wish her daughter away. Her phone shrilled making her jump. This would be the fifth unanswered call from her mother today. She didn’t want to talk to her. It was 4:30 pm and work wouldn’t be an excuse for the missed calls anymore. She now knew what had prompted the call. Her mother would want her to come home for the reunion, but Jenna didn’t go home. She didn’t take her daughter to the town that’d betrayed her. Her phone rang again. Jenna picked it up this time. “Hello,” she said with agitation ringing in her voice. “Jenna, I have been calling you all day,” Doris’s shrill voice echoed over the line. “I have been working all day, mother.” Jenna carried the phone to her bedroom to change out of her flour-covered clothing. “Don’t you ever get a day off or is that job still working you to death?” Jenna rolled her eyes. She could see her mother’s pinched face in her mind. “I don’t know why you don’t move closer, being a baker isn’t a career and I could help take care of Samantha.” Jenna sighed. The last thing she wanted to do today was have this conversation with her mother. It was one she’d had a million times. “Did you call to criticize my career and my efforts as a parent, or did you need something?” She winced when her mother responded. Her mother harrumphed. “Jenna Carson, you will not speak to your mother that way.” “Yes, mother. I apologize.” She didn’t want to be talking to her mother at all. She wanted to change clothes and make her daughter dinner. Jenna cherished her evenings with Samantha. The phone calls from her mother were few and far between these days but they usually ended in a slamming headache for Jenna. “Good. Now, are you coming home for the reunion?” Jenna had known that was coming. “Why would I do that?” She asked with more confidence than she felt. She could feel her head beginning to throb. “You have to, it's expected.” Her mother blustered. “Why?” Jenna knew why. One did not disappoint the matrons of Bregman, Texas. In the small town of nine thousand, her mother was a pillar. “I haven’t been back there in ten years and I have no desire to see anyone from my graduating class.” “You are expected to show your face. I will not let you hide behind the skirts of your Aunt Margaret.” Jenna snapped her teeth together. That was really going too far. Her mother knew what buttons to push. She’d been the one to send her away to her Aunt six hours away from the place she grew up. Her aunt’s calming love had been what had gotten her through her pregnancy and subsequent birth. She was grateful to her mother for that much. “Sam’s home, mother. I have to go.” Sam was not home but it was a good excuse. “Fine. But I expect you to make an appearance, Jenna Lynn.” She hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. She hated it when her mother called her that. It took her right back to that time in her life. She stepped closer to the mirror and examined the long scar at her hairline. She ran her fingers over it gingerly remembering the night she’d received it. That laceration had been the least of her pain. It was the homecoming game against Nassau High School. A 17-year-old Jenna Carson waved her pom-poms in the air as Tom Pearce threw the final touchdown of the game. Her blonde ponytail bobbed up and down as she cheered. “Jenna, are you going to Dalton’s party tonight?” Sherice Toller asked, not even pretending to care about the game. Jenna shrugged her slim shoulders. “Maybe.” Sherice was her best friend and a known party-girl. Her mother cautioned her to stay away from Sharice. She argued that to be around her would ruin her reputation, but Jenna had rolled her eyes. “You have to. You know Tom and the guys will be there.” Sherice nudged her playfully as they packed their cheer bags. “And Tom is way into you. He totally told Jake to tell me that he wanted you at the party.” Jenna blushed a little. Tom was the quarterback and already had a full ride to Texas A&M for football. To say that Tom was a god in Bregman was an understatement. “No, he doesn’t,” she said rolling her eyes. “He does! And I have the perfect skirt for you to wear.” Jenna followed Sherice to her green Toyota. By the time Sherice finished with her hair, makeup, and outfit, Jenna thought she looked like a trollop. Her mother would kill her for wearing a skirt that short. Sherice thought she looked hot, so she went with it. Normally, Jenna would not have worn anything like that, but she wanted Tom to notice her tonight. She’d had a crush on him since the 8th grade. He was a local hero and way out of her league. Jenna wasn’t unpopular but she wasn’t royalty like Tom was. Her all-American looks and laid-back personality made her well-liked amongst her peers. But Tom’s father was the head of the local bank where her father worked, and he was untouchable. The townspeople worshipped him and his ‘rocket arm’ that took the Bregman Bulls to the State Championship last year. Jenna tried to settle her nerves as they entered Dalton’s house. It was a crush and she had to walk sideways to get to the keg in the kitchen. This was no small feat in her 4-inch red heels. Sherice pumped the tap and squeezed foamy beer into two red Solo cups. Sherice gripped her arm and pointed. When Jenna’s brown eyes landed on Tom’s 6-foot 4-inch muscled form, Jenna’s world moved in slow motion. His friends enveloped him as he took shots of clear liquor with the rest of the football team. She swept her long blonde hair back and away from her face. Tom slammed down his shot glass and yelled as Brady Johnson, Darren Smallware, Jared Morgan and Jake Pavelski cheered him on. Sherice jerked her hand and pulled her over to the group. “Want to pour one for us?” Sherice asked in a baby voice, teasing them. “Hell yeah,” Tom said as he raked his eyes up and down Jenna’s body. Jenna took a step back as the smell of tequila wafted from the group. Jenna didn’t mind drinking beer, but she typically stayed away from hard spirits. She couldn’t get past the smell to drink the stuff. The music pumped around them as another round was poured and a plastic shot glass was shoved into her hand. She held her nose and drank the shot. Tom watched her with glee as she let the hot liquid burn down her throat. Sherice whooped and dragged Jake out of the kitchen to dance. Tom leaned toward her and licked her ear. Jenna was appalled. She swiped at her ear and laughed nervously. “Want to dance?” He grabbed her arms and pulled her around him, swaying with her. The guys whooped and cheered around her, jumping to the music. Jenna felt lightheaded as she tried to step back from Tom. He pulled her close and whispered, “You know how hot you look tonight. Stop teasing me.” The dizzying feeling was threatening to overtake her, and she leaned against him. She wanted to push away from him, but her arms felt like Jello. Tom grabbed her hand and yanked her hard. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but the music pounded in her head so loud she had to close her eyes. “Where’s Sharice?” Had that been her voice? Her lips felt numb. Tom just laughed. Jenna looked around not recognizing her surroundings. It was dark and her skin chilled from the night air. Tom stripped off his blue letter jacket and tossed it to Jared. She vaguely registered someone’s hands on her arms. She tried to pull away but was held still. Jenna felt confused and afraid not understanding what was happening to her body. She felt disconnected and out of control. “No,” she whined quietly as Tom shoved his hand up her skirt. When his tongue entered her mouth, Jenna bit down on him and tasted blood. Tom yelled and raised his ‘rocket arm’. “Bitch!” The last thing she remembered was Tom’s angry black eyes, sharp pain in her head, and then nothing. The shaking woke Jenna. Something warm and sticky was covering her eyes. She tried to lift her arm, but it weighed too much. She registered the pain emanating throughout her body. She forced herself to roll over as the bile rose in her throat. Her fingers gripped the wet grass as she emptied her stomach. It hurt to vomit. She tried to make sense of her surroundings. She wiped her eyes and looked at her hand. Dark blood streaked her palm. The sun was peaking over the horizon giving the sky a purple-pink hue. The grass underneath was wet from the dew of the morning. Her borrowed clothes were torn and awry. She had scratch marks on her hands and arms. Jenna began to shake harder as she tried to piece the events of last night together. She remembered taking the shot of tequila. Her stomach churned remembering. She was on the side of the road. No cars passed at this early hour. She wanted to get home. Her body screamed with pain as she tried to rise. The dizziness overtook her, and she fell back down into the grass. She looked down and saw the blood between her legs. Jenna began to cry as the picture came together in her mind. Flashes of Jared, Darren, Brady, and Tom’s faces hovering over her moved through her mind. She laid back down in the grass and curled into the fetal position sobbing. Jenna couldn’t bring herself to think of the word. She couldn’t process what they’d done to her. She felt the world go fuzzy at the edges as she fainted. The sun was hovering over the horizon when she opened her eyes again. She needed to get home. Her mother would be worried. She pushed herself up wincing from the pain. She was sore in places she’d never felt pain before. She understood with sadness that last night had been her introduction to sex and it was horrendous. She made her way across the cotton field stretching down the side of the empty highway. She could see an old farmhouse in the distance. Four hours later, she sat in her bedroom in fresh clothes, scrubbed clean from a hot shower. Her mother insisted she didn’t need stitches in her head, but Jenna wasn’t so sure. She’d felt shame when she told her mother what happened. Her mother didn’t believe her. She called Sharice who didn’t believe her either. Her father blanched but walked away without a response. Jenna was alone in her humiliation and grief. No one believed her. No one questioned that the football hero and small-town god would do such a thing. Jenna stopped going to school when the ‘boys will be boys’ talk started. Her cuts healed and her body recovered. When Jenna discovered she was pregnant, her mother ignored her but had been clearly furious. Jenna knew that her mother blamed her as if she had been careless in her actions and gotten pregnant by choice. She rarely made eye contact with her mother during those first 8 weeks. Later, her mother pressured her to get an abortion, but Jenna couldn’t do it. Even though her child was conceived through force, she couldn’t kill it. Her mother made her return to school after she healed. Those were the worst days. People whispered and kids called her a whore and a slut. The teachers looked at her with pity in their eyes. The group of boys who’d raped her acted as if nothing happened. Destroying her life had been nothing to them. Her mother sent her to Austin to live with her Aunt Margaret when she began to show at 5 months. Her mother and father could no longer ignore what was so obvious. Jenna worked hard and graduated early. And she’d never looked back. Jenna stepped back from the mirror and shook her head. She didn’t often let herself remember the events of that nights with such clarity. It was just something that happened to her and when the fall season came tiptoeing in, she relied on her aunt and her daughter to give her strength. Jenna jumped as the front door slammed open. Sam bounded through with her usual exuberance. “Mom!” “Back here,” Jenna called from her bedroom. Sam came springing through the door. Jenna scooped her into a tight hug. When she pulled back, she looked at her daughter’s soft brown eyes and marveled at her creation. Her little person. Her blonde hair escaped from her ponytail as if she’d been playing hard. Sam was the spitting image of herself at that age. She was thankful for that. “Mom, I’m trying out for soccer,” she said breathlessly. “You are?” Jenna smiled softly at her and sniffed back her tears. “Yes! The PE coach said I was really fast and had good...” she paused chewing on her lip in thought, “eyes and hands coordinator?” “Hand-eye coordination.” Her daughter nodded emphatically. Chasing Sam into the dining room, she watched as she shuffled through the mail. She held up the reunion invitation. “Are we going to see Grandma?” Sam said this was disdain. Jenna smiled sardonically. “Absolutely not.” She took out pots and pans to make dinner. “Good. I don’t like seeing Grandma.” Sam tossed the invitation in the trash can and climbed onto the barstool. “I know. I don’t either,” she said with a chuckle. Jenna looked at the invitation sitting disregarded in the trash can as Sam chatted away. The simple act of tossing it in the trash made her feel like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She loved her life. She had everything she needed right here. She didn’t want to know how all of her old classmates lived; she didn’t care. She would not give them the satisfaction of gossip ever again. She would never subject her daughter to the horror that Bregman used to hold for her. Someday, Samantha would ask about her parentage and she would need to have an answer but not today. She heaved a happy sigh and brushed a hand down Sam’s cheek. Nothing and no one mattered except this. Jenna was confident that this anniversary, she would be happy. She was done letting her memories haunt her.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! 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’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Image: ** **Bonus Constraint (not required; worth 5 pts.) - Use at least three of the following words in your story:** - metal - canopy - keelhauling - telltale - liar - fixated This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.). The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works - **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, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** You have until 2pm EST Monday to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. 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.) - **If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.** Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire & Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal 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! - Nominations are made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points (required) - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***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 user nominations:** 5 points (total) - **Bonus Constraint:** 5+ points (sometimes more) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out by u/FyeNite as an example.   *** #Rankings Before we jump into the rankings, let’s talk about feedback. I’ve noticed that there are quite a few writers who go *above and beyond* each week providing in-depth crits to the other writers. You are so appreciated! So starting this week, I will be awarding “Crit Creds” to those users, which can be redeemed on r/WPCritique. Okay, back to your regularly scheduled rankings... - - Submitted by u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/merbaum   - - Submitted by u/wileycourage *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


The last thing she saw before passing out, was her partners pail white face... “This is gonna be awesome, I can’t wait, we are so gonna win this”,Quinn said with excitement, packing her large army fatigue bag and tossing it over her back. Quinn Lambert has been a adventurous child and grew to be a very enthusiastic woman. She had began mountain climbing when she was only 7 years old and mud races when she was 10. She loved snakes and other slimy reptiles and considered herself a tomboy due to her boyish ways. She never liked dresses and very much hated makeup. Her parents were a homosexual couple so they didn’t mind that their daughter dressed differently or didn’t act like a average girl, therefor they decided to put her in an all girls charter school. There she met the love of her life, Alice Coleman. Her pretty blond hair always swayed past her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkles like clear Crystal ocean. She was just beautiful. They had began dating and have been together ever since. Now that they were adults, Quinn was ready to have this adventure with her. ”I’m not so sure about this, are you sure this is safe”? ”I’m positive” ”okay but you know I’m scared of heights and you know I have bad PTSD” Quinn caressed Alice’s soft face and spoke. ”As long as you don’t look down and stay by my side you will be fine, I promise“ she kissed her forehead and with that, they hopped into their Jeep and drove to where the contest had began. The drive took about 3 hours, the hot sun beaming on the hoodless Jeep. It was as if the vehicle would stop mid drive and melt into dusty street. Alice couldn’t stand this heat while Quinn on the other hand, was not too worried about the heat. No, she was more concerned about the contest and most importantly, winning. They had eventually made it and boy were they relieved. They parked their car, grabbed their bags and began to walk towards the host. He spoke. ”Hello there, Are you hear for the wilderness mountain contest”? Quinn spoke for the both of them. ”Yes we are, I hope we’re not late or anything”. ”oh no, he said, your right on time, may I ask for your names”. lucky for them, they had filled out their applications online so they wouldn’t have to worry about waiting in a painfully long line while the host would have to search their names up. “Quinn Lambert and Alice Coleman, sir. ”ok... let me check, hm hmm, Oh their you guys are, y’all good” The host pointed them to towards their stations, where they could set up and get ready. On their way they passed a very short woman and what looked like her brother due to some similarities in the face area. They also passed two more couples, a male couple, and a married couple. Quinn glared at each of them noticing so many strengthens each couple had. From heavy build muscle toned bodies, to some of them even having go-pro cameras on their head. Gearing up and preparing for the most dangerous hike their ever was. As Quinn thought to herself” would I be looking death in the face.. No No I am a survivor. I am tough. I AM Quinn”. although Quinn knew she had this in the bag, something inside of her was kicking her gut. Her inner self had a feeling. Your not gonna make it. she shook her head, trying to remove those thoughts and focus on winning the $1,000. The host began to explain the rules of contest. ”No cheating“ ”No shortcuts” ”Only follow the path given” ”and finally have fun” One of the other players on another team began to ask a question. ”But like what if one our teammates get injured or dies?” ”then you will be disqualified and your teammate will be immediately rushed to a hospital” The other players began to scowl in disgust as those filled their ears. Quinn didn’t mind, because she knew. She knew she and Alice were gonna be fine. She knew that she Had to win, and that’s what her intentions were. She kept that in mind the whole time the host was speaking. Alice was just paying attention to what the host had been saying. She peering at Quinn, wondering why she had a blank expression on her face. Yes, she knew Quinn would daydream randomly, but it would be for a reason. But for this particularly situation, Alice was a little puzzled but simply ignored it from that point on. The host stated that they had to wait due to some difficulties. Quinn just didn’t mind. Alice wanted to go home. An hour went passed and by that time the sun was already about to set. Than all of a sudden a loud boom sound scared everyone either out of a nap or caught them by surprise. “Alright contestants, Are you guys ready for your adventurous and dangerous journey”? “Heck yeah”, said one of the power couples. Moans came from the remaining team players. Some stretched, and some yawned. Some were already pumped and some were just ready to go home. Quinn checked her watch. 4:30 p.m. It was time for the competition to hopefully (finally) start. As the sound of another boom blasted through everyone’s eardrums, that was the signal that it was time. And with the third boom, the couples were off on the trail. While the other competitors took the right path, Quinn suggested that take a short cut, to get ahead of everyone else. “Um.. I don’t really think this is a good idea, we are gonna get disqualified” “We will not get disqualified, plus the other teams won’t even care or notice” “Okay but what if they have cameras watching us, testing us, to see if we are gonna break the rules”. Quinn looked at her with the funniest expression. She began to speak in a mocking voice. “So their really gonna have cameras watching us, in the dead wilderness”? Alice began to chuckle. “I guess not”. “Exactly”. They both chuckled and went on the path. Eventually it got dark so they found a resting place and set up for camp. After a few minutes of setting up, Alice got settled and comfortable in her tent and went fast asleep. While Quinn on the hand, was sitting in front of the camp fire. With a blank expression. This is a bad idea. Go Home! Quinn tried to think hard but all she could hear was a small voice repeating the same thing over and over and over again. Your not gonna make. Your not gonna make it. Your not gonna make. She was getting more and more frustrated as the voice grew more and more louder. Your not gonna make! Your not gonna make it! YOUR NOT GONNA MAKE IT!. She snapped, punching a piece of burning fire wood. “Shit”. Alice than jumped out of her sleep, startled by the sound of her wife muffled cries in pain. She opened the tent and saw that Quinn’s hand was bleeding. “Babe what happens to your hand?” “Nothing I’m fine”, she replied,”I was uh.. trying to kill something and accidentally punched the log”. Alice just brushed it off and went back to sleep. Quinn soon did to. -------------------------------------------------------------------- It was the next morning and luckily for Alice, who was not a morning person, didn’t have to worry about the sun because the trees were blocking it. She yawned but quickly had a realization. Where is Quinn? She jumped up quickly and exited the tent hesitantly. She began to yell. “Quinn”! “Quinn where are you”! Suddenly she could hear her voice. She turned and saw her walking back towards the camp site. Alice quickly jumped on her, hugging her tightly, making Quinn drop almost everything. “I was worried about you, where did you do”? “Sheesh calm down, I went to get supplies for the rest of way”. Alice was skeptical about where the supplies had came from. “Um where did you get it from”. “Don’t worry about that, we should continue”. Alice didn’t bother putting up an argument, so she just packed the camping equipment and they began their walk again. For the first time in a while, Alice actually enjoyed nature. The pretty birds with their colorful feathers. Just the color of the forest itself made it majestic. Besides the mud and frogs. But something wasn’t right. As they began to walk farther into the forest, Alice started to notice the other teams equipment and supplies. She also noticed blood but she didn’t want to let Quinn know because she knew that she would make it seem like she was paranoid. eventually they made it to a fork in the road. It went both ways, One way leading to a path another a cliff. Quinn got curious. “Hey you wanna take some pictures on the cliff before we continue”? Alice was hesitant at first because of her very bad fear of heights, but finally gave in. They took the path that lead to the cliff not realizing that, that would be the worst mistake they had ever made. After passing some signs that clearly said No Trespassing! They eventually made it to the cliff. Quinn stepped closer to the edge, grasping onto Alice’s hand, pulling her closer. Quinn took a sniff and inhaled the beautiful fresh air. “It’s beautiful up here, don’t you think”? “Um yeah, sure”. “come on you gotta face your fear at some point, why not now”. Quinn nudged Alice closer but as she got closer her heart was beating at a rapid pace. She felt like she was gonna pass out. And with that she snapped. “Okay Quinn that’s enough”. “Alright jeez I’m sorry”. Quinn hugged her tightly and they went back toward the same direction they had came from. 2 days went by, which wasn’t a bad thing due to the fact that the website had said “this content may take a number of days to complete”. But in between the hours of those two days were actually pretty decent. Berry picking, flowing collecting, laughs, giggles, kisses and more. They had never felt this close before. Alice although still was a little skeptical about the other teams but Quinn Insured that they were fine. The last day, something came over Alice and she looked at Quinn with a smile. “I think I want to go back to the cliff”. Quinn nearly choked with a surprised look on her face. “Are you sure”? “Yeah I’m sure”. So after two hours of walking and taking breaks, they had finally made it to the cliff. Alice sat by a tree and Quinn followed. Just then she had an idea. She pulled out a large black pocket knife and carved her and Alice’s Initials into the tree. This would be their happiest place. The one place they felt more connected with and around including being more connected to each other. Alice stood up, her back facing the edge. Quinn also stood up and they hugged tightly. “I love you Quinn” “I love you too Alice” Alice stepped back and tripped over a bunch of gravel and a vine hidden under the surface of the earth. Quinn caught her hand and gripped the ground with her feet. She held tightly onto Alice’s hand, trying to pull as hard as she could. But her boots were no match for weak gravel they had walked. They both heard the the ground break. They both felt the pressure. And with quinn’s foot letting go of the vine, both of them eyes filled with tears, they said to one another.... “I love you” And with that they both fell of the cliff together and both hit the ground with a thud. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Quinn open her eyes, she felt for what she had landed on. A bush. She looked over but the last thing she saw before passing out, was her partners pail white face. Quinn woke up in the hospital. Her neck and back filled with Excruciating pain. She examined the hospital room and noticed the doctor and guy in a black suit. The must have noticed the she was looking because he came walking towards her with a concerned look on his face. He began to speak. “Well looks awake, well I guess you might be wondering why your in here, well I’ll tell you”. He then began to explain. “After you and your partner fell off the cliff, the people who had negotiated and or had something to do with that contest, had placed trackers in your backpack. When you fell they lost the signal so they tried to follow and trace the last time you guys were active and boom found you”. “Now another thing, the other teams didn’t make it due to active bear attacks so their was no survivors”. Quinn noticed a pen and paper on the tray next to her bed. She grabbed it and began to write. It said Is Alice okay? The detective’s expression went from concerned to sad. “Well because you landed in a bush, you suffering minor yet major injuries while Alice on the other hand landed on straight rock, when she fell, she broke her neck instantly , I’m so sorry”. Quinn began to cry under the body cast. She also felt low on air. But she didn’t care all she cared about was Alice. Her sweet, sweet Alice. The thought ran through her head again. I should have listened to her. Now she’s dead. I have nothing. I am nothing without her. As the thoughts filled her head, the doctors noticed that Quinn was having a heart attack. The doctors tried to help but Quinn didn’t care. She wanted to be with Alice again. She closed her eyes and imagined all the good memories they had. The berry picking. The flowers. The wedding. The planning of kids. A home. A future. The laughs. The cries. The amusement park rides. Everything. As she began to reimagine those memories, her heart beat was increasing heavily. She. Did. Not. Care. A single tear went down her face and with that, the heart rate monitor showed a flatline. Quinn was happy in the afterlife. She was with the woman she loved. And that all right. -------------------------------------------------------------------- A news report showed on tv 2 days after the deaths. Some people suggest Quinn died of heart attack but were a little confused because records show she only had a broken leg and a broken leg. But some people. The people who believed in love. The people who of Alice’s death and knew how close her and Quinn were. They knew no heart attack killed Quinn. She died of a broken heart.


First time posting. Would love some feedback. I have this dog. He's a big, long-haired dog with mucky, matted fur. When he walks, his shoulders move like pistons one after the other. His head is sunken low and prowling. He's not a very well-behaved dog. When we walk together I have him on a stong, leather lead. But he pulls and barks at everything and anybody that passes. The leather lead twists and creaks with the strain as he rears up on his hind legs. His hair stands up in tufts on each of his bulging shoulders. He barks like a bear roaring from its cave. His snarls launch spit like a boiling cauldron. His lips roll back to reveal the protruding teeth like daggers. I try to hold him back with all my might and I feel like my arm is going to pop out of its socket. My white-knuckled hand is clasped around the lead with some kind of a death grip. I don't know why I don't let go. I can't really. Perhaps it's because I remember he used to be a calm dog. I don't know why I still go walking with this dog when all he does is cause so much trouble and stir. Maybe I know that if I don't, the dog will start barking and snarling at me. Sometimes, people come to walk with me and the dog. But it's never plain sailing. Either the dog will bark at them and scare them off. Or whilst I'm wrestling the dog this way, my companion might slip off that way, recognizing that I wasn't listening to them. Then one day, someone came to walk this dog with me and did something so strange. They took the lead from my hand and started to walk him. Much to my surprise, out flopped his clumsy tongue and he trotted about sniffing the flowers and basking in the sunshine. He shook off his muck to reveal his shimmering coat and looked up at us walking along beside him. Now, this was my dog! My arm felt so light and heavy at the same time from the suddenly relinquished strain on it. I chatted for hours with my friend and we walked the park twice. How incredible it was to have a dog like this! I had missed all the wonderful trees and colours in the park and listening to what this person was saying to me. How could this person so carelessly clasp that battered lead? I held this person's hand delicately and swung it through the crisp, carefree air. They smiled with teeth like a glacier. Eyes like beams and walking with such grace they could have been dancing across a pond on lily pads. But then this person stopped coming for walks with me and the dog. The barking and snarling and jumping returned. Every rapturous ring would bounce around in my head and pierce my ears. Worse than before. My arm had gotten weaker, but the dog was still as strong as an ox. I couldn't resist his pulls and tugs anymore and he dragged me around from side to side like a helpless dandelion in the wind. The beady eyes were watching the struggle from their perch. The dog started to bark at me! I could see the ridges on the roof of his mouth and the deadening weight in his eyes. As nice as it was, I started to feel that I should never let anyone else walk this dog other than me, lest I forget how to handle his lead. Edit: put in some paragraphs per suggestion from the great feedback.


TW: eating disorders In 2057 in America, with the introduction of “Diet Rite,” obesity was proclaimed illegal for anyone over 18. Anyone deemed obese under current guidelines was arrested, convicted, and placed in jail until they were starved, force fed “Diet Rite,” or a version of the two. Because obesity and the associated health care risks became a huge burden on the healthcare system, Congress voted to make obesity a crime. It wasn’t lost on the American people that many members of Congress held a stake in the Diet Rite stock company, but since 2040, Congress had been given more and more power so that many times the laws that passed reflected their own self interests. Diet Rite was a pill that exceptionally boosted metabolism to turn you into a thinner version of yourself - even if you ate two to three times your daily calories. Each pill was guaranteed to burn an additional 500 calories, but you weren’t supposed to exceed 6 doses in one day due to possible liver problems. Although expensive, people made sure to stock up on the pills, oftentimes hoarding the “magic drug” to make sure they never ran out as they finally reached their goal weight - and could practically eat whatever they want. Jails became even more overcrowded with poor people who could not afford the pills and could not always find time to exercise as they worked two or three jobs. Most often, they were arrested, sent to jail, and starved, then released back onto the streets, where they had to work multiple jobs again and survive on cheap fast food, only to end up right back in jail for obesity. All parties entering the United States had to return immediately to their country if deemed obese or quarantine at the customs picked hotel with Diet Rite pills - on their expense of course- until the weight was lost. Pregnant women were given a reprieve for as long as they were pregnant. Those who became obese while pregnant had two months to return to their pre-obese weight by any means necessary or they would be arrested, convicted, and taken to jail until they lost the weight. The obese police, with a plethora of authority, knocked on doors with tips that an obese person might be hiding or bedridden inside or stopped people out on the streets, forcing them to step on one of their lightweight foldable scales they kept in backpacks so that they could weigh anyone up to 300 pounds. Anyone more than 300 pounds was automatically arrested and sent to jail. Anyone refusing to step on a scale at the request of the obese police was automatically arrested, convicted, and taken to jail. “You’re under arrest! You weigh 200 pounds and you’re only 5’6!” They would yell to a mother in a crowd, pleading to say goodbye to her kids and that she could not afford the Diet Rite pills and that she was really was trying. There was even a special tip line that allowed people to anonymously call in their friends and neighbors and a small monetary award if that friend or neighbor was arrested, convicted, and sent to jail. Fast food places and restaurants exploded when the pills went on the market. No longer having to actively watch their weights, restaurants were jammed pack with people ordering steaks, hamburgers, ice cream sundaes, rib eyes, french fries, and all the delicious fattening goodies they could get their mouths on in excessive quantities. Of course, if they really overdid it, there wasn’t any “harm” in popping another Diet Rite pill or exceeding the 6 limit amount per day on the bottle. The only exception granted were athletes in sports including football, weight lifting, body building competitions, and more, of which a percentage met the obese category for their height, but were solidly built or had lots of muscle. These athletes had to pay a small fee in order to compete and as long as they completed under the Diet Rite company brand and maintained the Diet Rite moral standards, they could weigh whatever they wanted. However, if and when they were kicked out of sponsorship from the company, they were subjected to the same laws as everyone else, stripped of their Diet Rite athletic titles, arrested, convicted, and sent to jail. Anti-Diet Rite protestors often led marches condemning the pills as unnatural and refusing to put the “fake snake pills” into their bodies. Oftentimes they were arrested for disruptive marches and for disturbing the peace, and neighbors and friends could report them for a small fee for any private, unlawful gatherings that could lead to another agitating march. People with anorexia and other eating disorders often overdid it on the pills, not eating, overdoing exercise, and ended up in the hospital. Rumors started and confirmed that a young woman subsisted on nothing but apples and Diet Rite Pills for two months. At 5’8 and 19 years old, she went into kidney failure and died at 68 pounds. By 2060, hospitals became overwhelmed under the number of sick people, directly or indirectly related to Diet Rite. Heart attacks and heart disease started occurring in people as young as 40 as they ate bacon, steaks, and hamburgers every day, disregarding the impact on their bodies as long as they were thin. If they survived, the doctors would urge them to maintain a low fat diet, to eat more leafy greens and fruits, to exercise for at least 30 minutes daily, but they stubbornly refused as Diet Rite pills was their way of life now and they weren’t going back. Diabetes started being diagnosed for those as young as 30 as they turned to sugar and fat for comfort and stopped exercising because as long as they had Diet Rite pills, why would they need to? And for those who were in their 20s, with the amount of Diet Rite pills they took and the amount of binge drinking they did, their livers started failing. An unprecedented number of those needing liver transplants were placed on the transplant list, but most died because there was not enough people willing to donate to meet demand. Besides, those people who took Diet Rite pills didn’t qualify because of their already enlarged, fatty livers. Somehow, the health care crisis was even worse than before. Remarkably, protests emerged in striking numbers all over the country until Congress ultimately felt pressure to reconvene and take another look at the law. Finally, in 2061, the company Diet Rite was dissolved, all known pills destroyed, and obesity was no longer declared illegal. Anyone found consuming or selling any of the leftover pills from their personal stash was arrested, convicted, and sent to jail.


Content Warning: Transphobia The sterile, lemony scent of Lysol lingered in the lobby, melding with the comforting glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the sweeping exterior windows as Elias carried the box of his old dresses to the reception desk. To the left of the desk, seated at white tables surrounded by colorful chairs, a few teens scribbled in notebooks or tapped away on laptops, perhaps working on homework, though he suspected the trio crowded around one computer in the corner silently clapping each other on the back were gaming. It surprised him for a second that they would have computers. Aren’t homeless people supposed to have nothing? But then he realized maybe people donated laptops the same way he was about to donate clothes. He’d been in homeless shelters before, but never one for people his age. Every few months his family did community service together, and a few of those outings were spent serving food at one of the permanent shelters downtown or helping prep the church basement for the rotating shelter that came through every other year. Last time he had to scrub the church bathroom. His stomach tightened at the memory of the volunteer manager directing him to scrub the women’s restroom. He wasn’t allowed in the men’s room back in those days. Elias set the box as gently as he could on the reception desk, letting the weight of it slide through his fingers like a fish being released back into the water. The receptionist smiled at him. “Welcome to Youth Place,” she said with the same warmth he felt from the sun against the back of his arm. “I’m Bronwyn, my pronouns are she/her. What’s your name?” “Elias,” he said. “Elias,” she repeated, taking out a clipboard and starting to fill out a form. “Let me get Deborah, she’ll help you store your things in a locker. Are you hungry?” “Oh,” said Elias, “I’m, uh, not homeless.” He kept his voice low, feeling oddly exposed so close to the other kids. He pointed at the box. “I’m here to drop off some clothes. To donate.” Bronwyn bowed her head. “I shouldn’t have presumed.” She reached down and picked up a rather bare spiral-bound book. “Looks like someone used my last triplicate sheet. Just a sec.” She popped through the door behind the desk into a back office. A window in the wall let him watch as she rummaged around in drawers and cabinets, pausing every few seconds to glance up towards Elias and the shelter’s main entrance behind him. Elias was used to presumptions, though this was perhaps the most harmless he’d encountered. Not being allowed to clean the men’s bathroom. Not being allowed to join the boy’s swim team, or any boy’s sport. The presumptions people made based on his biology blew. When he thought he was a tomboy, people just presumed he was a guy. He liked that presumption. He didn’t like the apologies that inevitably followed when people heard his voice or his name, the name he buried because it was dead. He presumed his parents would hate him or be ashamed, so he held on to that name for too long until it felt like a rope around his neck lingering there inescapable when his mom and dad spoke it with pride of his accomplishments when teachers called it during class when best friends smiled and breathed it out loud saying hello how are you none of them realizing they made him fight for air beg for air sometimes even pray for the rope to cinch tighter. Saying he felt relieved when he finally told his parents and they embraced him, proving his presumptions unfounded, would be like saying the Milky Way was pretty. He no longer needed to fight for air. Instead, it filled him and let him proclaim his joy at the top of his lungs. Together, they packed what girl’s clothes remained in his closet into the box. He went through a phase a year or two ago where he hoped it would just go away and bought dresses and skirts and makeup. That was just a phase though, a last attempt by the world to control him, tell him he who was. His dad drove him over to Youth Place, even offered to walk in with him. But no. This was something Elias needed to do alone. They were originally going to just drop the clothes at Goodwill, but then Elias learned that almost half of people his has age without homes identified as queer, and of that a disproportionate number were trans. As soon as he heard that, he knew who he wanted to have his clothes. If he could, he would pass on more to them. Lord knows somewhere there’s a 16-year-old trans girl who could make good use out of what he bound up tight to his chest. He planned on getting top surgery as soon as he could, but it seemed like such a waste for them to just get sucked away. Couldn’t there be somewhere trans folx could just go and drop off the parts they didn’t need and swap them for the parts they did? For trade: boobs, never wanted. The door to the shelter swung open. A girl walked in, maybe a little older than him but it’s hard to tell, brown hair down to her shoulders, wearing tight jeans, a pink blouse, and a black jacket. Her face demonstrated the same skill with makeup that Elias had - novice - though he presumed she hoped to improve at it over time, while he hoped to never slather lipstick on again if he could help it. She sauntered up to the desk, smacking on a well-chewed piece of gum. “Hey,” she said. “You moving in?” Elias pointed at the cardboard box. “Well, no actually. I’m here to drop of some clothes. To donate.” “Whatchya got?” she asked, pulling open the flaps and squealing when she spotted the spirit jersey on top. Oblivious to the slight musty smell the clothes acquired sitting in the farthest reaches of his closet, she held the oversized sweater to her chest. “Oooh! She cute!” “Welcome back, Phoenix,” said Bronwyn, returning from the office with a fresh triplicate pad. “Will you be staying with us again?” Phoenix nodded, now clutching a crop top Elias couldn’t believe he ever thought was a good idea to buy. “Yeah,” she said, holding it to her chest. “Mitch tried to hit me again, so I left. And he stopped paying me.” “I’m glad you’re safe,” said Bronwyn. “Just a sec and I’ll get you checked in. You know the clothes have to go into the clothing bank, though. We need to wash them first, and you can get them from there.” “Yeah, yeah.” Phoenix put the clothes back in the box and sighed, closing the flaps. Elias noticed the crop top peeking out of her coat pocket. “There’s an old dude just sitting in a minivan outside.” “If it’s a Honda, that’s probably my dad,” said Elias. “He good to you?” asked Phoenix, studying him with piercing brown eyes. “Yeah.” His answer felt like an admission of guilt for some reason, but he wasn’t sure how else to respond. RIP! Bronwyn tore the receipt off her pad and held it out for Elias. “Thank you for your donation, Elias. And if you know anyone who needs our services, please send them our way. Everyone is welcome here.” “Even me,” said Phoenix, teeth grinding on the gum again. “It was nice to meet you,” said Elias, nodding at Bronwyn. He turned to Phoenix. “I’m glad you’re going to get the clothes.” Was that rude to say? He headed for the exit. He felt the lightness he hoped he would, having left behind that cardboard box containing the final remnants of a person that never really existed, knowing the rest of his life waited on the other side of the door, a life without pretending. A life of joy. Yet he struggled to smile as his mind lingered on Phoenix, on the inequity that grew with each step he took towards his dad waiting outside to take him home. A few moments later, Elias pulled open the door of the minivan and slid into the passenger seat. “You wanna drive, Elias?” asked his father. “You need practice.” Elias reached over and gave his father the best side hug he could across the armrest and gear shifter. “I love you dad.” His father, caught off guard by the gesture, feeling his child tremble against him, rested a hand on Elias’ arm in return. “I love you too, son.”


Thirteen 2018: We were thirteen, just thirteen, only thirteen, Chris murmurs to herself as the silver light of dawn filtered under the hotel bedroom door. Her speech for the party is ready, she can remember it all. In her mind’s eye she sees the new girl, Liz, a delicate shy blond girl walking down the gravel path to the school entrance, May 1961. 1961: The others teased her because of her Irish accent. “Don’t mind them,” says Chris in the playground. Then she immediately became Chris’s best friend. 1962: Chris often helps her with the homework and Liz is often invited to stay. Chris’s mother Maeve often enquires how the family is settling in. She predicts that Liz would have an interesting life, but that it wouldn’t be easy. 1965: Catherine, from Upper 6 form gets expelled, there were rumors she liked a girl from a junior class a little too much. The matter was never discussed again. Were the other parents aware? Then suddenly both friends are in love with entirely unsuitable young men. The parents shouted: there were tears. Liz’s parents threatened her with boarding school. “You can always tell them you’re over at my place if you want to see him,” Chris offered. 1965: “I’m going to study medicine”, Chris says. When her exam results didn’t pan out, she became a nurse. The school was disappointed, their star pupil. “I hate Chemistry, and I’m no good at Maths,” Chris says now. Liz remained undecided about what she wanted to do. “Supper’s ready,” her mother called up where she was pretending to study, how boring life was. “Wasn’t your class playing in a hockey match this afternoon?” Chris had told her to say it had been cancelled when in fact, the two friends had gone to hide in the sports shed and smoke. 1963: “Which of the Beatles is your favorite?” Chris asks as they walk back from school. “C’mon, you have to have one. Mine’s Paul.” Liz prefers the Rolling Stones who have just arrived on the scene. 1965: All the girls at school watch “Top of the Pops” on Thursday evenings. It is the only topic of conversation the next day. “Want to come for a sleepover and listen to records?” Chris always had the latest hits. “We could go to see David Warner in Stratford on Saturday”, she suggested on the phone, “if your parents will cough up the fare;” “Culture,” you never know, they just might.” “Stratford, on a bus with Christina” said her mother reaching for her purse. 1966: “Let’s hitch down and shop in Carnaby Street?” Chris suggested. “And maybe go dancing in one of those new clubs? We can stay up all night.” The fashion is Twiggy, Mary Quant miniskirts and false eyelashes. This is the Swinging Sixties. Chris is planning on moving down to London to study nursing, but Liz now wants to go to Paris and work in films. Why not? She says now. “Only a month to go, hope my passport arrives soon.” May 1968; She calls Chris to tell her she’s joined the student strikes in Paris. The events last almost two months. 1970: “I’m expecting, Tom and I are going to get married,” Chris writes. Liz can’t stand him: supercilious, overly sure of himself, what does she see in him? It had to be a class thing and the Park Lane apartment helped. “That’s great,” she replied, “when’s it taking place?” The rail strike would provide a good excuse for not attending, and anyhow she’s just been hired by the television company. And broken up with Claude. 1975: “Tom and I are getting a divorce.” By now there were two kids. Liz was still single and having a good time. A few months later Tom throws himself under a bus, having handed his dog to a complete stranger before taking the plunge. 1978 - 1984: This time it’s true love. Liz moves in with Bruce, he’s charming, will prove unstable, but there are a few good years. She becomes tired of his infidelities and having bailiffs at the door, but she gets to keep her two daughters. Somehow she had always felt that Chris had been skeptical about the relationship. 1988: “You really must come and stay, John and I are moving to Edinburgh, we’ll have loads of room. We’ve not seen you for ages.” Chris writes. But Liz is caught up in the everyday humdrum of schools and a full-time job. It’s a grey period. “What was it that nun, Sister Baptist used to tell us?” Chris says on the phone: “Don’t complain that the path is difficult, know that it’s the difficulties that are the path.” Liz sighs. March 1990: “Have you ever thought of coming back?” Chris asks during her weekly phone call. “You know my father could call the BBC.” “No”, Liz replies a little too sharply, “but thanks for the thought.” June 2001: Chris’s mother dies. Liz leaves immediately to be with her friend. She cries so much at the funeral she has to leave the Church for ten minutes. She feels bereft, as though she had lost a second mother. Her own mother is suffering from dementia. September 2005. The two friends meet up for lunch in Camden: Liz has come for the day on Eurostar and Chris has flown down from Edinburgh. Suddenly Chris reaches out for her hand then bursts into tears: “Now that my brother’s dead, you’re the only witness of my childhood and teens,” she sobs. They swear they will meet more often. One month later Liz meets the man who will become her second husband. She starts a new life. Christmas 2005: Chris calls to say she’s going to be a grandmother, she’s over the moon. Liz is now living with Thierry. December 2007: suddenly it’s retirement, and time, precious time stretches ahead. Plans for a new place and travel for Liz. Chris has never enjoyed travelling and sounds very happy with her quiet life in Edinburgh. July 2018: Liz’s daughters and her husband are insistent: “Mum, it’s a big birthday, you should celebrate. We’ll even persuade Chris to come.” September 2018: Chris moves towards the middle of the Tibetan restaurant reserved for this special occasion. It’s a shame John couldn’t travel with her, especially as he’s always been so fond of Liz, but his health isn’t great nowadays. She turns to look at Liz, looking good in a bright turquoise suit, and with a smile she begins: “We were thirteen...”.


Things can get Progressively better Late afternoon sunlight oozed through the partially open blinds and grimy windows of the office, flung itself like spider webs through the stale, fuggy air and splattered in pee-colored puddles on a desk littered with empty Starbucks cups and Brueggers Bagels wrappers. Hunched over the desk was a man with a cracked cellphone hanging from a limp hand and mouthing the words to the recorded message yet again: " Bonjour ! You've reached the cell phone of Anoinette Dupuis. I'm sorry I'm not here to take your call personally. At the tone, please leave your name, number and a brief message and I will return your call. Au revior! " "Like hell you will," he muttered under his breath as he waited for the beep. A tobacco-flavored eternity later he heard it, then spoke with forced cheerfulness, "Hey Antoinette! Joe Sticker, insurance agent, here in Surrey Heights. Give me a call! Once again, I hope you're doing well. I look forward to connecting with you here soon regarding your car insurance, and getting that changed over for you. I have some lower payments we talked about here a while back, and I wanted to help you do that before your payment comes due this month if possible, so you can start saving some money. Give me a call when you get a chance: 123-666-1313 - thank you very much!" Joe tossed the phone onto the desk and looked up at the dingy ceiling. He'd lost count of how many times he called that number over the last months, but her name and auto insurance inquiry kept popping up in his lead feed, so he stubbornly kept calling. He'd actually talked to her briefly several months ago and it sounded like she really wanted a quote. Joe rubbed a big hand over his tired eyes; he had to get some sales soon or his business would fold. He glanced at the moon-faced clock on the unhappy wall opposite his desk and sighed; at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon nobody would be answering any more calls. The lucky ones would be going to the bars or out to dinner with someone exciting and beautiful. He smiled grimly; OK, maybe not someone exciting and beautiful, but with someone... Joe unfolded his lanky frame as the chair creaked warningly, grabbed his only-slightly-frayed suit jacket and shambled out the door. It closed with a soft finality behind him. Outside, Joe blinked in the dusty sunlight and headed languidly to his used Subaru. His brother called it "The Green Grunt", but it was paid for and it got him where he wanted to go. If he made as much as his brother did, he'd be driving a Porsche, too. But Joe had always been just average in a family of over-achievers; he'd been middle of his graduating class, middle in his athletic attempts, and not even middle in his default career. What friends he had were just as bland and ordinary as he was, and weren’t enough of a clientele to keep his business afloat; just middle-of-the-roaders living a middling life in middle America... Joe snorted; "Middle" should have been his middle name, but he didn't even have one. Joe slid behind the wheel, settled his back into the lumps of the seat, then noticed the bright post-it on the dashboard declaring "CATFOOD!!!" in pink marker. He nodded to himself and started off for Lion Foods; this low-tech system worked much better for him than his temperamental phone which would only remind him of things if it felt like it. Joe patted the post-it fondly; it was comforting to know that there would be someone waiting for him when he got home, even if only waiting to be fed. Too bad Sam and Frodo didn’t need insurance... While cruising along on automatic pilot, Joe's thoughts stumbled back to that fruitless phone call; he used to enjoy her warm voice and sensual accent, but by now all it did was annoy him. He'd been trying to talk to her for so long and she just ignored him. The thought made him grind his teeth in furious frustration and he could feel a headache coming on behind his left eye. On a sudden whim, Joe gunned the Subaru, zoomed through a yellow light, and pulled screeching into the parking lot of Scorecard, the only watering hole he knew. He leaped from the car and slammed the door so hard, its bottom edge, scalloped with rust, flaked off in small, cinnamon flecks. He'd had a long day - hell, he'd had a long month. He deserved a little time with the guys and a drink or two. Cat food could wait. After fumbling in his pocket for his mask (standard issue, blue surgical and slightly dingy from multiple uses), Joe hooked it over his ears, then strode into the sports bar, yanked out a chair and perched on it, pretending he did this all the time. A tall, heavyset man looked up from tap, then grinned over his own mask. "Hey, Joe! Long time, no see! Where've you been?" Joe opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the man interjected, "Your brother was just here; did you see him in the parking lot? That's one sweet set of wheels he's driving!" Joe's mouth snapped shut and he muttered, "Just gimme the usual, please, Terry." Terry cocked his shaggy head to one side, regarding Joe curiously. "And what would that be?", he asked simply. Joe scowled at him a moment, then sighed. "What kind of a bartender are you that you don't remember your customers' regular orders?" Terry guffawed, then shot back, "A damn good one, but you're hardly ever here. But I think I've got something you'll like." Moments later, a glass of foamy, brown ale plunked down on the bar in front of him along with a basket of overly salted chips. Joe nodded to Terry's retreating back, then shoved his mask back into a pocket. Morosely he crunched on a handful of chips, washing them down with swigs of the Guinness while contemplating life, phone calls and older brothers. Joe was just licking the last of the salt from his fingers when behind him he heard a familiar voice. " Bonjour, Michelle! I just got to Scorecard..." Carefully Joe looked over his left shoulder and froze. There, curled like a cat at the table just behind him, was a tumble of brown curls spilling over smooth shoulders, splashes of yellow and green on a summer dress, and a pair of shapely legs ending in basket-woven sandals. A flash of red like a cardinal's wing covered her face: Antoinette Dupuis. She was holding a cell phone to her ear and speaking carefully through the mask. "How long should I wait for you?... What? Oh..." Joe could hear the disappointment in her voice, that lovely, silken voice like warm honey on fresh baguette. "Of course I understand. No worries! These things happen. Kiss the children for me!" She set the phone down and stared unseeingly out the window. Surreptitiously Joe signaled Terry, who hurried over. "Terry," Joe leaned in close, "what's the best French wine you've got?" Terry's eyes flicked briefly in Antoinette's direction, then he whispered, "She liked a merlot." Joe jerked a thumb in her direction, "Send her a glass of your best from me." While Terry was pouring and presenting, Joe was wracking his brain for his wobbly French. He'd had a couple of years in high school, but that was centuries ago. Then he remembered his temperamental cell phone and pulled it out of his pocket. Its cracked screen flickered briefly, then faded into darkness; he'd forgotten to charge it again. For this, Joe was on his own. Marshaling his vocabulary like toy soldiers, Joe took a deep breath, hooked his mask back over his ears, then stood up and stepped to her table. It was the most frightening moment of his life. " Escusez moi, mademoiselle, " he said gallantly while bowing slightly. Antoinette looked up, and Joe felt his breath catch at the wide, brown eyes fringed with thick lashes that looked questioningly at him like a doe. He cleared his throat unnecessarily, then announced " Je m'appelle Joe Sticker." Antoinette's eyes widened in recognition, making her look even more like a deer. A flush brighter than her mask swept over her face and rushed across her forehead. She glanced away, then stammered, "Joe? Joe Sticker?!? I had no idea! Please, please sit down!" and she gestured to the empty chair across the table. Joe slid into it, feeling better about life and himself than he had in a long time. The conversation began with profuse apologies from Antoinette and gracious acceptance from Joe, but then gathered energy and speed like a river filled with meltwater and surging downstream. The sun sank into an orange heat haze, patrons came and went, Joe ordered them dinner with more merlot, and still they talked. When Antoinette slipped the mask from her face in one smooth motion, Joe found it the most sensual and erotic gesture he'd ever seen. He was mesmerized by her voice and her graceful movements, but even more entranced by her warmth, intelligence and humor. Terry startled them with his last call for the evening, and Antoinette looked apologetically at Joe. "I had no idea it had gotten so late. This has been a lovely evening. Merci beaucoup !" She flashed him that achingly beautiful smile that he was beginning to hope he would see every day for the rest of his life. She made a move to get up, but Joe impulsively took her hands in his, making her look deep in his eyes. " Ma chérie ," he said softly, massaging her slender fingers, "may I ask you something?" Her eyes filled with tenderness and she smiled again. " Bien sûr , dear Joe! You can ask me anything you like." Feeling very bold, he reached out to gently brush a wisp of curl from her cheek, then whispered, "Have you ever thought of bundling home and auto?".


Parts (I-V) I was listening to ‘shine on you crazy diamond’, waiting for the cars in the four lane street to pass. On the other side of the street was the brick viaduct that carried the subway out of the city. The street cleared and as I walked across, I suddenly noticed a light flickering in the second arch. When I got there, I found four candles burning on the ground. Two beer cans, bananas, grapes and candies were placed around the candles like on an altar, and pieces of cloth were hanging between the two street poles in front of it. I leaned over to take a closer look, when I spotted a man lying in the corner, up against the wall, in a sleeping bag. Sound asleep with only his pale face looking out. Behind his head leaned a backpack and a bicycle. Probably just passing through, I figured. And not wanting to wake him up, I pussyfooted to the other side of the arch. A train went by over our heads, shaking the bricks and the ground. I reached a crooked joint out of the brim of my hat, straightened it with my stiff fingers and lit it. Then I took a step forward, so I could look down the street and watch the smoking chimney of the incinerator that was reaching out behind the rooftops. A few cars were still going by. Then an ambulance pulled up next to the subway station with the lights on an all, picked somebody up, then it left again. And just standing there smoking and watching them, I felt I was simply there. I looked over to the sleeping man to see if he was still asleep and he was. I wondered where he was going with his bicycle. And I figured I liked that I was somehow part of his journey now and that he didn’t even know it. So I decided to give him the rest of my smoke, had a last hit and put it out on a brick. Then I pulled out my wallet, found a coin inside and went over to the altar. A plastic lid with a few coins in it was already there. I put the coin there for the ferryman and the last three tokes of my smoke for the ride. Then I left, wondering where he would be going. Parts (VI-IX) The next night I had rolled another smoke, and tying my shoes decided to go back to the place. I doubted the man was still there, but I still imagined how we’d smoke together, so that he could tell me about where he was going. Outside, the wind was guarding the streets as usual and it was colder than the night before. Waiting in the four lane street, I didn’t see any lights shining on the other side this time, and when I walked across I saw he was gone. A yellow blanket was left behind where he had been lying, and a garbage bag was sunken into the brick wall. The candles and everything were gone as well, only a few cigarette butts and frozen grapes had remained. Gazing over the ground I suddenly spotted another stub in one of the grooves. It was my yesterday’s smoke. He must have taken it out. I picked it up. There was just as much on it as I had left. Three tokes. They had gotten cold overnight. I smoked them away walking around underneath the arch listening to the rest of the second part of the song. Then I lit the new smoke. I thought about the man, and I thought he had something I didn’t. And now I didn’t feel like I was simply there anymore. So I left. Having had enough of the place.