Michael never felt freer than when the oval sun dipped below the cold earth. Sprinkling the sky with an ombre of oranges and pinks, to settle in an ink-black with white freckles. Faint warm glows growing from simple homes melted into the sky like blended watercolours. Michael breathed deeply into the new air, the static and wild air. His feet grounded like roots into the earth and the wild air swirled into his lungs. His eyes remained delicately closed, on the brink of opening; just barely closed. A butterfly kiss of closure. Michael found joy and contempt in opening his eyes to the pitch black and watch it morph into dark colours as his eyes adjusted. He felt in those moments of morphing from blind to nocturnal that he became a part of the night. There was no joy here. The butterfly opened and on this foggy night, Michael was surrounded by the sea fog of his hometown, tainted with the staining blood of light. It was like orange glasses had been placed upon Michael's head while he swayed in the night. It was suffocating. Michael could feel the pollution enter his lungs with every breath. It was anxious, quick, and hot the breath coming out of him. Adding to the fog that swirled around him. Michael felt invisible arms wrap around him, smothering his body and pulling him into this polluted fog. Sick of the sick, Michael, wrenching his arms from the invisible force, sprung to his car. The door slamming shut behind his entering form, the keys clinking against each other as they were being thrust into the ignition to only miss and slam into the wheel. Michael's hands were shaky, trembling in soul-crushing fear of the sickness outside. Again the keys slammed, Michael breathing in a bubbling breath, a deep bubbly breath; slowly with shaking hands slid the key with precision into the ignition and twisted. The car bleeding into life and Michael sucking in gurgling breaths with relief. Hands clutched in a death grip the steering wheel, it looked as though bones were a second away from protruding through the pale skin. But the movements were so fast, from a death grip and a shaky breath, one hand jittered out to change the gears while the other indicated to enter the road and no sooner than when the steering wheel was grasped Michael was on the road. It was hard for Michael to focus through the orange pollution, he felt sick at moving through the nauseating gas. His arms stretched out uncomfortably straight, his back glued to the seat, erected, as his eyes bulged from his head. Michael tried not to breathe out of fear the pollution would be seeping through the air filters. The car was chugging and winding up the steep hill presented to Michael and he broke his fear of pollution for fear of his tiny shitty car for a second. But then his small car broke through that barrier, the barrier where the polluted sea fog could not go through. Through a gasping fish breath, Michael saw the tall shadowing trees, the inky black sky sprinkled with white freckles, the gasps between tree trunks changing colours depending on the growing foliage. And best of all. No pollution on the roadside. Michaels now relaxed right limp arm slumped down to the headlights and turned them off, plunging him to even more darkness. Michael knew the way. He didn’t need that pollution to now the way he thought. It wasn’t as good as been outside amongst the inkiness of the night-time world. He couldn’t cement his feet to the ground and grow the roots he wanted to, but it was better than the orange pollution. So, Michael hummed pleasantly to the night, and winding down his window he breathed in the musky forest air. It was peaceful until Michael heard the artificial hum of the monster he was about to face. It sounded like death and chaos and soon the car spluttered over a small hill and there between the trees to the left the power building the monster sat with faint cat-like glows and an evil smile to its aura. The place where Michael worked. Michael thought about how painfully long it had taken him to get the graveyard shift at the powerplant. He thought about the itchy uniform he constantly had to wear and how he felt like he lived in a straight jacket constantly. So soon soon soon . Whispered in his head and for the first time his smile cracked in a shier grin, but he pushed it back into his mind because the security booth was next to him now. It was a simple nod, a junky metal arm raised, and Michael’s car pulled forward into its spot behind the plant. He had done these thousands of times, but only tonight did it feel static, exciting. The beep of his car locking sending an erotic thrill down his spine and a spring in his step. Soon, soon, soon. It was all robotic the next movements of his. Signing in, walking to his station, glancing the security camera screens, and sliding into his old, probably will break if he was any heavier, chair. There he waited. Flick. The chairs next to him scratched as the premonition smell of cigarettes filled Michael's nostrils long before the murky remnants clinging to his co-worker’s clothes returned from their hourly break. The door slammed shut and Michael's tongue swelled with excited saliva, like Tantalus, he was so close yet so far from what he craved. Quickly sticking out his tongue to release the pressure he clicked it back in as he sprung from his seat. The view on the security cameras showing all fellow workings slowly peeling away to the designated smoking area, well away from any flammable objects that were stationed inside the building. Rubbing his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a slick thinking motion Michael thought of how lucky he was no one knew he smoked. For if they did then he wouldn’t have been left alone to watch over the whole power plant for 10 minutes. 10 sweet minutes. It had all been planned. The second the last person walked across the fuzzy security screen leading outside and the door softly closed behind the form, Michael hit the silent lock button. A stupid button, only in emergencies would the whole building need to lock down but here they were with a silent one. It was like a silent siren calling to Michael every night because for months he could have done this, but only until he was alone and knew the combination of keys could he answer the silent call. So he did. The silent alarm locked all the doors and the unaware co-workers puffed like trains. Michael licked his lips to have a break from his excited and swelling tongue. Striding out of the room Michael made the quick and fluid steps, repeated millions of times before this night, to the control room. Soon, soon, soon. Soon the control room door will hush open with a metallic click, soon the smell of late-night dinners will fill Michael's nose, and soon the clicking and squeaking of rubber boots will fill the silence but humming room. And soon became now and now there Michael stood before the brilliant red cut off button. The suffocating will end soon he thought but before he thought of his plan. His hand will graze the silky red handle graced with vibrant. Emergency cut off! Oh, its never been more tempting. Michael sucked in the stuffy control room air and flopped his head backward where the top of his spine would send that stinging feeling down his body. Where sucking in a thick breath could be felt filling his small throat, expanding and splitting the seams of flesh. Exhaling out emptied his stomach and rounded his spine like a cat. And looking away, as his shoulder blades pressed up towards the ceiling, his right uplifted and gripping the red rubber he pulled the lever. The room erupted in the Emergency red and Michael lightly swiveled like a dancer on ice, starring blankly, he breathed in and thundered towards the door. With unpredictable excitement Michael whipped open the emergency door, banging the fire emergency memorabilia on the other side. His boots hit the concrete slapping like skin and Michael ran screaming towards the smokers saying that, “some psycho entered the building!” And immediately the smokers ran inside the building following protocol. While in the rush Michael ran past the hole in the chainmail fence. Michael kept running. Running. Now, now, now. His feet pounding on the earth in the same rhythmic beat of his heart. His breathing came out visible due to the change of temperature and it came out swift and fast. The further he got, the deeper into the forest he found himself, and soon he skidded to a stop on top of the tallest hill he could run-up. Before him, the forest clearing broke away to a view of the now sea fog clear town. At least that what he would have seen if he had not plunged them into darkness. The sky in that short time from when leather red had fallen, exploded into a sea of white swimming fish. Blues and purples melted like paints amongst the inky black. Bubbling and falling in the rhythm of the universe. So there Michael exhaled the polluted breath he had been holding, falling forward, collapsing to the dewy ground. Rolling like a dog and spreading his arms wide like a bird he looked upon the melting sky and felt himself too melt into the inky abyss. It felt like breathing for the first time. Now, now, now. An orgasmic experience. Projecting his torso upward into a seated position Michael looked back towards the power plant. How sweet it will be. Would it. Michael concluded that yes it would be sweet. So, he smoothly leaped onto one foot and streamed through the dry earthy leaves. The fresh smell of excitement smelled of fallen leaves and dewy grass; and it streamed straight through Michaels flares nostrils. Just don’t let them turn it back on, it's so simple, it's so sweeeet. Oh, it is so sweet. Michael moved like returning sea fog to the power plant where the smokers ran around in secret looking for the crazy man. Just what you need. Sure is. Because as Michael remembered, behind the door, the emergency door. There laid the fire ax perfectly handing parallel to the emergency button. The fire emergency memorabilia. The memorabilia that rolled into Michael's hands like an engulfing fog. And it swung easily between his hands and there was the invisible smell of fire, ash, and burnt skin. Smoke rolled into the building like a thin layer of sea fog, just the start of the thick pea soup. As the ax sang with a metal buzz. I don’t think pollution will stay this season. No Michael supposed, he guesses it won’t. The first of many rounded the corner before him, and the smoker spluttered polluted words, but the ax was already making him choke. It had swung high to the right and falling to the smokers' throat it sliced the meat as easily as a paper cut. The blood collected and bubbled through the smoker’s lungs to soon spurt out in a water gun stream once the ax was jostled out of the slick flesh. The heavy body of the smoker collapsed to the ground, wide eyes starring up to a once close co-worker. Michael lifted his hand and grabbed the vibrant red neck he had created. Pushing down until the body fell in a contorting position backward. There Michael starred deep into the polluted eyes, the orange eyes, the smoker’s eyes. Soon the light, that pollution left the smoker's eyes and Michael took that sweet shaky breath of fresh air in. Michael collapsed his head into the crook of the smoker's bloodied neck and sucking in the sweet air, felt again the orgasmic bliss of melting into the world.


I gazed up at the treetops that gently leaned to and fro in rhythm of the wind. Spring had greeted me once again like seasonal clockwork. Streaks of sunlight covered my face in warm stripes. I closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. This was my homestead. The soil imprinting my soles were a comforting earthen blanket beneath my feet. The outdoors was the dining room. I sat on one of the four tree stumps, adorned with handmade embroidered cushions Ma made. The table was one large carved stump with a surface sanded smooth. I heard the crunching of sticks nearby, and quickly looked back down, eyeing my surroundings. I caught a glimpse of Pa ambling up the hill carrying a bundle of freshly chopped wood. “Mornin', Pa,” I greeted.  “Mornin', Lex. Could you help me bring this inside?” he asked. “Sure thing,” I said, standing up and walking over to meet him. I lightened his load by taking half of the wood out of his hands. The cabin door swung open for them to walk through by his younger brother, Finlay. They walked through the doorway and into their home, dumping the wood into a crate beside the entrance. The aroma of cooked blueberries drifted through the cabin from the kitchen, where Ma stood, scrubbing at some dishes. Clifford wiped the sweat off his brow.  She turned her head to look at us and smiled. “Any of you boys have a hankerin' for blueberry pie tonight?” My brother and I nodded eagerly in unison. “Annamae, that pie sure smells mighty fine,” Pa said. “Why thank you kindly, Cliff,” she responded gratefully with a warm smile. He walked over to her, embracing her with a kiss. Finlay walked into the kitchen, tugging at her dress.  “Ma?” he asked. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, picking him up into her arms. “What are you fixin' for dinner?” he inquired. “Oh, honey, it's your favorite. If you, Lexton, and Pa catch us a deer, we'll have us some venison stew,” she answered. He grinned and hugged her tightly. She let him down. “Pa, Pa, can I go hunting with you, *please*?” Finlay begged. “As long as ye keep close to your brother, I don't see a problem with it,” Pa answered. Finlay clapped in excitement, jumping up and down.  He was active as much as he was curious, all at the tender age of five. Pa strode over to me and looked at me intently. “What is it, Pa?” I asked, confused. He lifted his hands and turned my chin back and forth. “Looks like ye have some stubble growing in, son. My boy's finally becoming a man,” he said with a chuckle. His skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. He patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Lexton, why don't you go grab the hunting rifles, and let's start huntin' afore gets too late, alright?” he requested. “Yes, Pa,” I agreed, before walking into his study. I grabbed the two hunting rifles down from their wall mount and returned back into the common area. I handed over one of the rifles to him.  “Did you make sure they're loaded?” he asked. “No, I didn't check,” I replied, before clicking the safety and checking to see if the gate was loaded with bullets. “Yeah, I have some in there,” I said. He followed after my lead and checked his gun. “Well, it looks like we're good to go, then,” he said. “Do you have the spare ammunition, Pa?” I asked. “I got it in my pocket, let's go,” he nudged.  “You boys be safe now, ye hear!” Ma called out to us, as we left the cabin and started down the hill. I took Finlay's hand and walked with him to make sure he wouldn't accidentally get lost. Halfway to the clearing, I had something to ask Pa, but I wasn't sure what his reaction would be. “Pa?” I asked. “Yes, son?” he responded. “When can I go into town?” I wondered. He abruptly stopped in tracks, causing me to stumble a bit. He whirled around, with a scowl on his face. “What makes you want to go into town?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.  I opened my mouth, but no sound was able to come out. “The only reason for you to go into town is to find a woman, wed her, and bring her back here to stay. You'll build her a cabin just as I did years ago with my own bare hands, and you'll raise a family with her,” he lectured. “But Pa, I'm tired of living like this! I'm sick of fish, roasted crawdads, and venison. I don't just want to meet a woman. I want to see what's out there!” I shouted.  “Listen, Lexton, you were born by this here crick, you were raised here in these woods, and you'll die here in these woods. Aside from courting a lady, you have no business to go into town. We're outsiders, we don't belong in their world, it's best we're kept separate from all of that nonsense,” Pa huffed, before spitting at the ground.  “I want to leave, I want to see what life is like beyond this place, Pa,” I retorted. “Aside from matrimony, there is nothing for ye beyond these woods. If you decide to leave for any other reason than that, then you are not welcome to come back. Those people, they'll change ye, they'll rip the heart of the forest straight from your rib cage. And no son of mine shall have a worldly heart,” he said sternly.  I looked down at the ground for a moment, collecting my thoughts. All I had known since birth was life in the wilderness, away from other folk except my own family. I knew I wanted something more than whittling wooden figurines with a pocketknife when bored. I had always wondered what life outside the wilderness would be like. I met Pa's gaze once again, and said, “Okay, Pa, then I guess I'll be headin' into town tomorrow to find myself a lady.” I was usually always honest, but it felt strange letting a half-lie escape my lips. I wanted to embrace a life away from nature. I finally relaxed my shoulders upon seeing him make a contented sigh.  “Well, alright then. I'll let you pack your bag and go for two weeks, and two weeks only, but I want ye to come back home every night for dinner and to sleep. If you're out for longer than that, then I'll know your heart has been changed,” he instructed. “Now come on, boys, let's catch ourselves some supper,” he said. “Yes, Pa,” Finlay and I said in agreement. We made it to the clearing within the next few minutes. After finding some good bush to hide behind, we laid down on our stomachs, our eyes barely peering over the bushes, with the barrels of our guns resting on the tip of the leaves. For the next fifteen minutes or so, we laid there in pure silence, with the exception of birds chirping amongst us, high in the trees. Soon enough, we saw a whitetail deer come trotting slowly nearby, in search of more grass to graze on. Pa closed one eye and began to aim his rifle.  Unexpectedly, a fawn bounded out into view, catching up with its mother. “Damn it,” Pa whispered, lowering the barrel of his gun. He exchanged glances with me. “Can't leave a fawn without its mother,” I whispered to him. He nodded. The deer grazed while its fawn hungrily nursed. After a few minutes, the deer bounded out of sight. “Should we wait for another?” I asked. “If you want us to have supper, then, yes,” he replied. The sun began to hang low in the sky. Again, we lied in wait for what seemed like forever, until a buck came into view. I looked over at Finlay, who began to stand up. “Antlers, antlers,” he whispered loudly, with hands outreached. I grasped onto his hand, making him lie down. “No, Finlay, you can't try to touch the deer, he'll charge you and you can get hurt,” I whispered. Finlay frowned sadly. I closed one of my eyes, aiming my gun. After I aimed it, I slowly rested my finger onto the trigger, before shooting.  The buck collapsed to the ground. “Wow, great shot, son!” Pa exclaimed. We spent the next hour hauling the deer back to our cabin, skinning it, and cleaning it. Once that was finished, Pa sliced up the meat with his hunting knife, and brought it inside. I brought the deer innards we wouldn't eat back to the clearing, as some other animal would probably eat it. I went inside the cabin and washed my hands of the deer blood. Ma began to chop potatoes, carrots, onion, and celery, and placed it into the slow cooker, along with gravy and the deer meat. In a couple hours, the stew was done. “Go on and fix yourselves a plate, boys.” We all grabbed a bowl and ladled ourselves a helping of the venison stew, then headed outside to the dining table. We set our plates down while Ma lit a lantern over us. We started to eat supper, and it was delicious. Pa broke the silence by sharing the news. “So, Lex is going into town tomorrow, he told me,” he blurted. *“What, really?”* Ma responded, still holding a forkful of stew in one hand. She turned her attention in my direction. I nodded without saying a word. “That's *wonderful* that you feel ready to find someone,” she praised. “Well, yeah, *I am eighteen* now, I'm not a kid, anymore,” I said. “After supper, wash up and get some rest for tomorrow. I'll pack your bag, *don't you worry about it.* You have to save your energy for tomorrow, it's a twenty-mile walk to get into town.”  *“Twenty miles?!”* I cried out. “Yep, it's about a four to five hour trek, we'll have to set off at daybreak tomorrow,” Pa informed. “Less talk, and more eatin,' before your stew gets cold,” Ma encouraged. Finlay was the first to clean his bowl out, as he hadn't said a peep since earlier when we were out hunting. He got up from his seat and started back to the cabin door. I rushed to finish my bowl of venison stew, before walking back inside. My parents soon followed after me. I washed and put up my both mine and my brother's dishes, before washing my face, brushing my teeth, and turning myself into bed.  Closing my eyes to sleep and opening them upon waking felt like one long, continuous blink. Birds saluted the dawn with excited chirrups outside the window. Looking across the room, I saw that my little brother was still asleep in his bed, holding tightly onto his favorite stuffed animal that my mother had hand-crocheted and stuffed before he was born. He named the bear Bootsy, because my mom used to crochet little outfits for him, and he always kept the boots on his feet. After all these years, his black button eyes still hadn't fell off of him. I knew that I would miss Finlay. Despite our age difference, we shared a really close bond. I rolled out of my bed and quietly walked towards his side of the room, stooping down to kiss him on his forehead. He squirmed a little, before returning to a deeper sleep. The sun started rising outside the window.  I got myself dressed, laced my shoes, and reached under my bed for my knapsack. It was already full and packed with supplies, thanks to Ma. I headed out to the common area, to see Pa already seated and ready for the trip into town. Ma was in the kitchen, cutting out a few slices of blueberry pie. “Good morning, Lexton,” she said. “Mornin,' Ma,” I answered back. “I *completely* forgot about the blueberry pie I baked yesterday evening, I just got so tied up in the news that you were heading into town for the first time, *it must have slipped my mind.*” “It's alright, Ma, at least we could share a slice before we go,” I said with a smile. “Of course, dear,” she responded. We each grabbed a plate and headed outside to our tree tabletop. We all took a seat and started nibbling on the pie.  “Be very careful out there, Lex. You haven't seen how cruel the world is until you've been into town. Make sure that you're picky, too, you can't just pick any woman to be with. She has to be honest, and sweet to you, *sweeter* than this pie, even, and pure of heart,” Ma advised. “That's *right*, Annamae. You're definitely right about that. You want to be sure this woman is worthy of being your wife, not just a bedfellow,” Pa added. I nodded as I silently bit into morsels of my blueberry pie. Although there was just the right amount of sugar in it, it tasted bittersweet, as it was the last slice of pe, I would have for quite a while. Upon finishing our slices of pie, Ma grabbed our plates and took them inside to be washed and dried. “Have a safe trip!” Ma called out as we began our journey into town. We both waved at her with a smile. I fastened my knapsack to my back.  The trip from our cabin into town was relatively straightforward and quiet. After about an hour of walking, I filled the silence. “Pa, what's the name of this town?” I pried. “Tallisville, that's what it's called,” he answered. “Are you coming into town with me, Pa?” I asked. “No, son, I'm not. Think of this trip as a rumspringa of sorts, if you think this is place is nice enough to stay in, then stay. Keep in mind that your family is the cost of this sacrifice. However, if you want to remain wild-hearted and free, and bring a little lady for us to meet back to our home that you like and we approve of, that you know will be open-minded enough to consider life in the wilderness, then she can be an addition to our pack,” he responded. I gulped anxiously. “So, how far are you going to walk with me?” I pressed.  “I'll walk with you until we're on the outskirts of town, and from there, I'll let you go on your journey, whatever that entails. Make sure you leave early enough from here to be home for dinner. It's at sunset every day, it's always been our tradition,” he informed. “Why can't I just live in the town for the two weeks, Pa?” I questioned. “Well, living in the town is different, if you don't already have a house of your own, you have to stay at the Mellow Oak Inn, and that costs money, which you don't have,” he answered. I furrowed my brows, asking, “What's an *inn,* Pa?” “It's a temporary place to eat and to sleep, they also have this crazy entertainment box, called a television. You never want to watch it, it gives you strange ideas about the world that pollute your head,” he explained. “Wow, television sure sounds *horrible,* Pa,” I thought aloud. “It is, son, it is,” he agreed. As we shared small talk, and I asked more questions about Tallisville, I found myself getting equally excited as I was nervous to explore the place for myself. Soon enough, the trail that was once densely bordered by trees became less woodsy. “Are we there yet?” I asked. “Just about,” replied Pa. “You see that wooden sign in the distance?” he asked. I squinted and made out a sign that read: *Town of Tallisville*. “I see it, Pa! I see it!” I cried out eagerly. We walked all the way up to the sign, and I was able to read it more clearly now. *Town of Tallisville, Population 834.* “Population 834? Does that mean eight hundred thirty-four people live here?” I said, taken aback. Pa nodded. “Well, son, this is it. When you want to make your way back home to the cabin, find this trail head and take it all the way back. I hope this is an eye-opening experience for you. Be home by sunset, or you'll miss your supper,” Pa warned. I embraced him tightly in a hug before making my way into town.  Pa waved his goodbyes and began walking back up the trail. I waited until he disappeared from my sight before walking into the entrance of town. It was a few minutes before I realized I was no longer on the outskirts of this town. Houses and buildings came into view. Promptly after that, I began seeing people talking, entering and leaving buildings, and working. I even saw some strange, large shiny objects I had never seen before. I watched as a man stepped into one, closed the door, and it lit up, and made a loud humming sound. My jaw dropped as I watched him operate this contraption and quickly speed away in the opposite direction from me.  Continuing on my way, I observed the people around me bustling around, seemingly very busy, as if it was a normal thing. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a beautiful woman walk past me. Her hair was shoulder-length, walnut brown and curly, her lips were as red as fresh strawberries, and her eyes were green like summer leaves. She wore a denim jacket with a mustard colored dress with black polka dots under it. She passed me with a heap of books in her arms, giving me a quick nod and smile, before walking into a large building called *Tallisville University*. I had no idea what a university was, but all I knew is that I wanted to be wherever she was going. I pulled open the door and stepped inside. It was very spacious inside and had lots of rooms, and a long hallway in the center. That woman I saw went into one of these rooms, but I had no idea which one.  If she lives in this town, that must mean this is where I'm meant to be. *“Excuse me,”* someone called out from behind me. I turned around to see who it was. It was the woman in the dress! “Are you lost? Do you need help finding your class?” she offered. I blinked and opened my mouth, but any ideas of what to say escaped me in that moment. She laughed and smiled. “You must not be from around here, I'm Magnolia,” she said, extending her hand out for me to shake. I clasped her hand in mine and shook it. “Magnolia, like the flower?” I asked. She cheerfully smiled and laughed, “Yes, Magnolia like the flower. What's your name?” she asked. “My name is Lexton, but my family calls me Lex,” I introduced. “Well, it's very nice to meet you, Lex! Where are you from?” she questioned. “I'm from the forest,” I answered. She laughed loudly. I wasn't sure what was so funny to her. She stopped laughing once she saw the look on my face. “You're joking, aren't you?” she inquired. I shook my head.  “Are you really from the forest?” she questioned. “I am,” I answered. She grinned a happy smile. “Well, you'll have to show me what life looks like in the forest sometime,” she said. “I'd be honored,” I replied. “So, what room is your first class in, I'll help you find it, Lex?” she re-offered. “What's a class?” I looked, staring blankly into her eyes. She laughed again. “You're very funny, Lex. Have you not been to college before?” she poked. “No,” I said. “Oh, then let me show you the admissions office, they can help you get enrolled,” she said.  She grabbed onto my hand and lead me down this long hallway. As much as I wanted to protest, this lovely woman was holding my hand and I just met her, and that was a fair trade to me. “Welcome to Tallisville, by the way, Lex,” she greeted. “I'm happy to be here,” I replied. I now had this newfound feeling of belonging, and not just to nature. No matter what else would happen during these fourteen days, I knew I had to get her to visit the cabin somehow.


"I'm dying," Amber wheezed, tears streaking down her cheeks. She doubled over and gasped for air, her windpipe croaking dramatically as she heaved and worked to force air back into her lungs. Beth rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said, scrolling nervously through the comments on her recent Instagram post. There were tens of thousands of them. Most were just some variation on 'The King!' but few were any wittier. She closed her eyes and shook her head while Amber continued her steady march toward an imminent death. "Your first viral post and it's..." Amber choked and sputtered, wailing like a fangirl. The last time something had set Amber off on a laughing fit like this, Beth had been more than happy to join her, but this time she was fuming. Her ears were hot and she had to fight to relax her jaw muscles. "That little..." she muttered, clenching her fist while she reloaded the app to look at the photo again. She couldn't believe she'd missed it before uploading it. The shot had slipped in between some relatively normal photos from her recent vacation, a vacation that he'd promised to stay out of. She was going to have to have a very stern talk with him. "Oh come on!" Amber cried, her gut trembling with glee. "Lighten up! It's an amazing photo! You look great, super hot girl, and..." the laughing fit seized her again and she spat, bursting at her lips trying to keep it in. Beth shrugged internally. It was true. If one of her photos was going to go viral, it might as well be this one. It was a new bikini and she loved how it showed off her curves, but obviously that wasn't what had captured the public's attention. She grunted, threw herself on her bed, let out a long, painful groan, and stared at the ceiling. If she weren't so mad, she could cry. Amber made a show of trying to compose herself and sat next to Beth. The two had been friends since middle school and they'd always dreamed of going viral. So when Amber had called ten times in a row that morning to wake up her friend and tell her the news, Beth had been excited... for a moment. Now she just wanted to beat the living daylights out of someone, but she'd have to wait for Amber to leave. "Come on ," Amber urged, pulling Beth upright. "I thought you'd be excited! This is great ! Photobombed by..." The laughing fit threatened to return. "Not just photobombed," she moaned. "He was mooning me behind my back." Beth sat up reluctantly and eyed her closet, glaring through the closed door, hoping he could feel her fury. Amber noticed the look. "What?" she said, looking at the closet. Her eyes darted back to Beth. "What's wrong?" "Nothing," Beth muttered, gritting her teeth. "Wait a minute," Amber breathed, glancing back and forth between her friend and the closet. "You're hiding something." Beth's heart started pounding. She tried to hide her panic. "No," she said. "I'm just dreading ever going out in public again. I was thinking maybe I should throw out my whole wardrobe." Amber peered at her friend, a decade of shared experiences synchronizing their neurons. Squinting, Amber's eyes shifted back to the closet. "So you won't mind if I just take a peek then," she said, getting up from the bed. "No!" Beth cried, grabbing her friend by the wrist. Amber looked down at her with wide eyes, her eyebrows raised suspiciously. Their eyes locked while Amber searched her friend's face for the truth, and suddenly her eyes bulged and she gasped. "Josh!" she cried. "You had Josh over last night? Did you two..." she trailed off, clasping a hand to her mouth and yanking her wrist free of Beth's grip. She turned back to the closet and stared. "That's not it!" Beth blurted, jumping to her feet to try inserting herself between Amber and the closet. But Amber was a step ahead of her, lunging at the door. "Josh!" she yelled, her hand wrapping around the door knob. "You dirty little..." Beth clawed at her friend's clothes, desperately trying to wrestle her away from the door. She tugged in vain, only finally succeeding when Amber let out a screech and jumped back from the open closet. Both girls tumbled to the floor, rolling on top of each other while Amber frantically grabbed at Beth, gasping in shock. Peter, as Beth had named him, waddled silently out of the closet, his huge eyes glancing around casually as he took in the scene. Amber scrambled back with her hands and feet, scooting all the way against the bed before desperately clambering up on top, trying to drag Beth with her. Beth brushed her friend's hands away and got up, scowling at Peter, who merely gazed up at her with his wide, unblinking eyes. At barely two feet tall, Peter had the appearance of a slightly disturbing children's toy and the presence of a truly unsettling doll. His body was round and it almost completely blended with his head, giving him the appearance of a curvy gourd with huge eyes and tiny feet. His short, spindly hands gave the impression that his entire species had long since forgotten how to do any kind of manual labor in the same way that his stubby, waddling feet implied his ability to fly. Gracefully, the little creature rose slowly into the air, pushing off from the ground with one of his small feet as though he had been walking along the bottom of a pool. He floated peacefully up until he was at eye level with Beth, who continued to glower at him with low eyebrows and stern lips. Amber's breathing was deep and loud, her tight chest causing her to moan and whimper as she fought to calm herself. Beth looked back at her over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, turning back to Peter. "You said you'd stay here when I went on vacation!" She said angrily. She folded her arms and glared at the creature. It flickered and shimmered, the air around it bubbling and churning as it morphed and changed. Instantly Beth found herself looking down at a sad, small little girl, wringing her hands and fighting back tears. "You're angry?" the child asked, trembling. "Oh please!" Beth moaned impatiently. "Spare me the theatrics! You followed me when I asked you to stay here! You promised !" The image of the child fizzled and swirled and grew until a charming, handsome man materialized. He smiled and raised his eyebrows into a dashing smirk. "But I thought you'd like it baby," he said in a suave, deep voice. "We're meant to be together." "Not all the time!" she cried desperately, throwing her hands up. "I told you I need some time away sometimes. You can be so annoying!" Amber sounded like she was hyperventilating. She was trying to talk, but all she could do was gasp, "it, it, it, it, it..." over and over again, her voice airy and hollow. She was on the verge of tears, and both Peter and Beth turned and looked at her with pity. Peter's form frothed and shimmered again until an oversized plush teddy bear was bounding toward Amber with its arms extended for an embrace. Amber shrieked, her eyes bulging out of her head as she shriveled into the fetal position, trembling uncontrollably. "Dang it Peter," Beth groaned, crawling onto the bed with her friend and pushing the fuzzy bear away. She held her shaking friend and hushed her. "It's OK," she said. "This is Peter. He floated through my window a month ago and..." she looked over at the thing while it swirled and twisted into something that made her eyes roll and her blood boil. "He's the reason my photo went viral." Amber peered out from the protective cocoon of Beth's embrace, through the gap in her own defensive arms, and saw the familiar white and gold jumpsuit, slick black hair, and sly, crooked smile. "Uh huh," Peter said smoothly, with that trademarked smirk. "Everybody loves the king of rock and roll, and now everybody loves my friend Beth too!" He grinned proudly. "The king is back baby!" Beth let out a tired sigh and rolled her eyes, resting her cheek on her friend's trembling head. Slowly she let a tiny smile crack on her face. After venting her frustration, she had to admit... it was kind of funny.


I have an unusual relationship with Death. It’s very much a “will they, won’t they” situation. Sometimes he sits at the foot of my bed and just... watches. Like a vulture. I noticed the glimpses of flirtation when I was still mobile and strong, despite his best efforts. The undercooked meat, the neighbor boy’s skateboard left at the top of the stairs, the car that whizzes past a moment too soon for success. He first appeared to me in the cold, rotted flesh the day he took my cat. Perfectly healthy one day, stiff as a board the next. He had crawled into the cabinet under the sink to be alone. To die alone. I found him there early in the morning. I buried him in my backyard, frost steaming off the grass in the rising dawn. The attendees were myself and Death. “Sorry about that,” said a disembodied voice. I didn’t turn to look. I’d sensed him three steps behind me for the last several days. I knew him as well as he knew me. “Don’t apologize,” I said firmly, staring at the new plot of loose dirt in the grass. “Don’t apologize for things you don’t regret.” He was silent for a moment. “There’s always room for you, my dear,” he said finally. “Any time you like. Any way you like.” My eyes felt hot and watery. “Why me?” I asked. “Why does it have to be me?” The lump in my throat was rising. “Because, my dear, you’re the only one I’ve ever loved. And you’ll join me, eventually. Would you like that day to be today?” My hands were balled into fists. “Fuck you.” I should have known that he would take Scott. He thought that if he just kept taking things from me, I’d be left with nothing. I’d follow him. I should have known, I should have known. I never told Scott about Death. He would have thought I was crazy. I should have stayed away from him, I should have saved him from the fate that befalls everything I come to love. I should have never answered the phone when he called me, but that foolish little girl heart inside me jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Scott was warm and safe. He was good and pure and sweet and soft and dead. Because of me. That time when Death appeared, I felt no urge to cry. The wet rage I felt when he took my cat was gone, and in its place was heavy numbness, my insides replaced with cold stones. Death spoke to me and I didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. “He didn’t feel a thing,” said Death. “I made it painless, anaesthetized.” I was sitting in an armchair, looking out the window. It should have been raining, but instead it was a beautiful, sunny day, and everyone outside would comment on what a lovely day it was, and they would have no idea that it wasn’t a lovely day at all, and each and every one of them could go fuck themselves. “You could join him.” I didn’t look. Wouldn’t entertain the idea. I would die and end up wherever dead people go and I’d be whisked away to be Death’s concubine. I’d never see Scott again. But I had one idea. My voice was raspy. “I’ll trade you,” I said. “Trade?” “I’ll go if you bring back Scott and let him live.” The words felt empty. I did not desire death, but I was becoming indifferent about it. Death chuckled. “That’s very romantic of you. I’m impressed.” “Then do it.” I stared with lifeless eyes at the shadows under the trees. They danced back and forth in silence. Death sighed. “You know I can’t do that, my love.” I closed my eyes. Back and forth, the shadows danced on the sidewalk. It wasn’t long before he got more direct. He was growing impatient. He had chosen his weapon of attack, and it left me bedridden, in a perpetual state of fever dream, life escaping my body with every breath. My universe stretched to the walls of the hospital room. Life was something that happened to you while you slept. Scott was asleep when he died, so he never watched it approach. But we all have hellhounds, I suppose. Death appeared and stood at the foot of my bed. For the first time, I looked in his eyes. “Why me?” I whispered softly. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.” I turned away. “That was never my choice.” “Perhaps not, but you still have one last choice to make, my dear,” he said softly. Death held out his hand.


You're all alone in this shithole. Your family is long gone by now, and you're not sure where to. Could be to another district, perhaps a different city. Hell, could be to a different country altogether. You don't give a damn that's for sure. They left you here to rot all by yourself and the the worst thing about it was the feeling that you completely deserved it. But of course you don't give a fuck about that as well. No reason to, since it won't change a damn thing anyway. It's a dark neighborhood you're living in. Well, "living" is quite of an exaggeration. **Surviving** in District A16 is more like it. Yeah... Much, much more like it. Tall, crumbly, and very old apartment buildings with more floors that one can even count fill up dozens and dozens of square miles. It's funny how many apartments the government was able to cram in each building, just to fill them up with all of the human trash they're dying to get rid of. For what it's worth, half of those buildings are either completely abandoned, or not suitable for living, not even for farm animals. The rest are filled with the poor and unfortunate, drug addicts, prostitutes, and random hobos. Families who couldn't afford living in some of the better suburbs, ended up here too, just to find out that they have no bright future for their children in this place, whatsoever. You're in the 67th floor, in your family's tiny, 2 bedroom apartment that's more often than not infested with cockroaches and rats. It's kinda late at 21:47 and you're not really doing much aside for lying down on your mattress, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. The apartment is mostly dark except for a one, barely working lamp in the small kitchen. Your stomach makes weird noises, but you know for a fact that there's no food in the fridge, or in any of the cabinets for that matter. Gotta step outside and see if there's something worth fetching. Lurking these streets at night isn't really all that advised here, but then again, District A16 isn't too terrific even if it's 8:00 in the morning. The word "Police" could make everyone here choke on their own laugh. **THUD.** Something big just slid and fell down in the Nelson's apartment that's close to yours. There's a thin drywall separating both your apartments so you could always hear them argue about stuff when they were home. But that's strange; the Nelson's left the place a year ago after their older child, Cory, was stabbed multiple times to death in a bar fight. Poor kid was only 19. They left with their remaining daughter and were no where to be seen since then. It could be a case of someone breaking in and searching for something valuable to steal. But in this place... Well, nobody wants to be seen, heard, or talked to. A burglar wouldn't want to raise that much of attention unless they were armed... And with that lightning revelation, you're jumping at once out of bed, grabbing a sharp knife from the kitchen and reach the front door, gazing nervously through the peephole. This is gonna be a long, long fucking night.


“I’m a Photographer. You mind if I take a picture of you and your family?” Simon asked. “Oh, sure,” the mom answered. “Tom, kids, gather around and smile.” Simon lifted his camera, took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, and snapped the picture. He pulled up the picture on his camera screen, smiling as he examined the picture of the screaming family on the small display. They will look great added to his collection. Before he walked away, he took a quick picture of the giant tree that the family had been standing in front of. He spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the park, taking pictures of various plants and some animals that he thought would look great in his collection. When he was done, he was excited to get home and play with his new toys. Though he had plenty of money from the life insurance that had been paid out when his wife died, he lived in a low rent apartment in the shitty part of downtown. He only needed a place to sleep and play. He never had any intentions to entertain, and where he lived, the neighbors rarely talked to each other, which suited him just fine. He plugged the USB cable into his computer, his smile growing as he clicked on the picture folder and opened his newest collection pieces. “Ah, come on, Steve,” Lisa began. “Let’s go to the park. It’s a beautiful day.” Steve really wanted to just relax and watch some college football, but he couldn’t resist her infectious smile. “Fine,” he relented. “Yay,” she replied, hopping up and down. Steve loved the way Lisa loved life. She was always smiling, and always wanted to be outside, whenever the weather permitted. Living in the northeast, fall was creeping in, soon to be followed by winter. They walked arm in arm down the street, enjoying the tree’s changing colors and the sunny clear sky. Once in the park, they took their time walking the paths, greeting everyone they passed. People always seemed in better moods in parks. “I’m getting hungry and my legs are sore,” Lisa said, stopping in front of an empty bench. “I’ll go get something from the vendor,” Steve replied. “Rest here and I’ll be right back.” As he walked away, his smile faded a little. Lisa had been in remission for six months now, but he knew that could change at any time. The only positive that had come from cancer, was that they appreciated the time they had together much more. He looked back, giving her a quick smile and wave before he rounded the corner and out of sight. Simon was slowly walking through the park, looking for more people, or animals, that he could add to his collection. He knew it was only a matter of time before the police found the common denominator of all the missing people. Soon the park will become the focus of search efforts to find the people he had been taking. While they wouldn’t be able to link him to any of the disappearances, he knew once the park began to become infested with police, he would have to pick a different locale to find new collectables. The logical part of him told him he should take a break from adding to his collection, and just enjoy the ones he had until things cooled down, but he couldn’t stop. It was like an addiction. All he could think about was finding the next collectible. He was pretending to take casual photos, when he noticed Lisa sitting on the bench by herself. “Excuse me, do you mind if I take a picture of you for my collection?” Simon asked. “Sure,” she replied. “What kind of collection is it?” He smiled proudly, “It’s a compilation of people, animals, and the energy of the park. I’ve been coming here my entire life, and I find the energy the park provides beautiful.” Lisa couldn’t agree more. “That’s awesome!” Lisa said, with a broad smile of her own. “I’d be honored to be a part of your collection.” *Yes, you will be*, Simon thought. He took a few steps back, raised the camera, and took her picture. His smile didn’t fade as he enjoyed to the beauty of the now empty bench. Steve returned to where he had left Lisa, holding a hotdog in each hand. Not seeing her there, he looked around to see where she may have wondered off to. He saw a photographer off to the side taking pictures of trees, so he approached him. “Excuse me,” Steve asked. The photographer turned to face him. “Can I help you?” Simon asked. “Did you happen to see where a woman that was sitting on that bench went?” Steve asked. Simon’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry,” Simon said, a unnoticeable tremor in his voice. “I’m afraid not.” “Ok, thank you,” Steve replied. Simon had never run into this problem before, and he was unsure what to do next. Simon decided to add the man to his collection, but as he was bringing the camera up, more people walked around the bend. By the time they had moved on, Steve was too far away. Simon considered following him and taking him later, but decided that it didn’t matter in the grand scale of things. Flustered, Simon left the park, no longer enjoying the scenery. Steve walked through the front door of their flat. While it was unusual for Lisa to walk off without telling him, she often still got tired easy, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to cut walks short, so she could get home and rest. “Lisa?” Steve called out. He walked around the entire flat, but there was no sign of her. He had already called her cell phone several times, but had gotten her voicemail each time. His first instinct was to call the police, but he knew they would just make him wait twenty-four hours before they could investigate. The air outside had gotten much cooler as he walked back to the park to look for her. *Maybe she went somewhere and then came back*, he thought. Once he was back at the bench where he left her, and seeing she wasn’t there, he tried calling her again, but still only got her voicemail. “Screw it!” he muttered to himself and called the police. “911, what’s your emergency?” a lady’s voice came across the line. “Yes, my wife is missing,” he stated. “And how long has she been missing, sir?” she asked. He could hear typing in the background. “A couple of hours,” he answered already knowing what her response was going to be. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t do anything until she has been missing at least twenty-four hours,” she confirmed. “I know, but this isn’t like her,” he said. “We were at the park, I stepped away for a few minutes, and when I came back, she was gone.” He was expecting exasperation, but instead got silence. “Ma’am?” he asked. “Sir, did you say she went missing in the park?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Please hold,” she said, and then only silence. After a few moments, a man’s voice came on the line. “This is Detective Andrews, to whom am I speaking?” he asked. “My name is Steve Dawson, and my wife’s name is Lisa Dawson,” he answered. “Are you near the park now?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” Steve replied. “I’m actually here now.” “Okay, stay there,” the detective said. “I’m heading over now.” Before Steve could say anything else, the line went dead. A very long twenty minutes later, Steve saw the detective arrive. “Mr. Dawson?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” Steve replied. “Can you tell me where you last saw your wife?” he asked. Steve pointed to the bench. “There.” “Did you happen to see anyone else around at that time?” the detective asked. “No, sir,” Steve said. “Wait, I did see a photographer, but that was after she was missing.” “I see.” The detective looked around the area for a bit, and then returned to where Steve was waiting. “I’m afraid I’ve been following a few missing people cases where they had been last seen either in the park, or last told they were coming here. I don’t know if your wife is part of that, but I’m afraid so far we don’t have much to go on. We have yet to have a witness, and there are never signs of foul play. They’re just here one day, and then gone the next. I wish I could say these were isolated incidents, but in a city this big, it unfortunately happens more often than not,” the detective explained. He questioned Steve for a little longer, gave him his card, and left. Steve once again found himself alone in the park. A few days past, and there was no sign of Lisa. Steve had taken time off from work since he couldn’t concentrate. He spent each day walking through the park, hoping to see some clue that would help lead him to Lisa. As Steve sat on a bench thinking to himself, he saw the photographer in the distance taking pictures. He didn’t think the man had taken Lisa, but there was something odd about his behavior when he had asked about her sitting there. He sat in a way where he could see the photographer, but the photographer couldn’t easily see him. *What else can I do?* Steve asked himself. He watched as the photographer took pictures, and then stopped to talk to a couple who was walking by. He said something to them, the couple smiled, and then took a couple of steps back to allow the photographer to take a picture of them. Steve gasped as he saw the photographer look around briefly, and then within a split second, the couple vanished. Steve couldn’t believe what he had just seen. One moment the couple was there smiling, the next, nothing but air. Instinctively, Steve hid himself. He peeked up and saw the man walk away. Confident that was how Lisa had disappeared, he decided to follow the man. Simon couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment. He hadn’t added to his collection in days. The man asking about his wife right after he took her had freaked him out, but now he felt it was time to get back to collecting. He walked, wearing a broad smile, and unaware someone was following him. As far as Steve could tell, the photographer didn’t know he was being followed. He didn’t look around once and seemed to make a straight line for an apartment building. Steve watched him go into the building, and then picked up his pace, not wanting to lose him inside. He peeked inside the door and saw the man walking up the stairs. The front door wasn’t locked, so Steve was able to enter the building and quickly make his way up the stairs just far enough to see where the photographer went. The man walked down the hallway of the second floor, and approached a door. He turned the key and began to walk through. As soon as Steve was sure he couldn’t be seen, he sprinted down the hallway to reach the door before it closed. Simon flew back as something came bursting through the door before it had closed all the way. He fell to the ground hard, and before he could understand what was happening, a strange man was on top of him. Simon looked to the door, hoping someone would see what was happening, but the door was closed. Steve had slammed it closed behind him as he ran through. “Where’s my wife?!” Steve seethed into Simon’s face. He purposely kept his voice down, so that no one would hear him. Simon began to call out for help, but before he could get a peep out, Steve punched him hard in the face. “Where’s my wife, you son of a bitch?” Steve asked again. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon replied. “I saw what you just did to that couple, and I know you did the same thing to my wife!” Steve said again, slamming Simon’s head into the ground. Simon was sadistic, but he wasn’t brave. It didn’t take long before he told Simon everything. “She’s in there,” he said, pointing to the computer. “How do I get her out?!” Steve asked firmly. “I don’t know,” Simon began. “I only know how to put them in.” “Why do you do it?” Steve asked. Simon knew there was only one answer. “Because I can,” he said. Steve punched him again, and grabbed the camera. “Well, guess what?” Steve said, only inches from Simon’s face. “I’m going to put you in there and see how you like it.” Steve raised the camera like he was going to take a picture of Simon, but Simon stopped him. “Wait, wait,” he begged. “I’ll release them.” “I thought you just said you didn’t know how?” Steve said. “I lied,” Simon replied. “I lied. Please, I’ll release them.” Reluctantly, Steve let him up. Simon walked over to the computer, took the SD card out of the camera, and put it into the computer. He typed some commands into the Command Prompt, and then took the chip out and put it back in the camera. He flipped through the settings, and showed Steve which setting to use to release them. Before he did anything else, he flipped through the pictures until he came across Lisa’s. His heart sank as he saw her once smiling face was now contorted into a scream. He clicked the button and in an instant, she was standing before them. Once she had gained her bearing, she ran into Steve’s arms. “Steve!” She yelled, unable to contain herself. Steve returned her hug, but kept his gaze on Simon. He wasn’t about to let him try anything. “Is everyone you took in here?” he asked. “Only the ones that survived,” Simon replied. “Survived what?” Steve asked. Simon reluctantly walked to the computer and pulled up a game application. It was like a battle game where you were able to choose your combatants. Steve looked over at Lisa. “Do you remember this?” he asked her. “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “The last thing I remember was him taking my picture and then immense pain.” Steve’s blood boiled. He fiddled with the camera settings, and without any warning, he took a picture of Simon, who quickly disappeared. Lisa’s heart momentarily stopped when she saw the man just vanish before her. Before she could say anything, Steve began destroying the computer, breaking every piece, picking them up, and breaking them some more. He used his hands for most of it, but he took the hard drive to a table and using a hammer, he broke it into a thousand pieces. “Let’s go,” he said, leading Lisa out the door. Steve and Lisa found a vacant part of the park, and released everyone one by one, except for Simon. The small crowd of people stared at each other, unsure what was happening, and no memory of what had happened to them. Once he was sure everyone, but Simon was released, he took out the SD card, and broke it in half, throwing half into a trash can, and putting the other half into his pocket to throw away later. Everyone jumped when he smashed the camera onto the ground. “Let’s go home,” he said to Lisa, leading her away from the dumbfounded group of people.


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about: Reinvigoration We’ve all been there. We’ve been down in the dumps and have pulled ourselves out, dusted ourselves off, and tightened our belts. How did it happen? What re-inspired us to keep going? Sometimes it’s witnessing others succeed where we failed that helps reinvigorate us. Sometimes all we needed was a nice long nap. Other times what we needed was . No matter what got our characters into the mess they’re in now, they’re going to need to get that flame under their butt reignited. So how do you do that? This is the part of the show where friends, allies, and lovers show how . They can embrace the darkness and . OR Outside help in the form of friends/allies/lovers . OR Some other solution leads them into a re-invigoration. For some writers this beat won’t feel much different than the next, Second Wind, and that’s ok. I would mention in this case that a re-invigoration has to come before a Second Wind, and to treat one as the ‘theory’ section, and the other as the ‘acting on that theory’ portion. Sometimes we see this in books and films as one fluid scene, and other times it’s the time we see our heroes go back to the drawing board before they are back in . **Things to consider for this challenge:** How does your protagonist react to help? Is it hard to hear , or is that ? Does your protagonist believe in themselves and think they can succeed anymore? Is it difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel for your characters, or have they been in worse scrapes? How does that affect what invigoration looks like for them? Does reflecting on past experiences help them re-find their purpose or a new way to get out of their predicament? **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 10/24, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, The Darkest Moment: **I’m just going to preface this with: this past week of stories were killer.** There wasn’t a single one that didn’t nail the challenge in some facet, and choosing top stories this week was ridiculously hard. Our Serial Saturday writers are killin’ it and I’m so thrilled I get to hear all these stories unfold week by week. I would happily just list everyone from the last thread and say ‘congrats, you all got both the Challenge Sash and Fan Favorite! As it is I had to break a three way tie with the votes! I'm hella proud of everyone. **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/JohnGarrigan, with an ending that delivered on the pucker factor of a no-holds barred fantasy battle. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/Kammerice, with a shocking ending that hit us out of nowhere and oh gods this changes *everything.* **And two honorable mentions:** /u/Xacktar, with an installment that upped the stakes again, and seriously put a smile on my face when I read it. Anyone in the discord chat knows exactly what reaction . /u/Lynx_elia, with a big-picture look of a species that . \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: **The Darkest Moment** Have you seen the? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


Reporter: Thank you for meeting with me. I know you don’t see many visitors. **Prisoner: I’ve read your work before. I like how you write.** Reporter: I appreciate that. **Prisoner: I liked your oped last week.** Reporter: About the Medicare reform bill? **Prisoner: Yes, that one.** Reporter: Is that why you agreed to speak with me? Because I might tell your story sympathetically? **Prisoner: My story deserves no sympathy.** Reporter: So why did you agree to this? **Prisoner: I like the way you write.** **** Reporter: Let me tell you why I’m here. The reason I wanted to talk to you is that you are very different from shooters who came before you. **Prisoner: No, I’m not.** Reporter: You’re not a disturbed loner - **Prisoner: I am disturbed. I’m pretty lonely.** Reporter: Fair enough. But you weren’t always.. **Prisoner: No, I wasn’t.** Reporter: You’re not a radical, you’re not a religious fanatic. You’re a data analyst living in the suburbs of Minneapolis. You have no history of addiction, criminality, financial duress, zealousness, mental illness - **Prisoner: -- well, I’m not sure -** Reporter: -- no *longstanding* history of mental illness. Home, bought and paid for, decent nest egg, wife, family - **Prisoner: -- family... -** Reporter: -- family, dog, lots of friends. You could be anyone. **Prisoner: And yet, here you are with me.** Reporter: You could be anyone, but such an act of terrorism, it seems to me - **Prisoner: I’m not a terrorist.** Reporter: You’re not a terrorist? **Prisoner: No, I’m not.** Reporter: Maybe we’re getting too deep too quickly. Why don’t we take a breath. **** Reporter: Let’s start with your family. You have 2 children - **Prisoner: -- had -** Reporter: I’m sorry, you had 2 children. Your elder, Sam, is 12 now? **Prisoner: 13** Reporter: Yes, 13. I apologize. She’s a rising eighth grader at Washington Junior? Tell me about her. **Prisoner: Sam is 13. She’s the light of my life. She loves piano and books and writing stories about aliens and superheroes.** Reporter: She sounds wonderful. **Prisoner: She does well in school. She used to do better, but she’s doing fine, all things considered. I think they’d classify her as gifted if not for... Her favorite singer is Cat Stevens, and her current dream is to plant a million trees.** Reporter: How is she doing nowadays? **Prisoner: Not great.** Reporter: Isn’t that to be expected? Didn’t you expect that? **Prisoner: Of course I did.** Reporter: Of course. I’m sorry. We’ll come back to Sam. **** Reporter: Your second child, your son, Chris, is two years younger than Sam? **Prisoner: Was.** Reporter: Yes, was. Chris was 7 when it happened? **Prisoner: 7. Chris was 7.** Reporter: He was 7, finishing up 2nd grade. **Prisoner: Yes. He and Sam were both at the same school then.** Reporter: Lincoln Elementary. **Prisoner: Yes, Lincoln. She was 9, he was 7.** Reporter: So tell me about Chris. **Prisoner: What is there left to say? Every minute of his life has been dissected by every news outlet and web sleuth.** Reporter: But don’t you want to tell me about him? **Prisoner: No, I don’t think so.** Reporter: OK, but you can tell the world about him, about what he meant to you. **Prisoner: He’s gone.** Reporter: You can honor his memory - **Prisoner: He’s gone. There is no one left to honor -** Reporter: OK, OK, let’s - **Prisoner: ... there is no one left to honor, and pretending that we somehow keep his spirit alive when no matter how many stories we share or tears we shed, nothing we do can do him any good -- that’s what dishonors his memory.** Reporter: OK. OK. **** Reporter: Chris was one of 47 children killed in what was then the deadliest school mass shooting in this country’s history. **Prisoner: Yes. He was the 3rd child killed that day.** Reporter: The whole world is sorry for your loss. **Prisoner: Thank you. Chris was killed for no reason, but he was killed** ***third*** **because he began sobbing after the shooting began. 7 year olds cry, but Chris was more sensitive than most. He used to cry when he was going to bed. Said he would miss us while he slept. Whenever he did that, we used to tell him that it was time for him to grow up... It was something we were working on.** Reporter: To see what he must have seen... **Prisoner: It was too much.** **** Reporter: After mass shooting events, especially of younger children, other parents have gone on to create advocacy groups, support networks. Why haven’t you channeled your anger into something productive like they have? **Prisoner: I thought about it. I tried for a few months. To get involved. To speak out. But I just stopped.** Reporter: What happened? Why did you stop? **Prisoner: I kept asking myself, why is it on me?** Reporter: What do you mean? **Prisoner: Why is it on me? It was my family that was ripped apart, literally flesh from bone. My son was unrecognizable. I am unrecognizable. Some days I still find it hard to find the will to inhale, and it’s on me to make this a better world? Why does any of this fall on me?** Reporter: You’re right. It shouldn’t be on you. But you didn’t end up doing nothing, did you? **Prisoner: No, I did something.** **** Reporter: Earlier, I said that Chris was murdered in what was then the nation’s largest mass school shooting because that record has since been surpassed. **Prisoner: Yes.** Reporter: By the time you were captured, 54 children had died or sustained the injuries that would later kill them. And you didn’t choose a random school. You chose Sidwell Friends, DC’s most elite private school. **Prisoner: I did.** Reporter: A school that counts among its students children of politicians and dignitaries. You chose an outdoor assembly where students would be gathered closely and could be attacked from a distance. Of your victims, 6 were children of Congressmen, 2 of Senators, and 1 the grandson of a Supreme Court Justice. **Prisoner: Yes.** Reporter: These are people who make the laws that govern, among others, access to high capacity firearms like the ones you used last January. **Prisoner: Like the ones used on my son.** Reporter: Yes. You chose the same models that were used against your son. **Prisoner: I did.** Reporter: Do you think these weapons should be outlawed? **Prisoner: Of course I do.** Reporter: And yet you chose to use them. **Prisoner: They’re not illegal.** **** Reporter: Earlier, you claimed that you’re not a terrorist, but it seems pretty clear that you were targeting the lawmakers who made it possible for mass shooters to procure the weapons that killed your son. And who then made it possible for you to procure those same weapons. **Prisoner: I did target them, but I’m not a terrorist.** Reporter: How is this not terrorism? **Prisoner: Because nothing will change.** Reporter: Did you think that if these people felt what you feel, that they would change their minds? **Prisoner: Nothing ever changes.** **** Reporter: As you might be aware, one of the victim’s fathers, a congressman, has publicly switched his stance on gun control. It’s been reported that 1 other is considering changing his as well. Does that give you hope? **Prisoner: How much hope do you think they have?** Reporter: Then do you believe that what you did could be taken as a warning to lawmakers and politicians? **Prisoner: It shouldn’t be. What I did was entirely predictable. A certainty.** Reporter: And why does that matter? **Prisoner: Because a warning is a threat. An eventuality just is.** Reporter: Then do you believe that what you did is a call to action for copycats to keep doing what you did until they change their minds? **Prisoner: The next mass shooter will be a mass shooter regardless of my actions.** Reporter: But they might not otherwise target the children of lawmakers as you did. **Prisoner: My victims are not the last children of lawmakers to die like this.** Reporter: So if not a warning, if not a terrorist act, was it an act of revenge? **Prisoner: No, it wasn’t revenge. Revenge could have been enough, but I honestly didn’t care about revenge. I didn’t see the point in it.** Reporter: So why? **Prisoner: Because this is the world now.** Reporter: What do you mean by that? **Prisoner: This is the world we have now. The world we’ve allowed, the world we’ve designed. And this is what happens in this world.** Reporter: It doesn’t sound like you take a lot of responsibility for what you did. **Prisoner: This is the world they created. I’m just an agent of that world. I was bound to happen, so I let me happen.** **** Reporter: Let’s talk about the children, the ones you killed. These kids did nothing wrong - **Prisoner: My kid did nothing wrong.** Reporter: -- nothing other than to be born to politicians you disagree with. **Prisoner: Some of those politicians I agree with.** Reporter: When you entered the room, when you looked into their frightened eyes, didn’t you know that you were doing something terribly wrong? Evil? **Prisoner: Of course** Reporter: What did you feel? **Prisoner: Compassion, sorrow, shame, disgust.** Reporter: And yet you went ahead **Prisoner: Yes** Reporter: Why? **Prisoner: There is no logic to losing my child -- or any child -- in such an unnatural way, in such a preventable way, a sacrifice to nothing. There is no rational response to irrationality. I went ahead because in a senseless world, there are only senseless actions.** **** Reporter: Have you ever thought about what Chris would have wanted? **Prisoner: Of course.** Reporter: Would he have wanted this? **Prisoner: He would not have wanted this. He would be horrified.** Reporter: So then why did you do it? **Prisoner: My son is dead.** Reporter: Even if he wouldn’t have wanted this? **Prisoner: My son is dead. He doesn’t want anything.** Reporter: But don’t you sully his memory by doing such a terrible thing? **Prisoner: What I do now means nothing to him.** **** Reporter: There is still Sam. **Prisoner: Yes, Sam.** Reporter: She suffers from losing her brother, but she also suffers from knowing what you did and losing her father. **Prisoner: What I did to her was unforgivable.** Reporter: Why didn’t that stop you? **Prisoner: I used to tell my kids a story about the mathematics of love. When I met their mother, she filled my whole heart with love, edge to edge, 100%. But then when Sam came into the world, even though my heart was already completely full, I instantly loved her too with my whole heart, edge to edge, 100%. And when Chris was born, my heart was filled yet again, and I loved him with the entirety of heart, just as I did his sister and his mother. Each of them occupied 100% of my heart, edge to edge, and I could not love each of them any more than I did. Only love works like this.** Reporter: That’s a lovely sentiment, but doesn’t that mean that Sam still fills your heart? **Prisoner: It means that when Chris was killed, my heart was destroyed completely. My love for Sam is unending, but so is the absoluteness of the void. I am simultaneously full of love and incapable of love.** Reporter: I don’t understand. I might follow your logic, however tortured it may be, but when it leads you to a course of action that forces you to re-traumatize and then abandon your daughter, how could it possibly make sense? **Prisoner: She understands. She will understand. She will never forgive me, but she’ll make it through.** Reporter: For her sake, I hope you’re right. **Prisoner: I wish I could have been different for her.** **** Reporter: Let me ask you about your wife. **Prisoner: I think I’m done now.** Reporter: I’m sorry? **Prisoner: My wife isn’t my wife anymore. She won’t talk to me.** Reporter: I know. **Prisoner: I’m done. I’m tired. I’m ready to go back to my cell.** Reporter: I have just a few more questions for you before you - **Prisoner: -- Hello? Can I be done here?** \[Guard enters the room and unshackles the prisoner from the table.\] Reporter: Please, just five more minutes. What happened with your wife in the aftermath of your son’s death? Did you seek counseling? What was your relationship with Sam after Lincoln? I want to understand - **Prisoner \[exiting the room\]: I’m actually easy to understand. I could be anyone.


Old Chi Wepps crushed a cigarette out on the bow of his john boat with a worn, wet boot. The darkness of the swamp was made sexy by a full moon bouncing its ass all over the blackwater, and in the distance the old man heard an outboard motor start up. A couple gators lay slopped and twisted behind him done bleeding now through holes in their heads. He had harpooned them both and then popped them with bang sticks after he pulled them to the side of the boat thrashing and chomping. He fingered his .38 Smith and Wesson holstered to his side to make himself feel a little better, and lit another cigarette. He took a long drag and puffed smoke in front of him toward the direction the buzzing, far-off motor. It was coming toward him, and the motor sounded clean to his ear. He reckoned it was a newer motor, and it was more than likely the law. Ain’t nobody out this late but him, and whores, and the law. He’d be damned if he ever got caught poaching, and he wasn’t about to get caught this time. Chi pull-started his small motor, and it revved and sputtered its blue smoke as he puffed his cig glaring down as if daring his motor to quit. He knew the approaching boat was too loud for its occupants to hear his small two-stroke, so he took the tiller handle and revved off to his starboard scattering duckweed and rippling moonlight on the water in his wake. Tilling the boat with his left hand he scratched the thick gray scruff of his beard with his right hand burning some of his loose, long hair with his cigarette. He smoked it down until he tasted filter and flicked it. Chi did not give one muskrat fuck. If any law man caught him he’d shoot him in the face without a second thought; he’d stomp their skulls until he had to scrape brains off his boots. He knew every inch of this swamp and had lived out in it since he was a little boy, and he thought of the swamp as his special lady and was headed straight for her sweetest spot. Even if he didn’t get to his camp tonight there was always a spot he could crawl into. He chuffed to himself a little his hard eyes never changing. Chi thought to himself how in his older age the swamps’s sweetness meant more to him than the women he had known as a pup, and that called for toast. He rummaged into his jacket pocket and took a scarred, wide flask out. He gave a hard pull on it not taking his eyes off the water. The motor behind him was gaining. He reveled in the burn the whisky left in his throat. *Fug them,* he thought. *Dey caint catcha me.* To his surprise he heard another outboard with the one behind him setting a new, high vibration, and Chi felt pure heat pour from his face and neck. He quickly put his flask away, curled his hand around the cold pistol at his side, and scowled. “I drive dis boat straight to da momma’s pussy see how dey like it.” Seeing a tributary bushy and hidden he pushed his tiller hard right and swooped his boat port into the overhanging vines and a trickle of black water. Sixty seconds in he cut his motor and took off a long wooden pole that was lashed to the side of the beaten boat and began to pole silently along as if he were a gondolier in Venice, and the two gators behind him were lovers whose new lust had shot each other’s brains out. Chi chuckled as he heard the boats pass him by full bore, and had a surge of excitement when he heard the unmistakeable thunk of one of the boat’s lower units smashing into the submerged cypress stumps and the dismayed cries of its occupants. The other boat motor cycled down quickly to idle, and Chi knew they’d be helping the injured in the other boat, and not following a little ole alligator poacher like him. He poled on for another mile or more using his push-pole to swipe down spider webs from the low hanging brush. He covered the gators with tarp, and started to prepare his camp right in the boat. Grasping an aluminum pole from the bottom of the boat he seated it into a bracket in the middle and strung a vinyl tarp that was bordered with mosquito netting up over it and snapped it in place all around the boat. Affixed to the top end of the pole was another bracket with holes drilled into it to which Chi pushed tent-poles into and then pushed the far ends of those into small brackets into strategic areas along the rim of the boat which lifted his tent all around him. Done with this he laid down on top of the wet tarp face-first on the gators. He kissed one of their heads smooching and smelling the fishy smell and humping them a little as he listened to the faint sounds of dismay coming from the injured lawmen not just a mile or so away. He sat up and let the sounds of the swamp drown away his focus on duties, and so the buzzes and chirps increased their value and loud dankness took him in. He sat back right on them gators and laughed. He pulled out his flask and laid some jerky on his chest took a pull of whisky and lit a smoke. He chewed on some jerky savoring the seasoning and chuckled when he heard a scream. Chi thought he heard a burly voice yell, “Fuck you!” into the night. Maybe one of the lawmen was dead. He patted the back of one of the gators he sat on and said, “Oh, I love you babies!” Those alligators he hunted and took gave him his Marlboro and biscuit money he liked to call it, and he never hurt nobody who ain’t tried to hurt him. And he ain’t never hurt none of the ladies who came out to the swamp to give him their bodies and their cheer by his firelight, except that fair one that stole from him. The one that took his heart away from the swamp and kept it wrapped in that black mold town like dirty panties in her pocket, and she wouldn’t let him leave and come back to his shacks in his wet, green world. But his swamp was a jealous, mean bitch, and she meant to have him back. And her pull was slick and humid, and she was so sticky he could not pull himself off of her. So he took that thievin girl like he takes them gators, and he took her back to the rolling greens and blacks, them snapping teeth and fangs, that swirling algae and moist, earthy decay that was her soft breast where he laid his head, and he gave both their beating hearts on back to her for good.


The dark and stormy nature of the night was accentuated, by the Witch Tower’s great height. It was so tall that at night, in the rain, you could not see the rest of the school, or it’s grounds. One had the sense of being trapped in a bottle of lightning. As such, Kiwi kept her blinds shut, better to not see the effect at all than to get drawn into the enchanting illusion, especially when there was homework to be done. Alchemy was a demanding mistress and wouldn’t be put on hold even for a storm like this. “Kiwi!” Into the cluttered room came Dante, familiar par excellence. The white and brown collie jumped into Kiwi’s bed, and burrowed his way under the covers. “Thunder! Take shelter!” He poked his head out of the sheets, and beckoned Kiwi with no greater gesturing than the shimmering of his eyes. As tempting as warm blankets, and puppy dog eyes were, passing Alchemy was more tempting still. “It’ll be alright, boy.” She went back to filling in the equations on her sheet. “You’re not scared?” The shaking dog, inched closer, emerging from the sheets like a hermit crab. “Consider me dubious.” Kiwi nervously looked at her blinds, which were lighting up like there was an alien abduction on the other side. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Even as the nearby thunder rattled the foundation of the tower, she kept a brave face, or at least a bored one. She didn’t want to freak her dog out any more than he already was. “But it’s just thunder, we’ll be alright.” She chose to ignore the nervous sweat, her childhood phobia generated. The collie jumped from the bed to her feet. “You’re so cool, Kiwi!” He praised, and licked her boots with all the love in the world. Then another roll of thunder, sent him into hiding beneath her desk. “Geez, it’s right on top of us, huh?” Kiwi giggled to try to hide her own low-grade terror. Of all the nights she decided to be brave, it had to be this one? “It’s okay, Dante.” She searched out his head with her hand and pet him gently. “I’ll keep you safe.” She could feel his scalp relax and droop at her touch. “Good boy, good boy.” --- Kiwi could actually feel her eyeballs drying up as she maintained eye contact with Dante. He was a tough opponent. Unblinking, unflinching, with eyes as wet as a salamander’s back. Only a fool would challenge him to a staring contest but loves makes us all do crazy things. “If this is how you’re spending your time, I’m definitely not giving you enough homework.” Madam Crabapple, the Herbology teacher appeared at Kiwi’s side. The young witch, jumped, and broke contact with Dante, netting him yet another victory. “Madam!” She chirped with a short bow. “You may be the first person to accuse your class of not having enough homework.” The teacher chuckled out an agreement. “Oh, very well. What sort of experiment are you running on this handsome young man then?” She reached out and scratched Dante behind the ears, which meant she’d earned a friend for life. Kiwi slouched at her stone table. The bright blue sky above, made her stormy mood feel ridiculous. “He hasn’t spoken since the storm. I think something’s wrong with him... or me.” Crabapple nodded grimly. “May I have a seat?” When Kiwi nodded that she could, the older woman bunched up her skirt and sat beside Dante on his stone seat. She continued to pet him fondly. “Is he still holding your magic for you?” “Yes ma’am. I’ve had no problem using him as a familiar, he just won’t talk.” “I see.” Crabapple adjusted her large feathered hat, and smiled sadly at her student. “You know, when I was a child, I could hear every animal speak, whether they said something or not.” “What do you mean? Can you hear him?” “No.” She took a look at the collie again. “No. It’s just that Familiars are complicated things. In a way, they are us. They share our dreams, our desires, our magic, but they’re also still the animals we made them out of.” “I don’t understand.” Crabapple straightened herself up a bit. “Dante has given you advice before, yes?” “All the time.” “And when did your dog become so wise? Where did he go to school? Who did he study under?” “When we did the familiar ritual. It gave him powers.” “And wisdom?” “I guess.” “When we make our familiars, we give a piece of ourselves over to them. They become what we need them to be. For many young witches, this is a mentor, or a voice of reason.” Kiwi couldn’t ignore the sad tint to Madam Crabapple’s explanation any longer. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong.” Crabapple laughed, still sadly. “You just happen to have a very good familiar. He’s served you so well that... you just don’t need him anymore.” “What?” Kiwi had to stop herself from exploding on her elder. “That’s ridiculous, he’s my best friend.” “Well of course he is, but you simply don’t need his advice anymore. You’ve grown. You’re not losing him, he’ll still be with you. It’s just that the mentoring part of your relationship is over.” Kiwi got up, she was shaking. “With all due respect, this is stupid. I know witches, who can still talk to their familiars.” “It’s different for everyone. Maybe they still need advice, or maybe what they needed most from their familiar was a friend.” “I need a friend!” Kiwi sobbed, and dropped to her knees. She buried her fingers into her dog’s fur. “Please Dante, I still need you, don’t do this to me.” “Don’t blame Dante.” Crabapple said softly. “It’s not his fault.” “Then it’s mine?” Kiwi’s eyes were full of pain. “It’s no one’s fault, my dear. Sometimes things like this, fade away.” This was wholly unacceptable to the witch. She’d learned so much, and gained so much power and she didn’t get to keep the small pleasure of talking to her dog? In what world could that be true? “I want to go back then. I want to restore the bond, unlearn whatever he taught me. Whatever it takes.” Crabapple sighed, she knew that there would be no clean away to exit this conversation. “My dear, there are no refunds in the exchange of knowledge.” --- There is nothing lost, that magic cannot find anew. Whatever that whimsical spark was that ignited Dante with wit and wisdom Kiwi would find it again. There were too many games, too much fun lost in the newfound silence of her bedroom. Dante was still clearly very smart, and fully magical, but his unspoken words haunted her. How he must be suffering, unable to critique her homework or compliment her outfits. She tried not to take it all too personally. She knew witches walked down the dark paths, nurturing the kind of petty emotions she felt now. When she saw the younger students frolicking with their animals out into the fields, she wanted to run out and tell them all the truth. She wanted to warn them of the great betrayal of their relationship. But what good would that have done? If she’d known then what she knew now, every moment she spent with Dante would have been plagued with worry for the day it would all end. So, she kept silent. Confident that there was something sacred happening in those fields. Something that should only be spoiled by time, and not the ill temperament of an older witch. Instead, she turned to her studies, and found her solution there. It was such an easy fix; it was honestly embarrassing to have felt any loss at all. A Potion of Animal Speaking, easy to whip up, and cheap as chips. She was able to cook one of those up in the school lab in about fifteen minutes. She washed the beat, and beef-flavored potion down with a burp, and by the time it hit her stomach she was fluent in Animalia. Kiwi bent down beneath her lab counter and started to harass her dog with a barrage of pets. “Hey boy, hey! Speak!” “Kiwi!” The dog sang, and rolled onto his back. “Love, love, love Kiwi! Belly rubs, belly rubs, belly rubs!” A sick feeling washed over the witch, like her stomach and heart ached all at once. Though the dog spoke, it was not Dante. Not the Dante she wanted, at least. Her wise playful friend, was a bit more articulate than the playful pup at her fingertips. Madam Crabapple was right, something had been lost between them. Whatever magic animated their conversations previously, was gone. “Kiwi sad?” The dog looked up at her, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a goof. “Yeah.” She nodded, and let the tears come. At that the dog jumped into action, rolling onto his feet, he stuck his nose into her face, and started to lick. “Don’t be sad. There there.” How could such a simple, heartfelt request not drive her into further tears? --- If there were small miracles to be thankful for, it’s that the potion eventually wore off. Not before Kiwi got into a very heated discussion with the birds about global warming. It’s not that they didn’t believe in it, it’s that they supported it that really threw Kiwi for a loop. Whatever the opinions of bird brains might be, school stopped for no witch. She was forced to make the unenviable decision to lay in her bed depressed or drown herself in work. She figured that at least drowning would raise her GPA, so went with that option. Yet not long after she entered her tower, a flash of light illuminated her blinds. Then that low, slow, tumble rolled across the land. Like breaking tree trunks the sound of thunder reached the foundation, and made Kiwi’s window shake terribly. “Mmm.” She groaned miserably and pressed her hand against the window to keep it from vibrating. There was something awful about knowing, that she’d have to endure this storm alone this time. Why did she have to act so brave in front of Dante? Hadn’t he known that she was lying? Only pretending to be brave. If it weren’t for her homework, she would have been whimpering under the covers with him. Now she had more work to do. Maybe that was the secret of being an adult. You just keep yourself so busy, there’s not time to be afraid. Maybe, but at the moment Kiwi was feeling busy and afraid. Overwhelmingly both, actually. At her bed, there was a whimpering. Kiwi paused long enough to spot Dante buried in blankets, snout poking out. “What are you doing under there?” She said in a sweet voice, out of habit she waited for a response. None came, just a feeling of foolishness and despair. Kiwi huffed. “Still scared? You weren’t just doing that all for me?” She paused, and turned to face Dante. “That whole time, you were really scared?” She turned back to her work, considering the dog for another moment. When we give these things personality, meaning... how much of that is us, and how much of it belongs to the subject? “I’m scared too.” With a flash of her hand, the blinds flew to the ceiling, and Kiwi found herself stranded in that bottle of lightning. All across the landscape, the light danced, and arched. Illuminating nothing but silhouettes, signaling only thunder. She stood up, pushing her chair away. With another wave of her hand, the massive window yawned open, and let in the maelstrom. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” She screamed at the storm, from the top of her lungs, until her throat hurt, and the clouds warbled. The storm roared back, shaking the shutters. As it traveled about the mountains, it echoed and sounded like laughter. The quilt of grey was amused by her tiny protest. The forces of nature at times can be a disheartening foe, and for a moment Kiwi felt ridiculous and wet. Then at her side, a great barking erupted. Dante, familiar par excellence was at her side, as always. She smiled at the pup, she hadn’t heard him bark since her first year at the school. It was a good solid ‘woof!’ Strong enough that every sheep in the state snapped to attention and awaited orders. “You found your voice!” Kiwi cheered, over the thunder and the barking. The raindrops splashed against her face, and she realized she was letting Dante fight on his own. So she did the only thing she could do. Kiwi grabbed two metal pots and started banging them together. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” She screamed again, and again. With her squire by her side, she ran circles around the room, banging pots, and shouting whenever there was breath in her lungs. Dante panted just beside her, barking away lightning before it even had a chance to strike. Or so it felt, in their hearts. In truth, the storm was an apathetic thing, and wasn’t concerned, interested, or bothered by the faint screaming and barking of a single room. It had a whole countryside to soak and terrify. A heavy gust of wind erupted from this formless giant and rushed into Kiwi’s room. It scattered her papers across the room and sent rain in horizontally. Kiwi laughed, and jumped to her bed, Dante joined her. With a feat of mundane magic, she pulled the covers off her bed and threw them over herself and Dante. “We’ll be safe under here.” She panted and laughed, and under the dark of the covers could feel his hot breath smacking her face in exhausted huffs. The rain wailed against their fortress, assaulting it with rain, and bluster. Kiwi snuggled close to Dante, basking in his usual warmth. She supposed that things like love, or even just caring could be expressed in ways beyond words. She also figured if Dante did what he came to do, she should not begrudge him a job well done. Though at the moment she didn’t feel very mature, she was sure Dante knew what he was doing. It would be a strange world, without his voice to guide her. Eventually, the pounding rain would soak their blankets through, and make a very cold, very wet mess out of the unusual pair. Until then she was determined to enjoy this moment with something familiar.