Damien looked up to the sky, praying to the stars that this would prove to be the answer to all his problems. The stars blinked and glittered, refusing to give him any hints of what was coming. Taking a deep breath, Damien walked into the building. Paint flaked from the walls, and not a single chair in the waiting room looked safe to sit in. The front desk was solid wood, and behind the desk sat a very blonde, very bored-looking girl around Damien’s age chewing gum. “Welcome to North Star, where dreams come true.” the girl said with a monotone voice. She glanced up and down Damien. “Whaddya want? To be a hero? To be great?” “Yes,” he said nervously. “I’m not sure how. I heard this was one of the best places to go.” “You rethinking your decision?” the girl asked, popping her gum. Damien couldn’t help nodding. The girl rolled her eyes knowingly, saying, “Is it the furniture?” “Umm...” The girls snorted. “Figured. The Dream Maker is always trying to drive freeloaders away. So are you staying or leaving?” “I’ll stay.” “Fill this out.” The girl handed him a stack of paperwork. “It shouldn’t take you more than five minutes. Ish.” “Can I borrow a pen?” Damien asked. The girl smirked but didn’t say anything. She didn’t hand him a pen either. Damien sighed and looked down at the paper, mentally filling the blanks. Full Name: Damien Alandro Birthplace: St. Louis, MO Birthdate: April 24th, 1999 Deathdate: Unknown. Dream: Just that my family is happy. Damien looked through all the paperwork, then asked if he could go home, fill it out, then come back. The girl smirked again, and told him to look one more time at the paperwork. Damien did, and to his surprise, all the blanks were filled in. He looked back up at the girl. “How- what the... Um, here you go, I guess.” The girl flipped through his work, and nodded in satisfaction. “You’re still missing something though.” “What?” Damien was surprised. He had just done a ton of paperwork. What more could there be? “The Dream Maker is ready whenever you’ve figured it out.” The girl stood up. “I’ll go let The Dream Maker know you’re almost ready.” The girl walked away from Damien, and began to open a rickety door he assumed led to the dream maker’s office. “Wait!” Damien called, realizing something. “You never told me your name.” The girl turned and smiled at him. “You never asked.” “Will you tell me?” “I will. My name’s Henrika.” “Henrika.” Damien repeated her name. “It’s gorgeous.” “Thank you. The Dream Maker will see you now.” Damien stood up. He wasn’t about to question beautiful Henrika, who the more he looked at the more he was enthralled by her. She clearly wasn’t new here. He wondered at her relationship to the dream maker. How did she know all he needed was to ask her name? Henrika held the door for him, before leading him down a well lit hall. They entered a silver doorway, where she left him in an empty domed room. She ordered him to stay there until she returned when the appointment was over. “Well,” Damien said to himself. “That was a warm welcome.” After about fifteen minutes of waiting, waiting, waiting, a hunched-over, wrinkled woman walked in. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and a thin silver veil covered her hair and face. “I am the dream maker.” the woman said, her voice soft and familiar. “What is your dream? What have you wanted all your life?” “I-” Damien paused. He knew what he wanted. He wanted his family to be happy. But, something seemed off. “Do I know you?” The woman looked away. “Of course not. I haven’t left this building for more than a hundred years. Now, back to business. What is your dream?” Damien looked closer at the woman. Something was still wrong. Was his only dream to make his family happy? Did they really deserve this? Damien’s thoughts flew to his family, scrutinizing them one by one. His mother, a former drunk in a painful cycle of sobriety. His father, who wished to wander but stayed still for the sake of his family. His older sister, now a mean, spiteful woman. His younger brother, still a high school dropout. Of course they deserved this. They did, they did, they did. Damien opened his mouth to tell the woman this, but instead, he found himself asking about the secretary, Henrika. “Where did you find her?” “You could say she found me. Your dream?” The woman was still turned away, but Damien was growing more and more certain that there was something she wasn’t saying. He took a step forward. “I want my family to be happy. That is my dream.” Damien said. The woman nodded and turned to face him. “Yes, yes.” she said, approvingly. “Unselfish. Tell me your family’s names, and soon you will see them smile. It might not be immediate, because I am not a miracle worker.” Damien nodded. The woman took another minute to look him over before turning to leave. “Soon... soon your dream will be made.” Damien started to follow her, but the woman held her hand up. “No. You stay here.” Damien sighed as he watched the dream maker leave. What a confusing woman. And what a confusing meeting. Something tickled the back of his brain as wrong. Something was off, but for the moment, he was just going to wait for Henrika to come back. Again, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, Henrika returned. “So, how was it?” “Good, but something seemed off.” “Off how?” Henrika leaned forward. “I think I knew her, but she said she hadn’t left the building for a hundred years. That means she would've been born here, but she seemed...” Damien trailed off. Where was he going with this? “She seemed what?” Henrika asked softly and almost threateningly. “I don’t know. Maybe like she was hiding something.” Henrika’s look darkened. She slammed Damien against the wall, and her voice was sharp as a knife. “Can you keep a secret?” “Ye- yes.” Damien’s eyes were wide and his breath came faster, and the thought passed through his mind that maybe she was crazy. Henrika’s grip on him slackened. “I’m sorry, Damien. I just, I haven’t --ugh, why is this so hard?” “It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on. Please. I want to help.” “I know. Come with me.” Henrika grabbed Damien’s hand and dragged him down the hallway. They passed at least fifty doorways, all grand and impressive, and often embellished with gems or gold. Finally, they stopped in front of a small door that seemed out of place from the rest of the hall. “Through here.” Henrika said, dropping down to her knees. “Follow me.” Damien followed her. The door led to an equally small tunnel, which the two had to crawl through. When the ceiling was finally tall enough for them to stand, Damien asked, “Why did we have to crawl?” “Are you doubting me?” Henrika asked, shooting him a look. Damien shook his head. Of course he wasn’t, he was just curious. Henrika relaxed. “Okay, come on. This is where I work.” She motioned towards the wall, then stepped forward and pushed on the wall. It swung around, pushing them into a new room. This room was broad with a low ceiling. It was a sort of organized chaos. Computers lined one wall, and racks of clothes, wigs, and makeup covered two others. The wall that hid the entrance was half-lined by tables, all of which were covered with papers, office supplies, and other junk. Against the other side was a small bed, bookshelf, and mini appliances. “Is this where you live?” Damien asked, looking around in awe. Did she really live in one room? He decided that the beautiful Henrika really was crazy. The realization only made him fall for her harder. “Yes.” she replied, turned to face him. “And you need to keep it a secret. No one else has seen through my disguises before.” “Disguises? Wait, were you--” “The Dream Maker. Yes, she was me and I was her.” Henrika interrupted him. When he asked her why, her response was simple. “You would trust an old lady’s word better than you would trust a little girl’s, right?” Damien stared at her. Henrika was growing stranger by the minute. Damien turned away from her, pretending to be interested in all her disguises. “So, how many disguises do you have?” “A lot. I haven’t not worn a disguise in years.” “Why all the disguises?” “Jeez, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Damien blushed. Henrika sat on her bed and offered him a seat. “I’m not who you think I am.” Damien looked away, embarrassed. Henrika continued “I’m not exactly sure how old I am. Probably close to your age. Only I’m haunted.” “Really?” Damien asked. He wasn’t sure which he was more curious about: the fact that she was his age, or that she was haunted. “Yeah. My family hasn’t left this building for centuries, and their souls rest in me. I may be young, but I know hundreds of years. When I was younger, when my mother still bore the weight of the curse, I tried to sneak out. The sun was blinding, and the people were terrifying. Someone saw me, and called the police. The wailing sirens scared me so badly, I ran back inside. The police had seen me though, and followed me. That’s when...” Henrika broke off. Damien offered a hug, and Henrika leaned into him. “That’s when... That’s when I lost my mother. So I took over the family business, making dreams come true. And I fell in love with it. I could’ve left, but I didn’t because I was scared. And now I’m glad I didn’t.” Damien held Henrika in his arms. She shivered, and Damien shifted so he could pull the blanket over her. Henrika continued talking, but she wasn’t talking to Damien anymore. Her eyes were spaced out, and she was reliving a time long gone by. “The police didn’t hurt her. My mother. She ran, wouldn’t let them help. They couldn’t find me, but my mother was gone. I was too scared to move. About a year later, I felt heaviness. Soul-crushing heaviness. The heaviness of souls. I knew my mother had died.” Damien rubbed her back. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He repeated the words over and over. Henrika eventually fell asleep, and he laid her down on the bed. He laid down next to her, being careful not to wake her up. “I’m here for you.” he whispered, before falling asleep beside her. When Damien woke up, Henrika was leaning over him. “Damien?” “I’m awake! I’m awake! Is something wrong?” “No, I just haven’t seen anyone sleeping before. I forgot you were here.” Henrika said, pulling away from Damien. “Did I wake you up? Go back to sleep.” “No, no, it’s okay. I promise.” Damien stood up. “Okay, let’s get to work. How can I help?” “Um, I don’t know. Have you seen me out of disguise yet?” “Aren’t you out of disguise now?” Henrika shook her head. “No. In reality, my skin’s paler, my hair’s darker, and I have gray eyes, not green or brown-- what color did I put in yesterday?” “Um, somewhere in between. I think they’re hazel. Could I see you with no costume?” Damien asked. Henrika bit her lip. She pushed her hair back, and fidgeted. “I don’t know...” Henrika looked away. Damien frowned. He didn’t understand. Didn’t Henrika trust him? At least a little? “Henrika?” “Sorry. I can’t do that.” Henrika said. She slipped off the bed and ran. Damien followed, concerned. Henrika crawled through the tunnel, and scampered up and down stairs after winding through halls, with Damien on her tail. “Henrika! Wait!” Damien called after her. “You don't have to!” They ran for several minutes, eventually looping back to Henrika’s bedroom. “Are you... -- huff-- Are you okay?” Damien took a step forward. Henrika skittered along the edges of the room, but didn’t take off again. “Please,” Damien asked. “I want to help.” “You keep saying that.” Henrika said. “Really, I do. Don’t uncostume if you’d rather not.” “But... why? Why did you ask?” “Because I think you’re pretty. And I want to see you the way you are.” “I’ve never had someone else to trust before. I’ve read about it in books though.” Henrika pointed to her bookshelf. “Can I?” “You can trust me.” Henrika nodded. “Come with me, I’ll have to bathe to get the color out. The bathroom’s over here.” Damien blushed. “I’ll stay here. I don’t need to watch you wash. Really.” “But you need cleaning too. There’s room for both of us.” “I don’t have clothes.” “I have some clothes that would fit you.” “But...” “No buts. Come on.” Reluctantly, Damien followed Henrika to the bathroom. It was quite large, with marble walls and floors. There were two different sizes of bathtubs, a shower, a swimming pool, and an armoire. Henrika dug through the drawers, looking for clothes that would fit Damien. Eventually she held out two outfits. One was casual, with jeans and a striped t-shirt, while the other was dressier. “Which one? I like casual, but a polo and tie is always classy.” “The casual one.” Damien replied. She did the same for her clothes, settling on a periwinkle tunic and leggings. Henrika walked over to the larger bathtub. She turned on the water and started to get undressed. Damien’s eyes widened as her clothes fell to the ground and she slipped into the steaming water. Seeing Damien’s expression, Henrika asked what was wrong. “Are you good? You can join me, there’s plenty of room.” “Um, well, outside this building, people don’t, I mean, I shouldn’t get naked by you.” “Why not?” “It’s, um, hard to explain.” Damien said. Why didn’t she know this stuff? Didn’t her mom explain it? Maybe she was still too young when her mother died... “If you don’t want to share a bathtub, you can fill up the other one.” Damien sighed in relief. He turned on the water, asking, “Who pays the water bill?” “Whoever owns the building.” “Which is?” “Mm, I'm pretty sure it’s my dad. He took off a while ago, but still tries to check on me. Sometimes he brings me a new book. Always asking about boys.” Damien nodded and undressed, trying to keep himself mostly covered, since Henrika was looking at him intently. “Tell me about yourself,” she asked. “I like to swim. I’m pretty sure I have a pair of swimming trunks somewhere, if you’d like to swim after we’re cleaned up.” “Um, I used to swim. I kinda fell out of practice after one of my bosses fired me.” Damien said, trying to distract himself. Henrika was standing up, washing with a sort of pink foam. As she washed, color drained from her skin and hair, leaving her with vampire-pale skin and silky brown hair. Henrika popped the hazel contacts out, leaving her with cool grey eyes. She poured water over herself, rinsing away the foam. Henrika stepped out of the bathtub, squeezed out her hair, and walked over to the armoire. She bent over, looking for swimming trunks for Damien. She groaned when she couldn’t find anything. “I’m sorry, Damien, I couldn’t find anything. I could make you pair.” “No, no, it’s okay. I have a better idea. To warm you up to going outside.” Damien said, taking the chance to wash up while Henrika was distracted. Henrika turned to face him. “What?” “The stars.” he said. “Can you put on clothes?” “Oh. Yeah. I forgot you don’t like being naked.” Henrika said, passing him his clothes. She put on her clothes, then watched as Damien put on his. “Can we go see the stars now? I’ve never seen them.” “Really?” Damien asked. “They’re absolutely beautiful, like a million tiny diamonds. Is there a way to get to the roof?” “Oh, sure.” Henrika grabbed his hand and dashed out of the bathroom and up stairs, dragging Damien behind her. As they reached the top of the stairs, Damien tripped and they fell through the door to the roof in a heap. Damien’s face burned red. Why, oh why, did he have to fall on her? Henrika recovered first, stood up, and helped Damien up. “Thank you,” Damien said. He brushed himself off. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” When Henrika didn’t answer, Damien took a good, long look at her. She was staring straight up. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was stretched into a smile. Actually, Henrika was radiant, like she was absorbing the starlight. Her hand groped at the sky, trying to grab a star. “Do you like them?” Henrika sighed happily. “I never knew anything more beautiful.” She leaned over to give him a hug. “Thank you.” “It was nothing. The stars are always there.” “Always?” “Always.” “And you’ll be there for me?” “Always.” “And I’ll always be there for you.” “Always?” Damien asked. “Always,” Henrika replied, a different sort of smile spreading across her face. "Always."


Manor, manor here I come. I repeat the phrase in my head, preparing myself for what was ahead. The line seemed to be something taken out of a children’s rhymes book, I thought with a chuckle. I struggled my luggage out of the adorable yellow auto with an “oomph,” and placed my suitcase on the path. I opened my mouth to bid the driver farewell, but the young man didn’t seem to care much for formalities. Having enough of my tardiness, he pulled the reins and trotted past me on his horse. The next thing I know, there are muddy splatters all over my mint green button-up tailcoat. And my tie! I gasped, it’s ruined. The once multi-colored tie is now coated with a layer of brown. The horror! It a futile attempt to avenge my clothes, I turned around and swung one of my hands up “Hey!” I called out. “Watch where you’re riding mister!” The auto just sped on, showing no signs of having heard my words. I stomped my foot in frustration, which didn’t do me any good. The mud puddles - formed due to yesterday’s heavy shower - were most definitely keen on following Newton’s Laws of Motion. The fluid sprung up leaving me with messy, wet socks and a pout on my lips. So much for ‘it’s a new day!’ Finding the urge to look a lest bit presentable before arriving at my destination, I dug both of my hand into my pockets. Nope. No convenient handkerchiefs there. I took a step forward huffing, with my hands still in my pockets - hoping for a cloth to miraculously appear. It was a miracle that I wished for, but what I got was nothing short of a disaster. The movement of my legs caused a shift in the puddles. The slush of the mud threw my suitcase up. I watched sullenly as all my belongings slid down the hill and into the bushes. I peered at the freakishly large towers beside me - gray, dusty towers that guarded the doors. I considered telling them that I’m retiring for the day. Wait... no. Glancing at the horizon, you could see the various shades of sunrise. More like: I’m retiring for the dawn rather than day . I could claim to be tired from the nights long travel. I frowned at the obvious lie. In reality, I had arrived at the nearest hotel yesterday by midday. Waking up early and hauling a auto for a ten-minute drive was all I had done. Begrudgingly, I strutted down the hill to look for my luggage... for the next few hours. It will all be worth it. *** Knock, knock. Normally, I wouldn’t prefer to show up in such an attire. Any sane person could tell at first glance that the building was far too intimidating to brave unless you are a notch up from your very best. I - who looked like I had been driven over by a truck and dragged into various bushes - was not even close to adequate, much less at my best! The twig tangled into my hair stood as proof. But I could not give up now. Definitely not! After all that money and time I spent on my travels, I’d be a fool to let it all go down the drain! You can do this , I motivated myself. It will all be worth it. I rehearsed my plan in a quiet whisper. “You just have to get in there, introduce yourself, and ask permission to be allowed to take a photo. Finally, roam around the place - which is not creepy, at all - for a good measure .” Unintentionally, I let my eyes stray across the hefty doors. Just looking at those bulky wooden blocks is enough to make me shudder. A cold breeze whooshed past me. The howling of the wind which then played in the background, now became louder. “A-an-and then...” I trailed off. A chill rose up my back causing me to shudder again. Darn it. This place is getting to me. There is nothing orthodox about this manor, Nothing! I reminded the small part of myself - which dared to feel ‘fear’! I was about to continue when a creak sounded. It came from the entrance, one of its doors was pushed slightly ajar. When no one opened it further I knocked it again. All that did was widen the gap further. I took a deep breath. It’s time to execute my plan. Step one: go inside. Check . Step two: introduce yourself. “Hello? My name is Gale. I am so glad to meet you. I-” I stopped talking; letting my mouth hang open. Seriously?! Was I just talking to thin air? Who opened the door? I looked around for any sign of living organisms. There; I could spot a - sorry, many - spiders spinning their respective webs. But humans? Not a single hint of those rebellious creatures. Darn it. There you go, insulting yourself. But who says that I am not rebellious myself? But all in all? I seemed to be the only human insight. I realized that I should be outside; like a polite guest - waiting for someone to greet me. Even as the sour thought patiently waited for me to consider it, I blandly ignored it. I decided that the Lord of the manor is at fault in this circumstance, he should have been there to welcome me into his humble abode. I heard from terrorized gossipers that this manor is most certainly haunted and its Lord is very much jobless. And this very statement is the reason for my presence. As a journalist, I took it as my job to prove that this plot is occupied by a pleasant man who lives in a nice, dandy ‘house’ - cough, cough - I mean manor . Finally! With the abolition of censorship, I now have the rights to publish whatever I want! I squinted my eye, straining to capture my vision. And my very first attempt will be on this place. Oh, and I will will not rest until it is quite remarkable. “Hello?” I called out. “Anybody here?” The sound resonated through the dark hollow hall. The sight of homely decor would have given me comfort and something to write about. Emphasis on would . But this is certainly not the case. For the most part, the walls were lacking ornamentation. And as for the decorations that were present - they couldn’t possibly be described as... homely. “Lord Eugene?” If my memory served me right, that would be the name of the Lord of the manor; I heard that he had a title too. My reply came in form of an echo given by the emptiness. A gust of gale blew; how fitting, I snickered. It lifted a wisp of hair towards the direction of the harsh wind. Oddly, it felt like a warning. A slight panic rose up form inside me, but I dismissed it. It will all be worth it. With all the rumors following this building, my article would top the trending. It would give me immense pride to show that there is nothing to be afraid of. Why! I might even get promoted! Now that the Declaration of Rights of Men and Citizen proclaimed freedom of speech and expression to be a natural right, journalists like myself are now finally free to write what ever they wanted. All I need is a picture as proof. Luckily, I didn’t lose my camera with my luggage. All this time it was slung across my shoulder. There seems to be no one here. But that is no reason to waste time! I assembled my camera and set a timer. I clicked the button at the top and ran to stand in position - which was right in front of the lens. I smiled as the camera flashed, symbolizing the photo being taken. After the notable click, I rushed to look at my work. As I gawked at the photo, I was a little less enthusiastic. My emotions rather fell into the horrified category. There, in the black and white photo, sat a boy right beside me. He looks malnourished, his clothes had fairly large holes in them. The Cheshire grin on his face promised trouble. I couldn't stomach the fact that... He was missing an eye. Which was frankly gruesome to look at. I blinked. There was another thing I couldn't digest. Who...? The last I checked I was alone. When I looked at the camera to double-check, the photo disappeared - as if it were never there. I was probably a figment of my imagination. And I left it at that, nothing more nothing less. After all, ghosts weren’t real, were they? Perhaps I hadn’t taken the photo at all. To mend that, I posed for another photo. When I checked this time, the boy was surely present. There he was: in this photo, he stood with his frail hand squeezing my shoulder in a somewhat uncomfortable way. That grin, that grin... Oof. My chest squeezed. Ghosts aren’t real. It will all be worth it. It will all be worth it. Within a moment the captured scene disappeared, just like the previous one. I smacked my head. Am I becoming delusional? I repeated the procedure, only to get the same results yet again. Are my comprehension skills deficient? Mad . I am going mad. In utter disbelief, I imitated my actions - again and again. It will all be worth it. Somehow, I don’t believe that anymore. An evil crackle reached my ears. Ghosts aren’t real. Is it? It will all be worth it. Will it? Then suddenly: “You may turn around,” said a grainy voice from behind me. One which I could imagine would belong to the boy. “I am here, may you not feel any alarm.” I felt funny. “Oh, ” I exclaimed with a slight slur in my words. “I may, may I?” Enthralled and in a daze, I put an effort to turn around. Because it will all be worth it. «THE END» [A/N: thank you so much for reading! It had been a pleasure. I really appreciate this platform _Love, from Serious Sri]


The Last Blind Date Evan walked into the restaurant and sat down, Jonie and Steve, his life long friends, had pushed him into a blind date. They said Elizabeth was a wonderful girl and they knew he would just love her. All he could think of was a college football game that he would rather be watching. Maybe she wouldn’t show, he thought, then he could take the monkey suit off and relax for the rest of the evening in his recliner sipping an IPA. Elizabeth got to the restaurant about fifteen minutes late. She wasn't trying to be late but she never could seem to be on time. Work was different, she had that routine down, but anywhere else she was guaranteed to be running behind. One time her dad invited her to church for Mother's Day to surprise her mother. He said when she walked in, I knew you would be here, I knew you would be late but I knew you would be here. The hostess knew when she walked in who was expecting her and ushered her to Evan's table. "Evan", Elizabeth said. "Yes", Evan said as he stood up to greet her. He was pleasantly surprised that she was attractive and had a very pretty smile. Elizabeth looked at Evan and thought he seems alright and hoped he wasn't a pompous jerk like the last guy that she was fixed up with. Elizabeth hated blind dates with a passion. Everyone automatically thought because she wasn't dating anyone that they had the perfect match for her. It never turned out right and she wished people could understand that she enjoyed spending time alone. Evan also hated blind dates, people assumed that they could pick the perfect woman that he would fall madly in love with. The truth was he was really pretty shallow. He just wanted a good looking chick that put out. Elizabeth and Evan sat in the restaurant making small talk trying their best to find some topic that would interest both of them. So far they had covered sports, talked about sports cars, where they went to high school, their jobs and what appetizer to start with. This was really going well, Elizabeth thought, as she tried hard not to roll her eyes. Evan wasn't enjoying himself anymore than she was and hoped they could make the date end quickly. Shortly after the appetizer arrived, Evan and Elizabeth heard a loud noise coming from the front entrance. Five men in heavy military camouflage came running in pointing AK 47's at everyone in the restaurant. It was a Saturday night so the restaurant was full capacity with people also waiting in the bar to be seated. One of the militia aimed the rifle at the ceiling and sent off a round to get everyone in the restaurants attention. People started screaming as the men blocked all of the exits. The men who had taken over the facility had heavily accented voices and told the patrons to lay face down on the floor except for the hostess. One of the soldiers instructed her to get the restaurant phone. He told her he wanted her to dial the president. The hostess looked at him confused. She realized that they were in Washington DC but not everyone was part of a political party. Her hands and voice were shaking as she tried to explain to the men that she didn't know how to get a hold of the president but could call 911. The terrorist was not amused by the hostess lack of connections and told her to do it. She dialed 911 and the operator answered and ask her what was her emergency and she handed the phone to him. He told the operator his name was Abdul Bajwa and they had his brother, Muhammad. He explained he was in a military prison in Washington DC. Abdul then demanded his release or he would start shooting everyone in the Le Diplomate Restaurant. The 911 operator told the terrorist that if this was a joke that he could be imprisoned for fraudulent emergency calls. He guaranteed her it was not and fired a shot into the crowd killing an elderly gentleman. Elizabeth and Evan laid on the floor face down trying to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Evan took his hand and placed it gently on Elizabeth's back. Even though she had only known him for a very short time his gesture helped to calm her down. The five men of the Foreign Militia continuously scanned the room watching for any sudden movements from anyone in the crowd. The leader continued to talk to the 911 operator and ask her if she believed it was a joke now. He told her to put him through to the President. The operator told him that she did not have a direct line to the president and that she would dispatch him through to her supervisor. Thoroughly irritated by the presumed incompetence of the Americans, the Terrorist Leader sent another shot through the crowd and hit a young woman in her mid 20's. The Hostess begged him to stop and tried to explain that people in our country don't have access to the president and she was sure that they would get to the right person if he would just give them a little more time. The 911 dispatch supervisor came on the line and ask what the emergency was if he hadn't had any communication with the other operator. The man repeated his demands and told him that he had better get someone on the line that had access to the President. The supervisor called the FBI to take over the conversation and hung up the phone. The terrorist again stated his demands and his need to speak with the President. The FBI told him that they could handle the situation from there. A FBI negotiator had been called in as soon as they were made aware of the hostage situation. The Lead Terrorist decided that the prisoners would be easier to control if they were put in one room. The banquet room was smaller but would hold all of the people. Elizabeth and Evan followed as they were lead there and he continued to touch Elizabeth’s shoulder. The dire situation that the two had found themselves in was frightening. Before the invasion the only thing they had been worried about was finding a way to get out of the date early not being faced with dying at the hands of terrorists. The FBI negotiator started talking to the terrorist in charge and continued to ask him his demands and he told them again that he wanted his brother released. The negotiator told him that his brother Muhammad was on the FBI's most wanted list and would be difficult to release, was there anything else they could do for him. Abdul started shouting and told them he was going to start killing more people and they had better stop playing games. The negotiator told him that he was afraid the policy of the United States was not to negotiate with Terrorists. Abdul picked another victim to execute, a middle aged man. The FBI told him they would talk to the President and call him back. Elizabeth was a paralegal and had worked for a local law firm for ten years. She told Evan that she knew that the US government refused to negotiate with terrorists regardless of the circumstances. She told him they were going to be on their own. Evan looked at her experiencing the total impact of her words. Elizabeth and Evan sat quietly not wanting to bring any attention to themselves when one of the hostages started moaning. Evan was a paramedic so he went to his side. After questioning the man on his symptoms, Evan realized the man was having a heart attack. He asked for assistance from the captures and told them that he needed medical attention. The terrorist who was in charge of the hostages just shrugged his shoulders to demonstrate he didn't care. Evan, with his medical training realized that if they didn't offer him assistance, Frank Bissette, the Le Diplomate's restaurant owner would die. Mr. Bissette talked very low in a strain voice and told Evan to listen closely. He said that he didn't think he was going to make it because the chest pain was so strong, but him and his girlfriend still had a chance. Mr. Bissette told him that in the bar under the rubber mat that the bartenders stood on was a trap door which led to a cellar. He said that the alcohol the bar and restaurant served was stored there. He was afraid there weren’t any exits but they may be able to stay safe until this hostage situation was over. Evan thanked Mr. Bissette and stayed there comforting him until he passed. He then returned to Elizabeth to share the news that Mr. Bissette had told him. The banquet room was in close proximity to the bar but they couldn't just walk in there and head down to the cellar. Evan assured Elizabeth that eventually they would have to let everyone take a bathroom break and that would be their opportunity. Evan laid out a plan for the restroom. He told her to stand in line near the end and then to stay in the stall with her feet elevated. After the others were returned to the banquet room and it was safe to come out he would meet her behind the bar. The FBI negotiator called the Lead Terrorist back and told him that his organization was frantically working on the problem if they could just be patient a little longer. The FBI took the opportunity to ask if there were any other demands. After several hours of being ignored by the extremist group, an older lady begged for restroom privileges. That was the break that Evan and Elizabeth had been waiting for. The hostages were all escorted to the restroom and the terrorist stood outside and waited for all to finish their business before they were taken back to the banquet room. Elizabeth hid in the stall as Evan instructed and waited until she was sure it was safe before exiting the restroom. It didn't take long for Evan to find the rubber mat and trap door that Mr. Bissette had told him about. The two quickly descended the stairs into the cellar making sure the rubber mat on top looked undisturbed. Although the cellar was dark and cold, it was a perfect place to hide as well as age bottles of Brandy, Whisky and Chardonnay. Hopefully the the guard wouldn't notice their absence. The FBI continued to check in with the terrorist trying to stall them for time until they could organize a SWAT team to try to rescue as many people as possible. Phillip Broden, the lead negotiator was saddened by the realization that so many innocent victims would be lost from the no negotiation clause but couldn't open up borders for terrorism. Evan and Elizabeth investigated the cellar trying to map out the safest place in a worst case scenario. They knew from the terrorists demonstration they shot first without asking questions. As Evan and Elizabeth prepared for the worst, they looked everywhere in the cellar for anything to use as a weapon. Evan came around the corner with a corkscrew with a twisted blade and a small knife. Elizabeth showed Evan her pepper spray at the end of her key chain that was in her pocket. Evan gave out a small laugh and asked if she had planned on using it on him if he turned out to be a bad date. Elizabeth laughed too and told him a girl never knows. After they had scoured all of the cellar they realized the only weapons they had was booze, a corkscrew and pepper spray. They agreed it was better than nothing. The phone rang again with the FBI agent still trying to pacify the terrorist while the SWAT team got in position. The terrorist leader was getting angrier every time they called and gave them one hour to meet his demands or hostages would be shot every half hour. Elizabeth and Evan, in their refuge found the wine cellar comfortable. They found it didn't only store liquor but also the restaurant's aged cheese. It had been several hours since the two had been taken hostage and they had barely started the appetizer before they were taken. Feeling a little more secure, Evan found an old tablecloth and shook the dust off and grabbed a bottle of Cabermet Sauvignon to go with the aged cheddar. He had read the wine list while he was waiting for her to join him for dinner. Elizabeth was impressed with his choice and knew it was an excellent wine from her wine tasting at the Castello Di Amorosa in Napa Valley. Elizabeth and Evan drank wine and chatted like old friends. He asked her questions about her family, the schools she attended, her favorite foods, and her favorite flowers. Elizabeth, with the wine starting to take effect asked him also about his also, along with some very personal questions. The conversation flowed easily between them without either of them knowing if they would have an opportunity to go on a second date or even make it out alive. They took advantage of the questions they always wanted to ask the opposite sex. With a loud noise from upstairs, their conversation came to an abrupt halt as another gunshot rang out . The bartender from the restaurant was also trying to make it to the cellar. The cellar door opened slowly and the terrorist descended the steps, Evan and Elizabeth hid in the shadows. The man shined a flashlight throughout the room until it stopped on Evan's eyes . Elizabeth quickly pulled out her pepper spray and sprayed it in his eyes. He shouted and grabbed his eyes and Evan grabbed his gun. Elizabeth took a bottle of Brandy and broke it over his head rendering him unconscious. Evan whacked him with the butt of the assault rifle to make sure he was totally unconscious. With the corkscrew pocket knife Evan cut pieces of his A shirt and tied them tightly around the terrorist hands and ankles. He took the rest of the undershirt and stuffed it in his mouth and tied a gag around his neck. With their location discovered, they knew it was only a matter of time before the other terrorists came looking for their partner so they needed a plan. Elizabeth asked Evan if he knew how to use a AK 47 and he assured her he did. They had covered multiple stories in their hideout except hunting. Evan asked Elizabeth what she wanted to do, he said they could continue to hide in the cellar and try to stay safe or they could go out shooting like Rambo and take as many of the terrorist as possible. Elizabeth sat quietly contemplating her response when she said that if she didn't try to help those poor innocent people upstairs in the banquet room she wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Evan smiled and said he couldn't agree more. With the FBI still stalling on sending in their SWAT Team, the terrorist were getting more agitated, the hour was almost up and they were realizing that the US Government was not cooperating. The Team Leader of the Terrorist group signaled all his men to a conference area to implement his plan B. Just as all of the men had come into close proximity, Evan and Elizabeth emerged from their shelter firing the AK 47. They used the bar for a barrier and Evan continued to fire. All the terrorist started running toward them and the other hostages realizing that they could help with the resistance started fighting and tackling the terrorists. Evan and Elizabeth continued to fight with the AK 47 and throwing lit bottles of Bourbon with fire rags stuck in the top of them. The fighting finally came to a screeching halt when the SWAT Team hearing all of the commotion decided to join the party. A few injuries in the crowd were sustained but none life threatening. Evan and Elizabeth's heroic bravery had saved the day. As they came out of the restaurant and into the sunlight, Elizabeth saw Evan was bleeding. With all of adrenaline he had felt while fighting the terrorist, he hadn't realized that he had been shot in the shoulder. His mother and father ran up to him and put their arms around him and after seeing the blood, they ushered him to the nearest ambulance. Elizabeth parents were also there and were hugging their daughter, thanking God that she was safe. She looked over her mother’s shoulder trying to spot Evan and caught a glimpse of the ambulance pulling away. Evan looked up from the gurney and told his parents that was (The Last Blind Date) he was ever going on. His dad laughed and said “yeah son, I know this was extremely tough, but I'm sure you will change your mind someday". Evan said no dad, "You don't understand I'm never going on another blind date because I have met the girl I'm going to marry."


I was cleaning out some old boxes today and found my notebook from jr. high English class. This short story was the best thing in it. Please note, original jr. high errors have been faithfully transcribed. It also looks like I was going through a comma stage: There once lived a mean king named Cygnon. All the towns people were his slaves. He forced them to work on his plantation for almost nothing. What little they got was taxed. Every day people thought of ways to overthrow him. His castle was virtually indestructible. No battering ram could smash its walls, and no one could tunnel under the moat, which was filled with deadly serpents. There was however, one thing that no one could protect you from. Outside the town lived a huge green Firebreathing dragon. Every time the huge beast walked, the earth trembled. How could they lure the dragon to the castle? Theres only one way, they thought, and that's to find out what it eats. So, one night, as the dragon slept, they went to the valley where it slept, and right away, it was evident that this dragon was very fond of young pine trees and people. It was a good thing the dragon didn't wake up. The townspeople filled their pockets with pine cones. Later they got out the seeds and planted pines all over the town, especially around the castle. One man, who experimented with alchemy in his spare time, came up with something that made them grow very quickly. Then, one day, it happened. The earth trembled, the castle shook. The king, halving never seen a dragon came out to look, not knowing better. With one mighty step, the dragon flattened the castle and the king. It ate the pine trees. The people knew well enough to get out of the way. When they came back, they rebuilt their houses out of oak and lived happily ever after. edit -- one letter.


It was the weekend before Valentine’s Day in 2002. The country was still in mourning over the events of 9/11. The new security protocols at the airport were frightening but necessary. One week before taking a flight to spend the weekend with my husband, I had a vivid dream. I don’t read too much into dreams, but because of the state of the country and my personal situation of my husband being deployed stateside, I was on high alert. In the dream, I was at the airport and missed the flight I should have taken. As I watched my plane take off, I immediately saw the plane crash and burn. In my dream, I saw parts of the plane burning. I didn’t see any survivors and I realized in this dream that I could have been on that plane. I immediately woke up from this dream remembering it vividly and then questioning if I should continue with my flight plans. When I spoke with my husband the following night (we had to talk late at night because of the time zone difference and it was cheaper to talk at night even on the cellphone during this time). He told me if I didn’t feel comfortable, don’t get on the plane. We heard stories about people who missed their flight on 9/11 for some bizarre reason, how some people in New York didn’t go to work in one of the offices in the Twin Towers, or how people took an alternate route to work. These people showed gratitude in interviews for the small change in their schedule and how this saved their lives. I was dealing with a major conflict. Do I get on a flight that can alter (or end) my life so that I can spend time with my husband? Do I stay and let fear make my decisions? Thankful I had a Pastor to pray with me and for me, I attended church the Sunday morning before leaving for my flight. I went to the altar for prayers after the service. I didn’t tell my Pastor about my dream, but I told him that I was going to see my husband. I wanted him to agree that I would have a safe flight. He did and at the end of my prayer, he told me to tell my husband hello and to enjoy my time with him (my husband grew up in this church, so my Pastor has known him since he was 9 years old). I made a decision out of faith, not out of fear. My parents drove me to the airport, and I kissed my only son at that time goodbye and entered the airport. As I took a deep inhale of fresh air, I cautiously stepped into the airport. The tension in the airport terminal was palpable. The security measures enacted to prevent another terrorist strike were a necessary evil. As I entered through the metal detectors, I shivered at the coldness of this air-conditioned building and the coldness of the security process. After I exited the metal detectors, I was told to take off my shoes. What? I didn’t question verbally but just compiled so I would not be detained any longer and miss my flight. This was a new security protocol implemented to ensure airplane security. Another hurdle to overcome is what I thought as I quickly took off my shoes without taking the time to untie them. I scooped them up and placed them on the counter for the TSA Security guard to inspect. After my shoes passed inspection, I began to put my shoes back on my feet when I was told to head to the right. What now? Another security protocol has the computer select random passengers to closer security scrutiny. I’m taken to the other line in which I have to empty my pockets and have a female security guard use the metal detector wand to go over my clothed body for extra protection. I watched once again as my carry-on bag had its items searched by the hands of strangers. I was really rethinking the trip. However, at this point, I would look suspicious if I decided not to continue. All the hoops I have jumped through to get on the plane would be for nothing if I decided to cancel my trip. I took another breath, gathered my belongings, and headed for the gate. With my ticket and identification in hand, I boarded my plane. Before the plane took off, everyone on the plane exchanged nervous smiles and curt nods of acknowledgment with each other trying to decide if their fellow passenger could be a threat to this flight. When the plane took off and we relaxed as the plane ascended to the desired altitude, the tension in the plane began to dissipate. Despite the conflict of my body demanding sleep and my mind telling me to stay awake, I surrendered to sleep. Just waking from my nap on the plane, I was able to see the perfect square blocks illuminated by the streetlights against the dark ground below. As we flew closer to the runway, I could see the mounds of snow created by the snowplows to clear the runways. I exhaled a sigh of relief. I was inwardly thanking God for a safe flight. I was not only thankful l that there weren’t any mechanical problems, but more thankful no one had hijacked this plane for some nefarious plan. Although the cabin of the plane was still dark, I could see the 5 or 6 other passengers' silhouettes as we landed. As the lights in the cabin of the plane came on, the passengers were waking from their slumber shaking away any tiredness still lingering in their eyes. We had to be on full alert. What if something happened as soon as the plane door opened? I was finally able to exhale. I was stepping off the plane in Chicago to see my husband who was recalled in October 2001. Unlike the 70-degree weather I left in Raleigh, NC, the frigid tempers of the night kept the mounds of snow piled high on the runways. As we say in ENC when the weather is really cold, the “hawk” was out, and I pulled my winter coat tighter around my body to keep myself warm. I gathered my overnight bag and headed to the airport exit. I looked for the gold Honda Accord as I stared at the busy airport lane. I spotted the gold Honda pulling up to the side of the walkway to meet me. Because of the tight security, we didn’t linger at the curb, but put my suitcase in the backseat and quickly entered the warm, welcoming car. After exchanging a quick peck on the lips, my husband pulled away from the curb and we were off. Not knowing if I would be hungry after my plane landed at 9:00pm, my husband had hot chicken soup and a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for me. The aroma of the soup filled the car as we drove away. He knew I was not used to Chicago winters. I was overcome with his thoughtfulness. As we headed by towards Great Lakes, I had the chance to look at my husband of almost three years. He looked so mature! He looked like the young man I married after we graduated from East Carolina University, but somehow different. I think it was the protector as a soldier role he had gladly fulfilled to our country that made him look mature and distinguished. The responsibilities of this new life made him take on a semblance of wisdom and maturity. While riding to the Naval Base, I took a moment to reflect. I was thankful that my husband had been recalled to an area where I could visit. I was thankful to God that the flight I had taken was a faith flight and I made the decision to board the plane. Because of the men and women at airport security, I arrived to my destination safely and spent the weekend with my husband.


Don't look up. Don't look up. Erin sits on the top shelf, eyes squeezed shut. With her knees clutched against her chest, she hardly dares to breathe. The creature shuffles along the floor below her hiding place, knocking cans and boxes off the shelves as it searches. Erin winces each time another item clatters to the concrete below. It knows she's somewhere nearby. Someone outside screams. With a burst of speed, the green-skinned beast spins around. Then, it hurtles out the door and toward the sound. Erin finally lets out a stifled sob and slumps back against the wall. It's over. For now, at least. After allowing herself a few moments of emotion, she wipes her face and pulls herself together. If she's going to survive, she needs her wits about her. And she needs to get out of here before the creature comes back. As quiet as a mouse, Erin slips over the edge and cautiously climbs down the tower of metal shelves. She slides the backpack off and tugs at the zipper. In the quiet room, the zipping sound is deafening, but the chorus of growls and screams from outside is enough to hide it from the ravenous monsters. She stuffs cans and boxes of food into the bag with layers of towels in between. She zips the bag closed. She turns to leave, but stops at the sight in front of her. One of the creatures -- much bigger than the one who had stalked her before -- stands just outside the open door. Its back is toward her. Erin's heart pounds against her chest. Maybe I can sneak out the back. Breath held, she takes a step backwards. Then another. And another. All is well so far. She starts to feel hopeful. Then, she starts to turn around. The bulge of the backpack snags on something. A can scrapes across the metal shelf and slams to the ground. The creature bellows as its claws tear at the door frame. Erin panics. She freezes in place, watching over her shoulder. Long fangs hang well below its lower lip as it bares its teeth. Its four yellow eyes glare with murderous intent. It lets out another roar and Erin breaks from her stupor. She bolts through the huge building. Behind her, the monster breaks through the wall. It lets out a screech that echoes through the building. More monsters appear through the demolished doorway as Erin tries to escape. She tries door after door, but they're all locked. The floors start to shake as behind her, the creatures start to stampede. Her fear mounts as they get closer and there's no escape in sight. At last, she finds an unlocked door. Her legs nearly buckle in relief. But, with the thunder of clawed feet barreling toward her, she throws herself through the opening. Then, she turns and yanks the door shut. "Hey!" Erin shrieks at the unexpected voice in the stairwell. She spins around, fists raised, prepared for battle. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. But they will. Come on!" Before she can protest, the man grabs her hand and starts running up the stairs. Erin's lungs fight for air. There's a stitch in her side, too, but she obediently runs after the stranger. "Come on! Through here." He drags her through another door and pushes it closed behind them. The cacophony of roars and shrieks from the monsters echoes through the building. Erin frantically looks around the room, trying to find the way out. But the man is doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. When Erin notices that he's in no hurry to leave, her voice comes out an octave higher than normal. "What are you waiting for? We have to go! Now!" He stands up and looks her over. "Nah. Them things can't get through that stairwell. They're too big." He watches her for a moment longer before extending his hand. "Name's Clayton." She shakes the proffered hand in a daze. "Wha... But... H..." Erin closes her eyes for a moment to find the right words. "How do we get out of here?" Then, as an afterthought, "Erin, by the way." Clayton smiles. "Lovely to meet ya, Erin. Although, I do wish it was under better circumstances." Impatience growing, she begins to look around again for an exit. The roars and screeches from the creatures seem to grow louder. The sounds of claws against concrete and steel below echoes through the room. "Alright. See that door, back over there? We're gonna wait 'til the sun goes down," Clayton pauses as he sees Erin start to protest. With a raised eyebrow and a stern voice, he continues, "We'll wait 'til sunset and then climb down that ol' fire escape." "What?! No! Why wait so long?" Without waiting for an answer, she starts marching toward the exit. "Because," Clayton grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. "Because I got backup comin' then." Erin glares. "Let me go." She tries to twist out of his grip, but it doesn't work. "I have to get back to my sister!" The two keep staring. Finally, Clayton releases her. "Fine. Go if you wanna. But you're gonna have a better chance if ya stick with us." "Why? Those things can't be killed! How would it help to stay with you?" His smile returns. "Yeah, they can. Ever since the day those things landed on earth and started wiping us out, we've been searchin' for a way to kill 'em. Now?" His smile broadens. "We found it." Erin's jaw drops. Before the military had been wiped out, they'd tried everything. Some countries had even resorted to nukes. But the extraterrestrial creatures persisted. "No way. You couldn't possi..." Erin's eyes are drawn to the corner of the room. "What's that noise?" Just as Clayton turns around to look, a chunk of the concrete floor crumbles and falls away. The rebar inside has been snapped, useless against the strength of the monsters. A clawed hand reaches up through the new opening. "Shit! Run!" Another chunk of floor disappears behind them as they book it toward the door. Erin reaches it first and stops to yank it open. Clayton looks over his shoulder. The creature's snout is through the opening now. Its slit-like nostrils flare as it huffs in anger. As soon as Clayton and the beast make eye contact, a deafening roar shakes the room. Both humans wince at the sound, then rush out the door and down the fire escape. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Erin starts to dash off. Clayton grabs her arm once more and pulls her the other way. "I have to get to my si-" "No! Come on!" Erin fights to get out of his grip, but he keeps hold. He finally looks her in the eye. "We gotta get to my truck and lead 'em away. If we go to your sister, they'll follow us there and then we'll all be dead." Erin glowers at him. As they hear another large chunk of concrete fall inside the building, she makes up her mind. She gives a slight nod, then sprints after Clayton to the truck. Safe in the truck, Erin turns in the seat and watches as the buildings disappear into the distance. Once they've both finally caught their breath, she turns to Clayton. "Can you warn your team? They'll get there and--" "Nah. They'll see my truck is gone and they won't go in. And as soon as they meet up with us, we'll go back for your sister." "Oh. That's good." She leans back against the seat and lets herself relax a little. Suddenly, she remembers the conversation they were in the middle of when the floor started getting ripped apart. "So, earlier you were saying you found a way to kill those things." "Yep. Hold on a sec." Just then, he turns into a well-concealed driveway and parks the truck. "Wait here." He climbs out and starts searching through a nearby bush. Erin watches in confusion. Finally, he pulls out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it. From her spot in the truck, Erin can't quite make out what's going on. Finally, he comes back and puts the vehicle back into drive. "Sorry 'bout that. I had to let base know we're coming so they could open the gates for us." "OK. So, about killing those things..." "Right. So, it took a lot of trial and error. Whole lotta people died in the process, too. It's sugar." Clayton pulls up in front of the building and throws the truck back into park. When he turns toward Erin, he sees the disbelieving smile written across her face. "No, I'm serious. It's high concentrations of sugar." "What? Like, they're diabetic?" "I dunno. Something like that. Anyway, if ya give 'em high doses of sugar, they just drop dead. It's so simple that we should've figured it out sooner." "How the hell do you get them to eat sugar?" "We don't. Come on in, I'll show ya." The pair walked inside the building. Clayton said hello and introduced Erin along the way, but she was too preoccupied to take much note of names and faces. They walked through a large room with multiple vats of boiling liquid. Finally, they traveled down a hallway and entered a much smaller space. Several people were inside, funneling liquid into small, odd-looking syringes. "You've seen tranquilizer guns on movies, right?" Erin gives a nod while continuing to watch the process. "Well, those things are meant to be tranq darts. We just empty 'em out and put in sugar water instead. Ya hit those guys with a one or two of those darts, they're out," he snaps his fingers, "like that." Erin turns towards him. "No, I've seen bullets bounce of those things. There's no way that little needle goes in." Clayton lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, it does. Imagine this: You've got a piece of cloth stretched out in front of you. How hard is it to push a little needle through? Not hard at all, right? Now, take that same piece of cloth and try to push the end of a baseball bat through it. It's gonna take a whole lot more force to get that bat through than the little needle." She looks off into space for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, she nods. "Alright. Now as soon as the group gets back, we'll go get your sister and bring her back here. Hopefully take out a few of those extra-terrestrial killing machines in the process." -------------- Erin taps her foot against the floorboards. She stares down at the tranq gun propped against the seat in front of her. "Knock it off, you're making me nervous." She turns toward the woman in the seat beside her. "Rosa, I'm sorry, but I've been gone for nearly two days now. She's been alone this whole time and has no idea what's happened to me." "Yeah, I get it. Just chill though. Bouncing around like you're strung out isn't gonna help anyone. The way you're jittering, you're never going to hit your target with that gun. Hell, we'll be lucky if you don't hit one of us." Erin grinds her teeth at the woman's abrasive manner, but forces herself to sit still. Jasper turns around from the passenger seat to look at Rosa. "Come on, she's just worried about the kid. Have a little empathy." Clayton glances back at them in the rearview mirror, but doesn't intervene. Jasper turns back toward the front and the rest of the ride continues in silence. Finally, they pull up in front of the house where Ellie has been waiting. "Jasper and I will go chec--" Erin bolts out of the van, ignoring Clayton's words. "Ellie?" She sprints up the porch steps and through the front door. "Ellie, I'm back!" The others grab their guns and jump out of the van to follow. Rosa rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. By the time the trio makes it inside, they're greeted by the sight of Erin hugging a crying twelve-year old girl. "Alright, you can hug in the van. Let's go." "Geeze, Rosa, just let them have a minute." Jasper glares at her. "No, we've got to get out of here before o..." Her eyes dart to the window. "What's that sound?" She rushes over and peers through a gap in the blinds. Then, she hisses back at him, "There's one out there right now. If we go now, we can make it to the van before it finds us. If we wait and it finds us first..." "Why can't we just shoot it with the tranq guns? I thought that was the plan." Erin looks around at the others, trying to understand. Jasper sighs. "Well, we need to do it as we move. The injection takes a while to work. They can still attack or call others over in the meantime." She turns to glare at Clayton. "I thought you--" "Yeah, I may have exaggerated a bit. But it does work. It just takes a few minutes." Before Erin can respond, Rosa speaks up again. "Guys, what's the plan? It's getting closer. We need to decide now ." "Alright," Clayton says, "show of hands, who wants to go?" Clayton, Rosa, and Erin raise their hands. "OK, we go. Jasper, you drive. Rosa, you're in back with me. You two, in the middle. We go out there, slow and quiet. On three, we open the doors and hop in. Any questions?" He takes a moment to look around at the group. "Good. Let's go." Jasper crouches at the door. He slowly pulls the door open and steps outside. Rosa and Clayton stay close on his heels. Erin and Ellie follow at the rear. They're halfway to the van when Ellie catches a glimpse of the four-eyed creature and gasps. Clayton spins around and presses a hand against the girl's mouth. Panicking, she tries to push away from his grip. The beast hears the commotion and bellows. "Three!" Clayton scoops the girl up and makes a mad dash toward the van. He tosses her inside then leaps in after her. "Come on!" Jasper dives in and starts the van as Erin and Rosa hurry to close the doors. The tires squeal as they peel out across the blacktop. Erin clutches the crying Ellie to her chest as they watch the beast gaining on them. Rosa, already in the back, knocks out the rear window while Clayton struggles over the back of the seat. The creature tears after them, its claws leaving gouges in the asphalt. Rosa takes aim, holds her breath, and shoots the first dart at the monster. It screeches as the needle sticks in its leg. Clayton, finally positioned in the back, takes aim as Rosa reloads. He shoots and the monster shrieks once more as the dart sticks in the center of its chest. Rosa holds up her gun again, but looks toward Clayton. "How many shots?" "This guy's big. One more, then we'll see if he goes down soon." She turns back toward the window and takes aim. She fires, but the van hits a pothole and the dart goes flying over the thing's head. Clayton shoots once more. This one hits just inches from his first shot. The creature's stride falters a bit, but it continues its pursuit. "Floor it, Jasper!" The van speeds up and finally makes some real distance from the monster. Soon, the creature's knees buckle and it collapses to the ground. Rosa cheers, and Erin lets out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "See?" Clayton looks at Erin. "Just like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis. Erin can't decide whether to laugh or cry, so she does both. Slowing to a more reasonable speed, Jasper turns the van back toward the base. Finally, Erin calms down and turns toward Clayton. "I want to help. I haven't had much practice with a gun, so I don't know if I can shoot them. But give me something to do. I can make the darts or gather supplies or something. I'm tired of running." Clayton smiles at her. "Alright." He offers her his hand. "Welcome to the team."


Forever Fifteen by: Asher Romero Moeckli Caelum turned 15 tomorrow, and Camila had spent her entire day off working on his present. That morning she’d begged Nic, Caelum’s best friend, to drive her to a nearby photo store so she could print a picture of the three of them. Not one of their official photos that were used to promote the Academy, but one of the three of them out by the lake. Camila’s other brother, Lewis Smyth, had been the one to take the picture, forever freezing the moment when Caelum was attempting to throw a goldfish into Nic’s mouth and Camila was sitting in the sand, building a wall of rocks behind him. It was Caelum’s favorite picture of them. They weren’t posing for the camera, they weren’t putting on the front of a happy family, they were a happy family. Camila had framed that photo once it was printed. It had been a simple wooden frame that had the words “Family is Forever” engraved along the bottom in fancy cursive. Now, it was a decorated frame with stickers, shells, and rocks that they’d collected together. Camila had never been much of an artist but she’d asked Luka Jackson and Dylan Davis, two of the boys in her grade, to help her glue the shells and rocks on. They had used Dylan’s magic glue. Shortly after dinner, Camila had wrapped the present with probably thirty layers of tissue paper. Her older brother, Lewis, had walked in on her while she was in the middle of trying to tape one of the layers down. He’d laughed at her and told her she should stuff the bag with the rest of the roll before he continued on his merry way to his bedroom. So, of course, Camila stuffed the remainder of the gift bag with the rest of the roll of tissue paper. That night she slid the bag under her bed as Nic flipped through the book he had been reading her, trying to find where he left off the night before. “Ready for bed kiddo?” Nic said, smiling warmly at her and patting her on the head. She nodded, excited to hear more about Shelby the Shellfish’s adventures through the Mariana Trench. Camila tucked herself under the covers quickly and stared at Nic, waiting eagerly for him to start reading. Tonight, Shelby was getting ready for her big dinner with her new neighbors. She had to spend all day gathering supplies and putting together the perfect dinner party. Camila giggled at how similar their days had been. She had also spent all day putting together the perfect present. “Sounds like you,” Nic had teased, shaking her leg from where he was sitting. This only caused Camila to giggle more. “Yeah. But mine is a present! I could never make dinner for someone, I can’t cook!” Camila replied. “No, you can’t. I’ve tried your cooking. It gave me food poisoning!” Nic said through his chuckles. Nic had no ties to the Academy, but Camila felt like he was her fourth big brother. He had the same messy brown hair that Lewis had before he was appointed Cardinal and hazel eyes were close enough to brown. “You were the one telling me what to do!” Camila sat up and tried to smack him. Nic swatted her hand away. “Lay down, it’s bedtime.” He ordered, closing the book. “Wait, are you not going to finish the story?” Camila asked as he set it back on its place on her nightstand. “Nope, you were getting too riled up. You need to be calm to sleep. Your dad wouldn’t be happy if his favorite daughter was a zombie tomorrow.” Nic replied, reaching for the ends of Camila’s covers and pulling them up to her shoulders. “Fineeee,” she reluctantly agreed, tugging the covers over her shoulders and rolling onto her side, facing the door. She could no longer see Nic’s face as the light from the door cast a shadow over his face. “Do you think everything will be okay with Caelum and dad?” Caelum and her father, the Headmaster of the Academy, had gotten into a huge fight during dinner about whether Caelum could do a year at a normal school. The fight had ended in Caelum storming up to his room, yelling about how he never wanted to set foot in the Academy again. Of course this wasn’t the first time the two had fought. They fought about just about everything from schooling to training to Camila. But they always hugged it out and Nic would tell Camila everything Caelum said. “I think everything will be okay,” Nic replied, rubbing the top of her head and causing her flyaways to stick up, “I’m gonna go check up on him before I head home, alright?” “Okay. Tell me what he says tomorrow?” Camila asked, holding up her pinky finger. She couldn’t see Nic’s face but she would swear that she felt his smile as he wrapped his pinky around hers. “As always.” Camila laughed and snuggled into her pillow, “Goodnight Nic.” “Goodnight kid, I love you.” Camila was asleep before she could say it back. Camila turned 15 tomorrow, and she sat on her bed with that old box that she’d been hiding under her bed for five years. When Caelum had turned 15, Camila spent all day making sure she gave him the perfect present. He had helped her so much following Grayson’s death and with her training. She found the perfect picture- his favorite one- and enlisted the help of the best craftsman in the Academy to help her add her own flair to the frame. ~Family is Forever~ It had read. And Camila thought it was perfect, they were her family. Camila never got to give Caelum the picture. Because when she woke up the next morning, scooping the present out from under her bed and sprinting to give it to Caelum, she found that he wasn’t there. Turns out he had run away with Nic the night before, finally deciding that Camila wasn’t worth sticking around for anymore. He had left her a flashdrive where he had recorded his final goodbye. Camila might have listened to it once before throwing it into a box along with his present, the pendant he had given her for her birthday, and Nic’s letter that she’d received about three years ago. That box sat under her bed for almost five years. Now, Camila sat on her bed- forcing her nausea away and telling herself that she wasn’t going to throw up- with that box on her lap. She was almost Caelum’s age now. Fifteen. Obviously she knew he wasn’t fifteen anymore. Five whole years had gone by, he was closer to twenty now and no longer legally tied to the Academy in any way. Yet, to Camila, he would be fifteen for the rest of his life. He was dead to her and he was dead to the Academy. And as of tomorrow, she would be older than him. It was time for her to get rid of the last remnants of her brother. She unclasped the box and slid the top off. It was like opening a time capsule. Everything inside was just as she remembered it (albeit a little jostled around from being moved). The flash drive sat taped onto an old letter Camila had received from Nic. She figured bullshit belonged with bullshit. She didn’t open that either. Sprawled out in a twisting maze on top of everything was the pendant. It was a small green pendant that had some sort of tracking device in it. Caelum had given it to her when she turned ten, five years ago tomorrow. He had told her it was so they could always find each other because family was forever. She should smash it. At the very bottom of the box was that damn picture frame. It was covered in dust and some of the shells and rocks had chipped off, leaving large holes where they once sat. Guess Luka and Dylan’s magic glue wasn’t so magic after all. She wanted to destroy the picture. Her hands shook as she picked it up, blowing the dust away so she could clearly see what she had been missing for so long. Just one look , she told herself. One look before she would begin destroying everything. Look at the three of them, so happy, so unaware of the misfortune that was going to befall them. Camila stared down at her brother, smiling like he wasn’t about to destroy her entire world in less than a month. She had always wondered if he’d always known he was going to leave her. Maybe that’s why he gave her that pendant. It was time for her to let go of Caelum. He was dead after all. Her grip tightened on the frame and her tears dropped onto the frame. She wished for them to stop. There was no point in crying over something that happened five years ago. Her tears fell faster and faster until she was bent over the box, sobbing. Sobbing for Caelum, for Nic, for the life she lost. Camila had been born into a family of four, a happy family of four. And now this was all that was left. An old flash drive, an apology letter, and two meaningless birthday presents representing a family torn apart by time and by tragedy. Camila is turning fifteen tomorrow. And Caelum would forever be fifteen.


The soft grass tickling my feet, the sweet smell of cherry blossoms. The light gently caresses my hair. It all seems so familiar, yet so foreign. To think that only two days ago, I was wrapped up safely in a blanket. Now, I am here. Looking out at the ocean that seemingly stretches to eternity. Yet, it had to be fate. I ponder briefly, what I would be doing right now had I not taken that wrong turn. Had I not opened that ever so peculiar door carved into the mountain? Stepping through was as though stepping into another world. One without judgment, without fear, and free of expectations. It was just simply there. As many questions as I have, I do not feel an urge to find an answer. It is as if they are just floating in my head, perfectly fine remaining where they are. I shut my eyes, thinking that this might just be a wonderful dream. I could be tending to my plants right now, I think. When I open my eyes, I am no longer on the beach. Instead, I am in a large garden, but it is not mine. The smell of cherry blossoms is gone, replaced with a faint sound of drums. I am standing what seems to be in the middle of it all. To my left is a large orchard, and to my right fields of crops grow. In front of me are small boxes full of smaller plants. All of which are teeming with majestic fruits I have never seen before. The colors of the rainbow are dancing across the plant leaves. A small voice in my head says “go one, try one”. I walk over to the orchard. There's a strange tree that’s just as tall as I am. It’s an odd shade of pink, with small barbs sticking out of it. I run my hand along its bark, and notice the rubbery texture. Its fruit is much too large for its small branches. Yet somehow, it manages to hold it. I pluck off its fruit with ease. It looks similar to an apple, but much larger, and pulpous. I use my hands to pull it apart, as it squirts me with a strange juice. Once I manage to separate the two halves, I see that it’s completely hollow. In the hollow pit, it’s filled with a strange sticky liquid resemblant to honey. I immediately take a sip, and feel a flood of joy wash over me. It has no taste, but it fills me with strange emotions. I spent many hours there, perhaps many days. Time seems completely irrelevant, and is therefore forgotten. All I know is that my thoughts are not an intrusion, as they often are. I close my eyes after I feel satisfied, and think of a rainforest. As I open my eyes, I see the world around me pixelate into a complete image of a rainforest. This time, I’m sitting with my legs crossed. I grip the ground with my hands; the soil feels soft and damp. Looking up, I see the cloudy sky above. I listen, as the thunder rolls throughout the land. Bright sparks of light shoot out of the clouds, and reach the ground below. I smile, thinking of the tranquillity of this all. Suddenly, a shiver runs down my spine. This time, my eyes remain open. I picture in my mind a place of warmth, and see the landscape before me deteriorate. It’s replaced with a blinding sun. I squint, so the rays don’t reach my eyes as much. I look down, and see the sand beneath my feet sliding away. I’m on a sand dune, I laugh, falling into the dune. Letting the sun warmed sand envelop me in a blanket of dune. I slide down to the bottom, filled with an uncontrollable joy. I roll in the sand, feeling like a child for the first time in a long time.  As I shut my eyes to avoid the sandy blizzard I was stirring up, I hear the faint voice again. “It’s time,” it says. “Time for what?” I hear my voice utter, as I continue to enjoy the sand. “Time to return... to real life” I can feel the burn in my eyes, never wanting to leave this newfound wonder. “You can always return to Choice Kingdom, but you cannot stay forever. A life awaits you. People that love you. Always remember, your Choice Kingdom is with you wherever you go. Have no fear,” and just like that, it all vanished. Everything. The bright sun, the soft sand rubbing against my leg. The warmth that sent shivers down my spine. What happened to it all? I couldn’t see anything but the dark, but I could hear my sobs. My useless tears falling into the abyss of darkness around me. How could I return to the abysmal life that awaited me? I try to walk, but my legs can’t move. My arms don’t work, and my voice is silenced. Slowly, the light returned. The darkness fades, until there is none left. For a moment, I’m unsure of where I am, but I quickly realize I’m at the door. That ever so peculiar door that holds the magic of the universe. My tears are dried, for a reason I’m not sure of. It’s as if an imaginary force has fixed my emotions. In fact, I believe it’s a very real force. Two years later You’re probably wondering where I am now, well let me tell you! After the Choice Kingdom, things changed. For some strange reason, my mind had been refreshed. It was as if all the negativity had been released, and I could only think positive thoughts. Of course, this didn’t last forever. Soon I found myself returning to my old ways of thinking. The positivity slowly faded into pure negativity. That’s when I remembered, Choice Kingdom. Even the thought itself sparked happiness. Therefore, I hiked back up the mountain to that ever so peculiar door. The subtle voice in my mind was awoken, “Enter”.


An overwhelming sense of beauty and awe befell the young J, so cooped and restricted in the oppression of the empty Tower for so long, that to be standing here at its peak looking out at the gray skies, it felt as though he would float away Tears had streamed his face before, hot, unwelcoming tears, but this was new, for once he was crying not out of despair or greif like he had so many times, instead he was crying tears of joy, laughing as he did so, giggling and wailing like a child at the world, his skin exposed to the clarity of the world, amazingly beautiful, unbearably free. The two had led J and his dear friend here, young Wade and Mae, their liberators, it was now that he seeked answers, to know the nature of this tower at the edge of nowhere, if J had a life before, if he might have one after, what to expect if he did. However, most importantly of all, he wanted to know where the pair had come from, and where they fit in with the wide open vaccant landscape that rolled before his very eyes, curling away in the setting sun. As if reading his mind, Wade spoke, "We have been searching this tower for a little over two days now. It was originally a brief sight of it in the distance that drew us in." He paused for a moment, sighing through his nose. "This place is huge, deep too, we started at the base and tried going down, but there was no end to our delve and we were forced to turn back. The next day, we climbed the stairs, finding a room full of keys, each labeled to each sector, the one we found you in was H." J slightly recoiled, thinking hard but remaining silent, urging Wade to continue. "We searched everywhere, but in each room we looked, we only found the frozen bodies of men and women who seemed to freeze to death in their freezers" "Suicide..." Mae added. "It was an awful sight," Wade went on, "But finding sector H, we heard a cry, yourself, and released you from captivity, we never thought we'd find another person in this place, never mind two." J tried to smile, he knew he should, it felt right, but there was a lingering discomfort, even anger, though he didn't know at what. "What is this place?" J asked, holding his scarred hands to his chest. "We are unsure, clearly a prison of some sort, what do you remember?" Simon spoke bitterly, "Nothing." "Nothing?" Mae said, astonished. "Not a thing," J remarked, "Our names, if that's what these words are, but quite literally nothing else." Wade and Mae frowned at one another and seemed to agree upon something in secret. "We have a station set up at the base of the tower, we have another person there, he's running scans of the architecture of this place, trying to place its origin and possible creator, but he's come back with nothing so far. We have warm food, a place to sleep, clothes, you should come with us, we can help you get out of here." "Sounds great." Simon said in an instant, but J looked down at his marked hands, long wide scars decorating his pale skin. He spoke. "I want to help you. I want to know why I'm here." Wade smiled, and said, at once, "Then come and get a shirt on, it's much too cold to be here like that.


There she is. Such a cute face and those freckles are adorable, too. She is always on my mind and I often wonder if she likes the same things as me. I think I will ask her for her phone number today. I will say " Hey, I have seen you working here a few times. Want to hang out sometime ?" No wait, that sound stupid. I can't say that. What a weird thing to say. No, I need to be cooler. Maybe more something along the lines of " Are you doing anything after work ?" I mean her shift probably started. It's only 10a.m. but I guess I could ask her what she is doing later. I have to be cool about it though, not a dorky nerd. I can do this. Only three other people in front of me. Her smile is so nice. I know she smiles for everyone, but she puts a little heart over the "i" in my name instead of the dot. It has to be something, I am sure of it. She always has a bigger smile for me. I see the guy who is at the register right now, he has been there a few mornings as well and she never smiles as much as she does for me as she does for him. That's a good sign, right? " Hey, how you doing ?" I could try that. No, that's silly. This isn't "Friends", this is real life. I bet she hasn't even seen "Friends". Then again she works in a café. It would make sense. Right? Wow that's an even dumber thought. Why would she have had to have seen "Friends" just because she works in a café? It's not like every prison guard saw the "Green Mile". Another customer moves forward and I am only two people away from speaking to the potential future love of my life. Such gorgeous luscious red wavy hair embracing her pale and beautiful skin with freckles, her slightly tipped upward nose and her bright green eyes. She chimed her usual siren's song of "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" It was music to my ears. " You can help me by going out with me ," and just then I cringed. I shrank within myself. Definitely, definitely do not say that. Say she is cute maybe. " You're cute ," Why not just that? Just try that, throw it at her, everyone loves a compliment. I love compliments. I still remember when Franziska said I had good taste in music back in high school. That was 14 years ago now. Time flies. " Your shirt looks nice ," I could say, maybe? Oh but she is wearing the café's shirt. The owner had them designed a few months back and she told me that they were too tight. I laughed and thanked her for the coffee back then, cursing myself for not talking more to her. " Maybe I could loosen it for you ?" That doesn't even make sense. Another customer has paid and there is only one elderly lady in front and she is taking her time. "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" my delightful auburn darling sang her sweet song and the lady in front began to babble on about her cat. I could not focus, I avoided her gaze as I looked for the right words to say. " Look, I've been coming to this place for a few months already, I really only come to see you. I don't even like coffee that much, that's why I always get a latte. Sometimes I don't even finish it, I just come here to talk to you, see you, and I was hoping we could get to know each other better sometime. Do you have some time soon, maybe after work today or another time ?" " Sure! That sounds great. I can't today, but how about tomorrow after work? I always look forward to seeing you. I didn't think you liked me because you never talked more than two words to me. " She said shyly, her pale face becoming slightly red. " Really? That's amazing! I feel the same way! So when do you finish work tomorrow ?" I smiled and leaned slightly on the counter. She giggles and replies with a coy " At 3p.m. I am done ," I give her a wink and say: " Deal. " "Next!" I hear her shout as I am awakened from my daydream, the image so clearly yet so fake, dissipated in thin air before his eyes. He looked to see her looking at him with her smile. Did he see her blush? He must have been mistaken. All the words had planned out disappeared as quickly as his daydream. "Good afternoon regular, how can I help you?" Regular. My heart skipped a beat. I could feel my throat tense up. " Play it cool, " I told myself as I could feel myself work up a sweat. It was as if I was in a Yoga pose and had to hold still, but I didn't want to be. "Uhhhmmm I would like..." I began but she cut me off. "A latte?" She smiled at me and her eyes seemed to give me a small twinkly reply. Was that a hint? Oh gosh. "Yes," I laughed awkwardly "you're good." She smiled and rang it up on the cash register. "Impossible to forget, you always order the same," she smiled and did a small jump as she finished putting it in the register. "Anything else?" Her eyes seemed to be asking for more than an order. I opened my mouth and it stood agape for a moment. I shook my head, instead of saying anything else. She gave a resigned smile and asked if I want to pay with card or cash. I simply raise my hand with the card. The machine beeps as my money dissipates as quickly as my dreams of love as I resignedly turn away to get my coffee from the other barista behind the counter. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! I feel like falling down a cliff, or yeeting myself into traffic. As I get my order, the other barista calls out my name and I look at the cup. The heart over the "i" and a winking smiley. Our eyes meet and she winks at me again before tending to another customer. I stare at the cup and curse at myself. I'll try again tomorrow.


With the election just days away Leftie Lucy faces Rye T Tie Tea, a battle for the soul of the country. Never in the country’s circular history has the nation been so divided. Leftie has accused Rye T of importing voters from the 1940s to supplement his shrinking voter base. Tie Tea in turn asserts that Lucy has artificially inflated her numbers by giving every slice of avocado toast a vote. Capital Will, named for our forefather Will I Am the Read, looks like the scene of an impending battle to rival Sekigahara. Banners declaring Rye T the Forever Fuhrer flutter in the winds of change. Their slogan: Rich enough to tan better, smart enough not to , has been spelled a thousand ways across the bare chests of grown homophobes cosplaying as the Village People. On the left, an army of the world’s last hippies have been braiding flowers into their armpit hair and singing for the future of a world they say is doomed. Their placards, written on recycled Amazin(c) boxes, declare that while there may be a Planet B, it’s not granting Visa so we should probably look after our world a bit better. Far from catchy. Our representative in the field, Doug Out, had this to say; “I honestly don’t know why you sent me here. I’m in a field and it’s corn as far as I can see in every direction. Looking up and up or down and down, I see nothing else.” Rob Mi is between the armies of the left standing on the right and the quiet majority on the left of the right wingers. Quite a B-team selection when you start looking at them. “Thanks Mike Rofone, yes I’m here in the backyard of democracy with Conan Mi, no relation. He’s campaigning on behalf of Rye T Tie Tee. Conan, why is that?” Holding out a microphone wrapped in an advert for plastic surgery, Rob’s liposuctioned hand holds it out to Conan who’s wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with Only judge can god me . “Rye T’a conspiracy theories really work for me, Rob. As a middle aged man haunted by the legacy of my efforts in high school, the idea that all of my problems can be blamed on people trying to move to this country to make a better life for themselves through hard work is comforting.” “So escapism is what you’re voting for?” Rob asks. “Exactly. I don’t want to have to think about policies or statistics. I just want someone who’s going to channel my anger into a vote that gives multi billionaires tax cuts.” “Because if slavery taught us anything,” said Rob, flashing whitened teeth, “it’s that the rich care about the poor.” “Exactly.” “Thanks, Conan.” Rob turns to the camera. “Now it’s time to cross the street. As you can see, the police are out in force to stop these two sides meeting in battle. What’s truly startling isn’t just the fact our police have machine guns, it’s that Rye T’s supporters are carrying weapons that make the police guns look like water pistols.” While Robert wades through boys in blue, it’s time for a word from our sponsor. Fast Fashion is the brand made for kids, by kids. Bulk order more than ten items for a vial of the blood, sweat and tears of the toddler who made your adorable ensemble. Fast Fashion, don’t feel guilty, we don’t . Back to Rob. “Thanks, Mike. As you can see I’ve gone from skinheads to dreadlocks. One has to wonder how so many white men can wear this much tie dye without forming a reggae band. Rainbow And Arrows is his real name and he hasn’t showered in weeks. Rainbow, do employers ever question your sanitary habits?” “Not really Rob, I’ve been part of a militant vegan group for the last six years, freeing dairy cows in the wild.” “How’s that going for them?” Rob asks. “They can’t breed without artificial insemination and they require C-sections to give birth.” “So your actions condemned them to die?” “They’ve been bred to the point of extinction, Rob. I’ve been helping them die with dignity.” “I’m sure they thank you as they’re ripped apart by predators. Great talking to you, Rainbow. Maybe you should have a shower when all of this is over.” “Nah, gotta save water, man.” “Is water facing extinction as well? That’s news to me.” “We’re running out of fresh water. Don’t you know?” “Nope, Rainbow and honestly I don’t care. Back to you in the studio, Mike.” Thanks, Rob. Here in the studio we have political commentator and Troll Rights campaigner Lai Bellous. Hot off the press tour for her book Real Trolls Don’t Taunt, Lai has a lot to say about the election. “That’s right, Mike. Thanks for having me on the show.” “You’re welcome, Lai. Thanks for coming. Back to Rob Mi at the rally.” “But,” says Mrs Bellous, as the screen cuts to Robert Mi. “Things are really hotting up here, Mike. And I don’t mean that in a sexist way. The midday sun is really cooking us all. I’m seeing a lot of melanoma in the making as protestors on both sides start to look like cooked lobsters. Doctor Alan Webster has no PHD but does sell slimming medicine online. Alan, why are you voting for Rye T?” “The man’s a genius, Rob. You know he is because he says so.” As he pumps a righteous fist, Alan exposes a sweaty armpit. “It’s always helpful when politicians self diagnose their own brilliance.” Robert nods, flashing veneers that cost him a fortune. “He’s gonna sort out the law too, man. This country is too soft on crime. Criminals walking free left and right. He’s gonna fix that.” As he fans himself with his shirt, Alan reveals the tips of a swastika across chest. “I know what you mean, Al. Seems like there are people everywhere who should be behind bars. Hateful people who idolise violence against anyone different.” “Exactly!” Yells Alan, prodding Rob’s chest. “Kill ‘em all I say.” “Great talking to you, Doctor Alan Webster. Now it’s time for the weather with Rainie Diaz.” Thank you Rob. Enjoy the sun, that’s all I’ll say. It’s going to be raining cats and dogs tomorrow. Starting light with Shih Tzus and kittens but moving up to Alsatians and Maine Coons by the afternoon then Saint Bernards and cougars all night. I could tell you the weather across the continent but let’s be honest, our viewers don’t care. Back to you Doug Out, what’s going on there? “I’m still in a field, moron. Nothing’s happening here.” That’s what you get for sleeping with the boss' wife I guess. Back to Rob. The camera shakes, pushed down towards feet as screaming and yelling fills the microphone. “Yes, Rainie. Thank you,” his voice muffled and coming in gasps, Rob lifts the camera lens back towards his face. “It’s all kicked off here. The left and the right have met in the middle, and it’s carnage. The police are starting to guard people from a paramilitary unit with rocket launchers on one side and wiccans throwing fireballs on the other. There’s a certain irony to men wearing Blue Lives Matter clothing gunning down officers for a chance to attack political rivals. Likewise I can see a lot of vegans out there cooking meat, even if it’s human.” Blood splatters Rob from behind as the rattle of automatic gunfire becomes a drumbeat over screaming vocals. “FOUR MORE YEARS,” scream men and women red in the face from sweat and blood. Bodies lay across the street, intertwined. “Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families, and to those lost,” says President Rye T, bowing his head. As always happens, the dead rise, reincarnated by the lackluster words of an indifferent figurehead. Guns never hurt anyone, not permanently at least. You can trust the National Pistol Association on that, they don’t have an agenda. That’s all we have time for I’m afraid. Maybe in another life I’d tell the truth but that’s not what pays. From everyone here at Ain't It Drool News, remember, if you’re hunting deer, buy Drummond’s armour piercing rounds, because there are too many deer in Kevlar now.