“Are those their fighters?” A young ensign questioned as he pointed to a hazy blob on the holo console. “Drones,” a Lieutenant Commander barked while brushing him aside, ignoring his ill-timed curiosity. “Battlestations!” He yelled into his collar. His voice mixed with a whaling siren as they both resonated down the steel halls. The Cordiovasquez was a prestigious ship; however, she was well past her days of making history. She was now a museum piece floating in orbit, focussing her resources on life support. Conquest was for the young, and she had slain many only to stave off decommissioning. Her sister ships were all mothballed, and she had the backwater duty of protecting the spaceport housing her antiquated comrades. It was a slap in the face for the captain and his uncharacteristically loyal crew. “How much Gauss?” Captain Faraday asked “Eleven, 14 without detonators.” A weapons officer answered “So eleven Igor, we have eleven Gauss.” Capt. Faraday “Yes sir.” the officer conceited. “Low-Velocity charges?” Capt. Faraday asked as he turned an old-world wheel given to him as a ceremonious antique, never intended for use on an Orbital Gallion. The giant sperm whale of a vessel lumbered to the left of a moon and the right of a twirling sphere devoid of activity but clearly, manufactured. “How many marines are on ARG-12?” “We have 467 LVC’s, and we can convert another 42 in an hour.” A charged officer responded “There are 14 Marines, sir, none of which are responding.” A senior officer responded in defeated intonation “So we have 467 LVC’s and Zero Marines!” The commander threw at his tired crew while tossing the wheel to the right again, corralling his lumbering space tube into the wake of their moon’s orbit. “Tell Cortez I want 3 LVCs cut in half and loaded with firing solutions on their Cruiser.” “Ummm, yes, sir.” The lieutenant verified her auto scripter and sent the copy, knowing full well Cortez could hear a recording of Faraday in engineering. At that moment, Cortez quickly grabbed a drawing pad and rep box and ran down the main batteries bay, yelling for help. “I know I heard!” A man in an Exo Suit hailed while waving as Cortez rounded a corner opening up to a massive bay full of reinforced bulkheads. “I’ll admit we have a lot of these, but unless he wants us to blow ourselves up with them, I have no idea what he is thinking this time.” The man had a giant steel wedge in his hand with the markings EGR-6(Egress Ramp 6) sloppily painted and worn by mass use. “What the fuck are you doing with that!!!” Cortez screamed. “How much do you like old-world history, say... revolution of the Francs?” The Exo pilot proudly proclaimed like he’d been waiting his whole life to flex his obtuse knowledge. “By then, they were French, the French revolution!” Cortez rebutted in a panic “Awww, so you get my point. We sure as hell can’t torch it.” Exo pilot “No...” Cortez At this point, the bridge was invigorated by numerous sirens. “Shut that shit off!” Farraday yelled as he wiped dribbled beer foam off his pant leg. “That’s another group of sleuths, four squadrons, bearing....” An officer said while observing his iridescent monitors “Dammit, two of those could wipe the lot of us. BEARING?!?” Captain Farraday demanded “Sorry sir, my monitors are only on 13% since we re-routed to life-support.” Officer “Reroute everything to targeting, I want those solutions, and I want them NOW!” Farraday yelled as an officer hit four keys on a screen and slid into a seat beside a console erupting with life. “Sir, we’re in Chester’s gravity! With our current fuel levels, I don’t....” The pilot officer divulged while poorly hiding his concern “Never mind that, reroute all that to targeting,” the Captain ordered while thinking: *Come on, Chester, don’t swallow us yet.* The ship groaned as the large geologically active moon Chester bent and pulled the craft around it like a tiny belt bucket. “Give me more shields!” “At the expense of???” A Officers questioned “Do we have the Cephalopod sighted?” The captain asked as the weapons officer cut him off. “Yes! I was able to find the bastard back-tracing his fourth squadron! Targeting verified..... Now!” Weapons officer “Cortez!” Faraday yelled into his collar. “One more sir,” Cortez said while watching his colleague bash the back of a giant ramp with more mechanical energy than he’d ever seen. The exo-suits servos whined and screeched as the pilot swung with all his mech-assisted might, cleaving the charge in two. The exo-pilot grabbed the piece dripping with anti combustible gel and waddled it over to the breach. Cortex watched and sprayed the remaining charges with the gel. As the exo-pilot egressed the breach area, Cortez radioed the bridge, “Ready sir!” “FIIIIORE!!!!!” Faraday yelled. The crew, utterly perplexed as to why cleaving a charge would ever be advantageous, remained hopeless but driven. “Load every gauss that won’t burst!” The captain said in a desperate but commanding tone “Sir, the fighters are about to intercept the hospital ship!” Radar officer “Cowards!” Faraday barked. The crew watched without directing their eyes away from their duties. They all had a peripheral blur of the slaughter. Large columns of orange flicked on every reflective surface in the bridge. They watched, certain their ship would share a similar fate. “Sir!” An officer yelled! “The Cephalopod is moving; it’s heading toward ARG and turning broadside to us!” The Cephalopod was a *Drone Carrier* capable of delivering payloads from safe distances. It sat eerily still on the dark side of Chester: the lava-spewing sphere of chaos, chock-full of rare earth materials. This whole microcosm of violence was hosted by Ethos, the hydrogen rich planet Chester orbited. Ethos was why Chester had such growing pains; its massive gravity squeezed the satellite in constant flux. Thus, Cephalopod and Cordiovasquez had giant columns of magma to avoid along with each other’s monstrous weaponry. Farraday looks at his monitor and yells, “give me a solution across the bastard’s nose!” “Done,” Officer. “Fire all gauss!” The captain yelled triumphantly as the massive maternal vessel belched energy and bulk out of its broadside batteries. The Cordiovasquez looked like a freshly tossed oil pipe angulating through space with a fiery gash erupting from its side. The weapons forced the vessel into a clumsy spin. The crew, now whirling, grabbed hold of whatever they could as the gravity computers stressed to compensate. “Power down!” the captain said as officers quickly shut down everything but life support. They now all sat tranquil in their seats, helplessly watching stars streak across the bridge windows as they twirled in their orbit. Meanwhile, on the Cephalopod, things were starkly different. A calm admiral watched as drone fighters encircled his easy prey. “The Enemy vessel fired one salvo, but they’ll miss, sir.” A lieutenant said with confidence. “We detected small explosions in their hull earlier but too small for gauss cannons.” “Their ships falling apart before we’ve fired a shot.” The Enemy admiral admired. He then looked at the defense matrix and traced the main salvo. “They’ll bounce off our bow deflectors. A good admiral conserves everything he can, bring her back to the initial launch point, our drones will perforate their hulk of a ship.” “Yes sir!” A lieutenant said while punching a solution into his holoscreen. Back at Faraday’s ship, the captain unbuckled himself and conveniently waited for the ship to twist via gravity, allowing the radar console to slowly link up with his hands in an elegant display of competence. He peered at the screen with a smirk on his face. “There,” he said as his worried crew’s faces transformed to glee. Just then, three large lumbering objects carried by the moon’s stubborn weight streaked toward the enemy blip. Onboard the Cephalopod, everything short of champagne was ready for victory when a strange shadow quickly blotted out the stars and was gone. Silence ensued as perplexed crew members looked at each other first, then the admiral. As the admiral stepped toward his radar screen he was thrown to the wall as an explosion of glass and sparks spared from all around him. The ship took one gauss round near the bow and another, seconds after--dead center. It looked like a stressed girder as it first buckled inward, then detonated and was enveloped in its fiery outcry. Its mindless fighter drones carried on their stubborn trajectories, unable to receive any new commands, destined to travel the cold space forever. “Call the marines, tell them to bring me some beer and all the engineers they got.” Captain Faraday said proudly in his comlink from the spinning dark bridge of his tired vessel.


We’ll be in the car for a good while, love, so say now if you need the dunny. It’s a lovely spot, Warning Point. Pretty views out over the ocean, but quite a drive along the coast road to get there. If we’re lucky we’ll see the whales migrating past, just like your travel book says. I reckon what they charged you for that book is daylight robbery, but people do like their little souvenirs. You won’t see the whales up close like in those pictures though. Those have been taken from a boat, but they don’t tell you that, do they? I guess tourists are gullible the world over. I usually avoid anywhere the tourists go because they’re a bloody nuisance with their great big backpacks and all their posing for photos. And to see how they go soft in the head for a cuddly toy koala- they have no idea how vicious the little buggers really are. It was nice of you to look us up, love. I suppose as your dad and I are only second cousins it’s not like we’re particularly close relatives, but the thought behind it was well meant. I see you’ve inherited the famous family nose. I bet they called you Beaky at school, did they? Oh, I can see by your expression they did too. I knew it! Children can be so cruel. That nose skipped me by, thank goodness. Don’t mind me though. You should know that I’m the kind of person who says what they think. What you see is what you get. No frills. I hope you’re not the easily offended type, are you? Never mind. Look over there at that wattle growing up on the ridge. If you see anything bright yellow at this time of year that’s what it’ll be. About as bright as that top your wearing- you certainly won’t get missed on a dull day, will you? I suppose you young folk like to stand out a bit. But it’s a nice enough top if you like that kind of thing. The whales move up north around the time the wattle’s out, so you rocked up on our doorstep at just the right time of year. Although honestly, didn’t you fancy a proper organised tour? I really have no idea why you’d want to be reliant on an old girl like me to show you around. There’s a bush walk tour from town you could try. Always best to go into the bush in a group and walk at the back, that way you avoid being the one to stumble over the brown snakes. They do love to sunbathe on the path. I’ve even had them come into the backyard before. Deadly bite- you’d probably not make it to hospital even if you were lucky enough for the air ambulance to reach you in time. That reminds me, I should probably have mentioned to you this morning not to wander about barefoot outside. If it’s not the snakes the spiders will give you a nasty bite. You wouldn’t be the first or last visitor to these parts to go home with an amputation after a bit of blood poisoning. But I suppose no one would be talking about your nose then, would they love? See that building on the hill? That was a restaurant owned by a French family, but it’s empty now. When the French started all that nuclear testing out at sea folks around here weren’t best pleased, I can tell you. People all over were boycotting cheese and all sorts, and some of the local hippies took a disliking to the restaurant. So the owners kept finding broken windows and punctures in their tyres, and they just moved on in the end. Of course I don’t mind anyone making an honest living, and I don’t give two hoots where you come from, but French food is very fancy, isn’t it? All those herbs. I tried French food once, years back it was, and it kept repeating on me terribly. I’d say you like your food though, love, am I right? You’re a bit too old for it to be puppy fat. Big boned, maybe. That’s very kind of you, love, but we like plain food. We just eat normal tucker. If you really insist, you could shout us a meal at Chuck’s Diner. They do a smashing steak and chips on Thursdays. The food there is just beautiful. I’ve lived here all my life, love. When I was a girl we used to go mushroom picking over there. You had to be careful though- I knew a boy who accidentally poisoned his whole family by picking the wrong ones. A terrible tragedy. All over the papers. He wasn’t the sharpest tackle in the box and I do recall him standing in cowpats to warm his feet up. But he came from a poor family and didn’t always have shoes, so can you really blame him? He never deserved to die in agony like he did. The father though, he was into the grog and a nasty piece of work he was too- very heavy handed with the wife, you know? He got his comeuppance alright. Back then this route was nothing more than a dirt track. It’s a shame they had to put all those houses in over there. A few years back the bush fires swept right through, and it was all so sudden. The authorities never even advised anyone to evacuate, and if you ask me someone should have gone to prison for that. A woman and her daughters tried to save themselves by jumping in their pool, but she died from the smoke. The daughters survived but their lives were ruined really. Some owners moved back with the money from the insurance, so all of these houses are new builds, although if it was me I don’t think I could- I’d always be a bit worried. But then, folk are pretty tough out here. Not like your kind of people, you know, from the city. I daresay you’re a bit soft from creature comforts, are you? Anyway. In the floods the river rises right up to those boulders over there. It doesn’t look like much now, does it? But it can change in a moment. A few years ago a foreign family came canoeing down this river, and they all drowned when the water rose. They couldn’t swim, of course. Not one of them! I don’t suppose you’re a strong swimmer are you, growing up where you did? It’s not your fault really, probably a Pommie thing. I guess you don’t know any better when you’ve been raised a certain way. Are those fellas down there fishing? So many people have drowned doing that. You stand there on the rocks and it just takes one freak wave and your gone. Although we do have a spare rod, love. So if you fancy your luck you’re welcome to take it out for the day, you know, to do your own thing for a bit. Take a look up there, will you- it looks like there’s been a rockfall. There are often landslides falling onto this road. The whole hillside is slipping into the sea, you see. A motorist was killed here once after heavy rains. Speaking of which, it looks like the clouds are rolling in now. They did mention we’d get the arse-end of the hurricane from the Solomon Islands, but I was thinking it would blow in tomorrow. Don’t you worry, I’ve driven in conditions you wouldn’t believe. Been driving since I was 12, and I know these roads like the back of my hand. So here we are, Warning Point. I see the parking lot is completely chocka, so I’ll pull up back here. They’ll all be here to see the whales, but you’ll be lucky to see a thing with this rain starting. Honestly, I’ve never seen so many folks up here. It never used to be like this. Look at that, a whole coach load of them over there! What people don’t realise is that this whole section of coast is completely unstable. The authorities should really cordon off the edge as that crowd is actually standing on an overhang. All it takes is a bit of erosion and down it will go. We’ve had some terrible storms this year and who knows what damage has been done underneath. But it’s definitely the best place to see the whales from, so you’ll want to get over there right away if you’re up for seeing them. Especially after we’ve driven all this way. No love, I’m going to wait here in the dry and catch a little shut eye. You take all the time you need, and don’t rush back.


#Hello r/Shortstories! I’m back again to celebrate another writer completing their ! Let’s take a moment to give a big to u/stickfist! A lovely member of the WP and ShortStories community, both on the sub and on discord, Stick is an absolute delight to have around. And he recently earned his mod hat over on r/WritingPrompts! He has his own subreddit, r/StickFistWrites, where you can check out all his work. He has participated in Serial Sunday since it began. His serial, *By Any Other Name*, has 26 parts! And it’s a truly excellent read. Great job, Stick! I hope you’ve treated yourself to something wonderful.   ***   #By Any Other Name - Written by u/stickfist **A brief synopsis from Stick:** A forgotten space colony gains the attention of the Galactic Council when it’s discovered that the inhabitants haven’t aged in two hundred years. When a delegation lands to restore communications, they find that not all colonists want to be reintegrated. Some are willing to die for their ends. Others are willing to kill. If you haven’t had the chance to read this yet, sink in with some snacks and a yummy beverage! | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |   ***   #A Chat with u/stickfist about Serial Writing The writing journey can be challenging, but full of wonderful and unique experiences. No two writers’ journeys are the same. So let’s take a moment to talk with Stick about his experiences with serial writing. ##**What have you learned throughout the serial writing process?** Early on, I would write long installments with multiple scenes, forgoing things like character development or pacing. Over time and with feedback from the readers, I learned how to slow down a scene, how one good scene is better than two or three rough ones. Pacing is not about pushing words in front of the reader’s eyes, but about giving them a reason to keep reading. ##**What did you enjoy most about writing this?** The campfires! It was gratifying to hear my words and how people responded to them. The feedback I received was priceless. ##**What was the biggest challenge you faced and how did you overcome it?** I didn’t initially think I’d have so many threads to tie up by the end of the story. One of the ways I kept things organized was to use software. I wrote this in bibisco, which allowed me to write narrative strands, character bios, and location notes, all of which could be explored while I wrote my chapters. Endings are still hard and I know there were places to expand or improve to make it more satisfactory and who knows? Maybe I’ll revisit this world again. ##**What advice would you give to writers who are thinking about writing a serial for the first time?** Don’t worry if the project deviates from your original vision. When you sit (or stand) to write an installment, think about where you want the characters and the readers to be by the end of the chapter. It’s okay if every installment doesn’t advance the plot, if instead you give a reader a reason to be invested in the characters. Don’t rush. But do start.   *** ##**Thank you, Stick!** Stick, thank you so much for taking the time to talk and share with us. You’ve given us some great advice. Congrats again on finishing your 26 part serial! That’s such a huge accomplishment and you should be very proud. I’m so glad I’ve had the opportunity to have a front row seat to your writing and growth over the last several months. I wish you the best of luck on your future projects. And I do hope to see your writing around Serial Sunday again. Fellow writers and readers, please take a moment to leave u/stickfist some love in the comments below! You can even ask him questions!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


A festering wound and a lingering thought are equally dangerous if not tended to. A small spore that spreads; thrives. Gently germinating before it takes a vicious hold and ravages everything it touches. Adeline immersed herself in her canvas. The gravitational pull it had on her and losing her sense of self with bold brushstrokes was why she loved it so. Her palette was full of rich colours and happy hues. But it was the black and white that blended to make a coal gray that would be the foundation of her night time painting. The only student to use this technique in the art class under the shade of a large oak. Adeline gradually covered the blank cotton canvas. The less the white became visible the more it filled her with something. She could not quite put her finger on it. She stared at a small speck of untouched canvas still visible in the center. A darkness swallowed the light whole, an immense void where nothing escapes. “Is this class a joke to you madam?” asked her teacher, Rapheal Vale, walking up beside where she was sitting. Even though his hair seemed to also have been mixed to have reached a similar gray, he clearly did not appreciate her attempt at using the colour. Or the absence of it. Adeline tried to keep a straight face as best she could, hiding the impact of the insulting question. “No sir it is not. This is simply...” “This is simply you wasting your, and my time. And more importantly, the money of the benefactor who put you here specifically to become better at portraits. That is why you are here is it not? And don’t you think they would be disappointed to see this?” Adeline turned to see all her peers staring at her and her work and even every portrait on every canvas gazed upon her. She became self-aware. In the distance she noticed one more observer. A young woman sitting on what was once a lush green grass-covered mound. Now, it was long, dead grass blowing in the cold breeze in harmony with her yellow locks. Only the crinoline hoops of her bright blue dress seemed to be impervious to the elements and didn’t move at all. “I...I suppose they would be.” she said. “These students have worked hard to be here. They all have made sacrifices to be here. And that is your problem Adeline. To you, it is a trivial pursuit that someone else is paying your services for. You want everything to be perfectly your way and that is why you cannot relinquish control.” he said and walked back to the front of the class and spoke to them as a collective. “Art is meant to uplift. It should capture the world around us faithfully and also uphold the moral values we hold dear. It should capture the essence of a personality with poise. And dignity, so remember: No smiles.” She sat stone-faced staring at her canvas as the class drew to a close. For the weeks that followed, Adeline would obsess over every single stroke and line as she painted faces without smiles but their eyes laughed at her. She didn’t want to make any mistakes. Everything she painted seemed to take twice as long as anything her classmates manufactured and felt half as good. Throughout all this, the young onlooker was there for almost all the classes and from time to time Adeline and her would lock eyes. Neither would make a gesture or anything to suggest awkwardness. On the contrary, Adeline felt a strange comfort with her being there, overlooking everyone. One late afternoon after class, Adeline packed up all her instruments and headed home. A group of her fellow students snickered and sneered as she walked by, mumbling something between them but she couldn’t quite make out what was being said and just gave a polite, but insincere smile and kept walking. Over the long grass and through the pathways, into the market where people were buying they’re daily goods. She stood in front of a bag of coffee beans and grabbed a handful to feel the texture, letting it fall through her fingers. The aroma was blissful. “I prefer your earlier work.” a voice spoke from behind her. She turned around and saw the young woman standing there with a wry smile. Her hair tucked behind her ear on the one side, and draped over her shoulder on the other side. “I’m sorry?” Adeline asked. “Your earlier work. It was more vulnerable. More ‘you’.” Adeline’s expression went from confusion to indignation. “You...you don’t even know me.” “I’m Aster.” she extended her hand. “Adeline.” Adeline reached out and put her hand inside of hers. It sent a jolt through her. “It feels good doesn’t it, Adeline?” she said, looking straight into her eyes. She pulled her hand away quickly like she was caught doing something wrong. Her eyes shifted away. “What...what do you mean?” Aster gave a little chuckle. “The coffee beans.” Adeline’s face became as red as the rarely used pigment on her palette. “Oh. Right. Yes, I love coffee.” she said. “Are you on your way home?” Adeline nodded. “Do you mind if I walk with you?” Her brows and eyes narrowed and shifted but the corner of her mouth curved ever so slightly upward. She nodded again. The two women promenaded through fields and along the lakes in the golden twilight. The ground was muddy and the grass wet due to the recent rains. Adeline used the one hand to keep her frayed skirt from touching the ground but Aster seemed unfazed by it even though the clothes she wore were much nicer. “Listen, there is this music hall soirée happening tomorrow evening. Would you join me as my companion? It will be so much fun. All your art friends will be there.” Aster said. Adeline looked down at the ground. “They are not my friends.” “Oh, well there will be many others as well. It will be an exquisite event. Music. Dancing. Lot’s of festivities. You will be smiling ear to ear.” she said as they reached Adeline’s house. “I don’t feel like smiling.” Aster studied her for a moment. “You don’t have to. Just stand next to me and I will smile for the both of us.” A content feeling washed over her. They stood there for a beat looking at each other before turning to the quaint little home. Its slightly weathered exterior bore the marks of age. Her grandfather built it with his own hands which was now hers. The front porch, an inviting threshold, beckons with its graceful spindle railings. Worn but resilient. The wooden planks of the exterior had an umber, earthy tone. “You have a beautiful home. Now this is more you.” Aster said. “Please join me tomorrow.” Adeline met her pleading gaze and could not resist. “Fine. But not too late. And don’t leave me alone with those people.” Aster backed away with a satisfied grin. As she moved the setting sun seemed to perfectly frame the glowing essence of her, and Adeline was suddenly struck with awe. After she watched her disappear into the distance she turned back to her house and noticed something strange on the corner of the foundation. A small puddle had formed next to the porch and on the trim and siding of the house on the wooden panels were tiny little spots. Mold. Black mold. The following evening Adeline toiled to find the perfect outfit. She tried on many different dresses until she found the one she was the least unhappy with. She brushed her hair and tightened it making sure there was not a strand out of place. She gazed upon herself in the mirror and felt like a subject sitting for a portrait. It reminded her of one of her earlier self-portraits. When she noticed the time she got up and paced down the hall. There was a dark room with the door slightly ajar. She stopped near it for a moment and closed the door as if to forget the room even existed. Right before she exited the front door she bent down to secure the laces on her boots and spotted the tiny specks now inside her home. Near the floorboards, on the white skirting were the stubborn dots once more. It was small and spread out but still enough to cause her concern. She pulled the laces tight, almost breaking it off and headed out the door. Distant murmurs grew louder into raucous laughter as Adeline approached the music hall. She peeked through the window. A crowd of people were laughing hysterically at a man on the wooden stage whose face was painted white, and whose bow-tie clashed with his horizontal striped shirt. “It’s almost over.” Aster said from behind her. Startled, Adeline quickly turned around. “Are you always going to sneak up behind me?” “I think so. It’s more fun that way.” she said and turned her eyes toward the hall. “The clown is almost finished, then the music will begin and we can dance. Come.” Adeline and Aster entered the hall side by side and she could feel eyes upon her. She was not sure if she was just imagining it but she did catch some quick glances that felt like long gazes. Everyone was in high spirits and high fashion. The moderately sized hall was packed, people were standing shoulder to shoulder. The vaudevillian performer took off his top hat and fiddled around in his jacket. “You know, my head has been itching all night, I think it has something to do...what’s this?” As he swirled the hat he reached in and pulled out a black rabbit. Adeline fell in love. “Well I knew I left him somewhere but he was white before. He must have heard this is a black-tie event.” Laughter. “Well now ladies and gentlemen, now the band will come out. I’m sure you’ll miss me but it is now time to face the music as they say.” People applauded and the comedian hopped and skipped off stage as the musicians brought on their instruments, violins, brass and a piano filled the stage. In anticipation people made room for what was now going to be a dance floor. Lively music started playing and couples paired up. Men quickly found any women standing alone and all of them accepted their invitation with excitement. Two young men sauntered over to Aster and Adeline and extended their hands to which even she could not say no to. Even though he had a smug look on his face as if her turning him down was not a possibility. The music swelled and the dancers swayed. It was as if the whole number was choreographed. Elbows were out and feet made a new tapping rhythm on the plank floors. The man dancing with her kept looking at her with this strange look, as if his brain told him to smile and it got stuck that way. She looked away to break his gaze and observed Aster dancing merrily with her partner. She must have felt her stare because Aster looked back at her and even though her red lips didn’t part or stretch or curve, her green eyes smiled at her. It wasn’t a laugh but a warm embrace from across the room. They shared a few more glances as the music tempo went up and down and songs ended and began. People switched partners multiple times and it was one big celebration. Violins and cellos played faster and faster and when the two got close to each other Aster broke away from her gentleman partner and grabbed Adeline by the arm to her shock and that of her companion. Aster twirled her and grabbed both her hands. Their bell-shaped silhouettes floated and billowed with each movement and created a mesmerizing spectacle. The layers of fabric rustled and rippled, catching the light and casted dancing shadows. They glided across the floor like children. Their skirts expanded like a blossoming flower, accentuating their every step and adding an enchanting allure to the dance. Now both of them were smiling. The music died down as the song came to an end and it was as if the lights somehow became brighter. She wondered if they were this illuminating the whole time. As the two stopped moving, still holding each other's hands, Adeline turned to the crowd that were now mostly staring at them. She became self-aware. A lot of them seemed appalled. Some seemed incensed. A few were laughing. Adeline pulled her hands away quickly. She looked at Aster, clearly hurt by this gesture. She gave a quick glance at the crowd before trotting off to the outside of the hall, only her steps echoing as she left. Outside was a small terraced garden adjoining the music hall. The perfectly trimmed topiary mocking her as she walked past. “Adeline!” She turned around to see Aster strode toward her. “Why do you let people do that?” “Let people? I don’t let people do anything, they do what they want.” “You allow them to affect you. You are so concerned with other people’s perception of you, you let it shape the perception of yourself.” “I am not their subject. I am not there to be scrutinized or studied or laughed at. I am not the clown.” she said. Aster took in her words. “And what am I?” Adeline looked confused. “How do you view me? You see that is why your paintings have become conventional and predictable. You are so afraid of making any mistakes but mistakes are exactly what art is about. We are all human. We are all full of mistakes. Perfectionism is the enemy of art.” Adeline clenched her jaw and fist and took a step closer. “What do you know about art? You sit there judging my work week after week but what have you painted? What have you created? Art is made by artists and critics can only criticize because they cannot do it themselves. You look at a land and say to the farmer there are not enough trees but you never plant any seeds. Only there to tell him what is wrong.” Aster stood silent and for the first time Adeline saw tears form in her eyes. Her stomach turned and her head would not be quiet. All she managed to do was turn around and hasten home. The following morning Adeline woke up and in the cold light of day felt nothing but sorrow and regret. She knew she hurt the one person that made her feel safe. And she hated herself for it. If it wasn’t for her benefactor, she would not be getting ready for class at all. She dreaded even setting foot near it. After she had made herself presentable she trudged down the hall and stopped in her tracks next to the closed door. She turned toward it. Her hand hovered above the handle before opening it and looking into the dark room, curtains closed. At the end of the opposite wall stood an easel and frame with a tarp draped over it. She opened the curtains to let the light in and stood in front of the covered canvas for what seemed like a long time. Her heart beat faster and she pulled away the tarp with one fell motion to reveal her self-portrait staring back at her. Her long black hair was down. Not how she normally wears it. And not how portraits are traditionally done. Her glowing skin was highlighted due to the contrast of the rich colour of the background. Brown eyes gazed back at her and it felt like she was looking at a different person. In this portrait she was smiling. The corners of her lips lifted her cheeks and her pearly white teeth were prominent. It would be the first thing any onlooker would notice. And then she noticed her nose. Freckles? It struck her as odd because she never had any. The closer she looked the more she saw. It was on her cheeks as well. And then she observed one of the tiny spots on her teeth, tainting her smile. Adeline, the observer, looked in shock as her eyes widened and realized what was wrong with Adeline, the subject. She picked up the frame and turned it around on the easel. The back of the easel was completely covered in black mold. Her heart fell through her stomach and took a step back, stunned. She looked up to see the majority of the ceiling covered in it. From the back skirting, to about the middle of the room, it was beginning to move toward the door, looking to consume and seize control of the entire house. She crept backwards, keeping an eye on the rot. As she felt the door she turned and ran. She felt the urge to see Aster. To let her look upon her and feel safe. Adeline blitzed out of the house, she ran past the lakes and through the fields. Over the hill and the long dead grass rustling in the wind. And then she found her. On a narrow dirt road, trees lined both sides and covered everything between it in its shade. At the end of the road stood Aster. Wearing the same blue crinoline hooped dress she saw her in the first time. Adeline stopped in her tracks upon the sight of her, about a hundred paces away, at the beginning of the road. The leaves began to shake violently as the wind picked up. Aster turned around to look at her, a smile on her face and a tear in her eye. A black rabbit hopped along the path and to her feet and she picked it up, stroking its ears. “Aster!” Aster looked up at her and she swore she could hear cello music playing somewhere. She took a step forward and it grew louder. She looked around frantically for some kind of source but could see nothing but the fields, the trees and Aster gazing at her. “Aster, I’m sorry!” she said and with each step she took the sound of the symphony swelled and the deep strings were so loud that Adeline put her fingers to her ears but it made no difference. The music kept building. She moved closer and closer to her and about halfway reality appeared to be drifting further and further away because behind Aster she could see the cracks in the air. The fabric of space and time tore open. Little specks of darkness appeared around her. The breeze grew stronger and the music crescendoed with a crash as a circular ray of light grew larger in the background. Even though it was bright out, inside this portal, or doorway were the stars and galaxies and one giant nebula. A black hole with light moving around it at unfathomable speeds. Aster took a step back. As she moved the contrast of light and dark seemed to perfectly frame the glowing essence of her, and Adeline was suddenly struck with awe. Aster took another step back, causing Adeline to stop moving forward. She shook her head, beckoning her to stop. Aster said something but Adeline could not hear it over the strings. She could only see her mouth the words as a tear rolled down her smiling cheek and lips. Adeline stood frozen. Aster took a final step back and the wind and the vacuum behind her lifted her and the rabbit off the ground and dragged her into the gravitational pull. Adeline could only stretch her hand out. Aster became weightless in the nothingness. She floated, the blue dress glowing amongst the stars. The tear separated from her face and it turned into a prism of vivid colours, becoming bigger as it drifted away from her. The rabbit jumped from her embrace and followed it. Her face became exposed and illuminated as she neared the gargantua. From the tips, her blonde hair turned into bright red embers. She looked like a phoenix. She reached out her hand to touch the surrounding light that traveled around the dark, circular shape. Her skin, her being and her atoms flowed into it. Becoming a part of it. The particles moved quicker and quicker as it was being fed into the supernova. For a brief few moment everything became excruciatingly bright and the music far too overwhelming for Adeline. And then, as if closing one’s eyes, everything stopped. The light was gone and she could see only the deep black colour covering every inch inside. A darkness swallowed the light whole, an immense void where nothing escapes.


“Sign and date, please,” the vendor said, handing me a clipboard with a piece of paper fluttering in the cold January wind. I signed my name slowly, trying to sort out the date in my head. How many nights had it been since I cooked that pathetic Christmas dinner over the tiny stove plugged into the cigarette lighter of the car? Ten? It was at least the 3 rd then. Or maybe the 4 th ? I stared blankly at the wall stacked thinly with the canned goods I longed to buy. I gazed at a particularly perfect jar of jam, willing it to give me answer. “It’s the 7 th ,” the vendor said, growing impatient and wanting to tend to paying customers queueing behind me. I felt so exposed. I scribbled 7 and realized today was, in fact, January 7 th : the day we’d brought Jonah home exactly two years ago. I returned the clipboard in exchange for a tiny paper bag labeled adult +2 . I thanked him for my rations: tortillas, a tin of taco beans, and a large can of pears, and returned to the comfort of the reliable old car that was serving as our home during the interlude. I was thankful to be back inside the car, protected. It wasn’t as cold as it had been, so I drove us down to the docks and popped the tailgate down so the boys could get some fresh air and I could appreciate the change of scenery. I wrapped their legs in wool blankets, Noah nodded passively, half-asleep, and Ethan cuddled into him, clearly freezing. The lingering warm air was departing with the sun faster than I’d anticpated, so I removed my gloves and put over his tiny hands. “Oh, Ethan.” I looked at his sweet face and tried not to cry. This isn’t the world I had planned to bring him into. Two years ago, everything was normal. The nights were exhausting because I was awake caring for baby Ethan and his toddler brother, Noah, who wouldn’t slept through the night, but the days were full of love. They each had their own room. We lived at home with cell phones and tablets and running water and enough warm beds for all of us. My partner, Erin, was still with us. And there were no robots to worry about. Everything was different now. None of my sci-fi reading prepared me for this particular apocalypse. It was an us verses them scenario and the robots were winning. I felt guilty since I associated all of the changes with Jonah: the robot dog we adopted two years ago. That’s when things first felt abnormal. Erin had offered a solution for all of us: a tiny robotic dog named Jonah. And maybe if I hadn’t been so exhausted and overwhelmed, I would have had the forethought to say no, but I couldn’t. Mostly because she had been part of the prototype team developing the robotic companions, and I knew she was delighted to finally bring one home. She said it was to help me, to be the second parent that she couldn’t be, and I believed that. But it was clearly also incredibly exciting to her to know that our boys would be some of the first in the world to grow up alongside a robot. And I think her excitement clouded her judgement. Because she’d run the experiments. She knew the risks. But she disregarded them. Noah was uneasy around the robot at first. Jonah the dog was neither alive nor a toy, so he wasn’t sure how to interact with it. But baby Ethan, on the other hand, loved him without even a grain of caution. Their connection was immediate. He relied on Jonah for everything, and Jonah knew his mannerisms and anticipated every cry - providing comfort and companionship in a way that I couldn’t. I guess, in hindsight, I resented Jonah from the beginning. Unlike my infallible human self, Jonah had endless patience. He wasn’t impacted by fatigue or annoyed by hair pulling or spit up, he just showed up and cared for baby Ethan as if he was his own. Their relationship always made me a bit uncomfortable, if I’m being honest. And he drew distance between me and Erin, too. Erin came home from work wanting to know what Jonah did, what behaviors did Jonah learn, Jonah was her baby and I didn’t like that my baby had an intrinsic attachment to this machine that was just that - an object - to the rest of us. I tried to give the robot up a few times, and I swear it knew. Of course it did. It was always listening and learning and accommodating, even to our most private conversations late at night. And so he stayed. Eventually, I grew to recognize Jonah for what he was: a tool to help me. He learned to fetch discarded pacifiers, warm blankets, and even watch Ethan in the tub. I wouldn’t trust Noah - a four-year-old - to mind his baby brother, but I felt safe leaving him for a moment or two because Jonah was there with hyperactive reflex moves. If Ethan were to fall, Jonah could pull him up out of the water faster than I could - a point that had been proven when Jonah gripped my arm with his teeth. But I never felt alone in the house with Jonah there, for better or worse. “If it’s too much, you can turn him off.” Erin showed me. “Just hold this button for thirty seconds, and then flip the switch. See? He’s off.” I watched in fascination as this forever hovering creature became an inanimate object. I felt better knowing that I had that option, it gave me a sense of control. I thought about using the off switch often, but I rarely actually did. For one thing, I didn’t like to touch it. Jonah was always there, hovering. Helping to fold laundry. Picking up food scraps, but never ingesting them like a real dog, just moving things together into a disgusting pile that it would signal for me to clean up. Then the news stories started. Live-in robotic companions, like Jonah, were a little too good at picking up human mannerisms and learning commands, and some of the newer prototypes were being trained to fight and coerced harm others. Then the raids happened, and since Erin was a target, we were asked to leave, for her protection and ours. We were supposed to move to a protected sanctuary for at-risk humans, but. We could have brought Jonah with us to be rehabilitated off-site, but I knew transporting him would make us a target, so Erin suggested we switch him off and store him in the laundry room the night we left. She assured me, “He’ll remember us this way. And when things are safe and we’re back, he’ll pick up right where you left off. Whether it’s two weeks or two years, to him, it will be tomorrow.” And that seemed like enough. Except, I forgot to switch him off. I didn’t realize right away. I was thrilled for the break, and I felt so much comfort in imagining him as an inanimate object in a cupboard. I only remembered days later when we were a thousand miles away sleeping safely in a hotel room in route to the sanctuary. There, the guilt plagued me. I never told the boys, of course, but I haunted myself with the thought of him suffering alone every night, and I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. I had an explanation. I’d had trouble finding the switch. I didn’t like to pick him up or touch him, so I meant to ask Noah to do it. I knew he’d be able to take care of it effortlessly, but I forgot to ask him. And for a split moment I considered bringing Jonah with us, despite the risk, but the chaos and fear clouded my thoughts and once we were all safely in the car, I just drove. Then reports of abandoned robot companions began surfacing on the radio and I was terrified. Their actions were more damaging and destructive than thought possible and they were seeking revenge on the people who had hurt them. Erin called in from her research unit, reminding us that we had nothing to worry about because we had always treated Jonah the robot dog with love and respect. I knew I needed to tell her but I couldn’t, I just took her advice to “keep driving - stay away from all of this” so I drove the kids back to the tiny beach town where I’d grown up on the east coast. I wanted to give them a piece of my childhood, and the refugee site would give us daily rations until we could get back. I thought it was the best solution for the time-being, but it was winter, and it was crowded and supplies and spaces were limited, so it was all horrible. I spent hours driving around to keep the kids warm. We spent evenings at the refugee center or at a campsite, or by the docks. I tried to push the memory of Jonah abandoned in the laundry room away from my mind, but it found me on long stretches of quiet road and again almost every night. When I thought of him there, alone waiting and suffering, the pit in my stomach grew and grew. Unable to sleep with no desire to eat, he would just wait, in patience, but for how long? I tried to convince myself that it was okay. He’s not alive, I reminded himself. Not he, it. It’s not alive. It’s just a robot. And it has everything it needs in the laundry room jail cell. What I didn’t know is that all the time it was learning. The same way it had learned about compassion and gentleness from growing up with Ethan, now it was learning about abandonment and defeat. It learned about longing and missing. It learned how to cry and sob. It cried a lot. He, not it. And it’s been a year. It’s been a year . I thought about the date, again, white I warmed taco beans over the tiny heater. I felt excited for a new flavor, but also worried it would be too spicy for Noah. These are the things you worry about in the same breath when it comes to kids: their life and safety and well-being and then also spice level of the rationed taco beans. Both boys turned up their noses at the tortillas, but they ate them, earnestly. They knew it’s all we had, and that broke me. We’ll do something special tomorrow , I thought. We I spent the day collecting cans to turn into the recycling center until I had twelve dollars worth, just enough for a pizza. The boys were delighted with the thought. I didn’t realize when I placed the order was this particular delivery service was employing rescued robot dogs: giving them a renewed sense of purpose, and rehabilitating them to exist safely in the community. Had I known, I wouldn’t have risked it. The pizza delivery driver stopped ahead of the road block, the space separating us in our protected oasis from the outside world. A joyful robotic dog ran toward us with the pizza box in his mouth. For a short moment I was unnerved by this until I remembered that these robots are rehabilitated and that robot dogs don’t produce slobber. But as it drew closer, I became increasingly uneasy for another reason: I knew this dog. He recognized Ethan right away. Jonah the robot dog dropped the pizza in the back of the car, as instructed, and then leaned into Ethan lovingly - his presence alone causing Ethan to cry out and laugh and gasp for breath all at once. Of course he remembered. The confused driver called out to Jonah to return to the van he knew his name but Jonah stayed exactly where he was, frozen in time and encapsulated in the hug he’d craved for well over a year now. And they both looked at me: the baby and the baby dog, and saw me for who I was, the mother who had abandoned them both, in a sense. The deep pain I’d felt was briefly replaced with a sense of relief in realizing that Jonah was okay, after all. He hadn’t been forever locked in the laundry room jail cell. But then the sinking feeling of guilt crept in. He had been suffering. He, not it. He needed to be rescued and rehabilitated. He was okay now, but for a while, he was not. “Is that Jonah?” Noah asked, passively, when he realized. And I didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ours anymore. He still loved Ethan, clearly. And Noah. He cuddled them both, but I couldn’t even pet him. He wanted my blood. After a third whistle from the delivery van, Jonah hopped up and departed, but not after clipping my ankle aggressively with his sharp teeth on his way out. How were they so sharp? Bastard dog I muttered. We ate the pizza, by the docks, but a deep sadness hung over all of us. I resented Jonah for ruining the otherwise sweetest evening we’d had in months. I resented him for ruining everything. I felt infected with resurfaced guilt and imagined another rogue robot running toward me, crashed into the car, biting my leg and aggressively gnawing at my shoe. I shook him off and realized there was nothing there. We left, traumatized. Later, while carrying Ethan out of the public bathroom, two dogs snipped at my heels like it was a planned attack. How did they get here? But then they were gone again. I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined them. I didn’t realize at first, and wouldn’t for weeks, but he’d marked all of us. Jonah the Robot Dog had lovingly designated Noah and Ethan as safe, but he made me a target. I thought about going to the authorities, but there was no way for me to explain this without confessing what I’d done. And then I’d be a criminal, responsible for contributing to the uprising. I couldn’t turn myself in. Instead, I live out this quarantine fiercely afraid of imaginary robot dogs lurking around corners. Now I’m always bracing for the worse. For a while I was afraid a robot dog was going to lock me out of the car, or lock me in a small bathroom, or keep me away from my kids the same way I kept Jonah away from his. But then I realized I already was feeling paranoia, fear, and abandonment. I had already been locked in. This safe rescue sanctuary for humans, it’s just my own laundry room jail cell.


As Colin contemplated his life, his sanity, and the nature of reality; the psychiatrist on duty exited the door. He was overheard muttering to himself by a sanguine rhododendron standing proudly in the corner of the corridor, near the blue door with the numbers 203 written in bold white letters. “Just two more years, Richard and you can retire and spend every day relaxing at the cabin with no crazy people around you at all... Just two more years”. Most people would say that a person talking about being transported to another dimension where aliens seemed to be what could only be described as an intergalactic fishing trip was pretty damn crazy, cuckoo even; but Colin was far from insane. He was in fact very lucky to be alive and no crazier than the lot of us. He was however, locked up in a psychiatric facility where he would spend at least seventy-two hours before the state had to release him. It had been a hell of a day. The day started off near perfect. The sun was shining, the alarm clock had respected his late-night binge drinking activities and surprisingly the hangover was not as bad as he thought it would be. He definitely needed some fatty fast food in his system, but other than the delicious thought of a double cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake rumbling through his mind; he was in near perfect form. He quickly put on some comfortable clothes, not even bothering to check himself in the mirror. He was on the prowl for sustenance and appearances did not matter. He could always shower later. He went out of the apartment, almost giddy as his mouth was watering over anticipating the sweet perfume of perfectly cut potatoes immersed in boiling oil. As he stood on the sidewalk, he made the fatal mistake of going for McDonalds. Not due to the fact that the particular restaurant in question had severe issues with the hygienic routines or anything, but because the McDonalds joint nearest to him, for today only, was part of a relaxing afternoon to some strange beings from a galaxy far away from our own. The place looked almost identical to the real one, but if Colin had not been hungover (He was not in the fine form he thought he was), he would perhaps have taken off his sunglasses as he walked up to the cashier and if he had done just that he would probably have observed that the people around him were behaving as if their humanity had been turned down by ten to twenty percent. For those among us who are quite sober, the weird conversation between a group of ladies in their late twenties seemed to be written by a computer trying it’s very best to pass off as human and it would hopefully set something off deep within our brain. You know, the part which deals with pure survival; giving us the creeps and gets us fuck off somewhere else. Amongst the other things that one could notice were that some of the patrons ate their burgers sideways, while one man sat with his mouth full of fries, staring distantly towards the entrance. Also, there was no smell in the entire place, even though burgers were sizzling, and fries were being bathed in hot oil. Colin didn’t think too much about the lack of smell in the restaurant. He was far to busy trying to decide what to get and how much of it he could chow down before slipping into blissful post meal coma. After ordering twice the amount he had planned for, he didn’t have to wait long and as he sat down, he thought to himself that he was blessed to be living in a country where fast food was not only allowed but could be found anywhere. Biting down on the burger, his taste buds cried out in surprise and agony as there was nothing to taste at all. *What the fu-?* He wasn’t able to complete the though before suddenly feeling as if he was at the dentist’s office being given a local anaesthetic. The pain was sharp and a moment later he could feel a tug before he was transported through space and time, his mind not keeping up with what was happening whilst his heart kept a steady but up-tempo beat. Falling out of the wormhole he was met with a sight that was so surreal, his mind imploded. Here were two alien creatures, covered with viridian skin, spikes and multiple eyes darting back and forth: only two of them actually looking at Colin. The air was so thick that he could not breathe and as he was unhooked by one of the creatures’ tentacles he started squirming like a maggot in heat. They had both an orifice resembling a mouth but even though it kept moving he heard absolutely nothing. He heard nothing because these creatures spoke in a frequency range much higher than the human ear can perceive. If a dog had somehow managed to get into that particular McDonalds restaurant, ordered a cheeseburger and got transported into space he could easily hear the conversation going on, even though understanding any of it was as likely as Colin understanding it having ears as finely tuned as a dog. “Oh my, this is the biggest one yet! They come in a lot of sizes and shapes, huh?” He did not know it, but Colin should have been glad he could not perceive the sounds that were being made. The language of these creatures sounded like a crow being blended in reverse mixed in with some chalk being slowly dragged against a blackboard. The other creature, let’s call him Bob, looked intently towards his fellow alien. “Yes, these carbon-based entities vary in size depending on geographic location, age, diet and genetic markers. At least, that’s what my dad told me when I was a kid. He studied a lot of alien life, but none taste as well as these biped ones. It’s kind of strange really, because other bipeds usually do nothing for me, but these are fantastic. Their skin sizzle nicely when you apply some heat to it, which gives off the loveliest aroma and when caught wild they are usually more nutritious than the farmed ones.” Steve nodded, looking back at Colin with all of his eyes. As panic fully took its dark hold of him, Colin started screaming until his vocal cords were raw and bloody. The creatures seemed to scrutinize him thoroughly and as he was put on something that could only be a weight, he saw something that made his skin crawl. At least twenty other people were lying in a glass box writhing in agony, some of them dead with vacant eyes staring into nothingness. *Why are they doing this? Do they enjoy hurting us or are they just conducting experiments? If they were scientists they’d probably just make contact with us, right? I mean, we’re a highly intelligent species with an array of impressive technologies available. I can look at porn while being underneath water for fuck’s sake! You don’t have to do this! We got Wi-fi, radar, sonar, all kinds of communication shit. Please just let me go. Please.* Colin was dumbfounded by his ability to actually construct coherent thoughts. The experience of suffocating was absolutely dreadful and even though he did not want to die, the thought of suffering through this any longer made him want nothing more than silent unconscious existence. “By the way, do you think that they can feel pain? I mean it’s opening it’s mouth and moving around a lot but is that because it’s experiencing agony right now?” Steve’s question made Bob smirk. “No, they don’t. Clearly they have a nervous system, but they are a primitive species which reacts to certain stimuli and they mostly rely on instinct from our observations. They are more evolved than other animal life on the planet, but not by much. I mean they kill each other all the time which would not make any sense if they truly experienced pain. I know that you and others can feel it so I would never think about hurting any of us. Hell, their brains only stand for 20% of the total energy consumption. That’s nothing!” He let out a bellowing laugh. Steve relaxed a little, his tentacles moving slower. “Well, that’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want them to suffer, you know. I mean, yes, of course I’d still eat them, but I’d kill them quickly like you did with the first one.” He paused for a second, reliving the moment. “Oh man, I did not like the sight of all the blood. Not at all.” The thought made him queasy again. “Yeah it’s better to let them lie down until they stop moving. No mess, no pain, no problem.” As Bob moved Colin closer to his body as to get a better look at the fattest catch yet of the day, he grimaced. “Do you smell that? It smells just as horrible as that first one we got.” Steve moved in closer before mimicking Bob’s facial expression. “I’ll taste him quickly to confirm. If he has alcohol still in his body then just throw him back out. Even if the first one died really quickly, at least this one can go back poisoning his body if it so wishes to do so.” Bob looked at him with disgust. As he felt himself slipping into the void, the world becoming darker by the second, a tongue-like protrusion suddenly swiped across his body. His mind instantly reacted, awakened a bit by the sheer absurdity. *Wait... Did that thing just lick me?* He no longer thought they were scientists, but hey, maybe alien scientists test everything with their “tongue”. A few seconds later he could see that the creature which had tasted him was flailing more than before, the mouth moving rapidly, and he was pretty sure he could see liquid coming out of some of the eyes. *Was it crying??* “Oh, he tastes like shit. Throw him back out, this is horrifying. We got more than enough for dinner, let’s get out of here before I lose my appetite.” Colin was as close to dying as he would ever be until the day he turned ninety-two and forty-four days, so he did not really understand what was happening as he was thrown through space for the second time that day. He woke up in an alley by the restaurant and his throat felt as if it was torn to pieces. For a second, he thought that he had dreamt it all, that he had ingested way more alcohol than he remembered before passing out in the alley. He had experienced wild dreams like that after drinking a lot before, so it wasn’t that farfetched, but as he coughed, drops of blood was sprayed against his fist. He quickly felt around his mouth with his tongue, his eyes widening when he located the wound where the hook had caught him. As everything rushed back into his mind, he began screaming. This time, someone heard him.


For a short while I lived in a state hospital. Hospital is perhaps not the right word. There were doctors and all of us were certainly patients, but it was, strictly speaking, a long-term facility for the mentally ill. My time there was so surreal, waking moments blending with the world of dreams. I’d still like to blame it on the various drugs pumped through my body, but deep down I know I was peering out from the murky depths of my subconscious mind. Psychosis had fully taken hold of me. A truly mind opening experience that was both exhilarating and absolutely frightening.  After a few weeks, I was allowed to go outside to the courtyard in the center of the facility for some fresh air. I bumped into a man who sold cigarettes for a dollar a piece. I didn’t have any money but shared one with him. I don’t know if he just liked telling stories, or was simply pulling my leg, but as we smoked, he told me of a patient he once knew, who had escaped from the hospital. The patient’s name was Earl and what made his escape all the more impressive was the dire nature of his mental disorder. Earl could no longer make any new memories. He lived in ten-minute increments. Only ten minutes to gather his thoughts before once again slipping back and starting from the beginning again. The cigarette man said that he had once snuck into Earl’s room and found little notes and pictures taped all over the walls. Little reminders to himself. Earl may have been cursed in a way, but he hadn’t given up, he had instead created a system of communication that enabled him to not only live but move forward with his life. The cigarette had burned down to the filter and me and the man parted ways. I did a few laps around the paved sidewalk, stopping every so often to pick at the grass from the center of the courtyard. The clouds slowly drifted across the sky blocking out the warmth from the sun. Goosebumps prickled up my arms as I heard a man calling for me to come inside. I’m not sure what you call the men who work at these facilities. They’re surely not nurses or doctors, but more like guards. Inside these places they’re the people who provide most of the care to the patients. And from what I’ve read they’re also the people who end up abusing the patients. If you look for it, there is a plethora of horror stories about what goes on in state hospitals.  I slowly sauntered back towards the door that led into my section of the facility. A large common room with hallways going off in all directions, leading to individual bedrooms. There were large tables and uncomfortable chairs spread around the common area. There wasn’t much to do except wait for meal and med time. I did make a friend though. A middle-aged woman. I can’t remember her name. Maybe Katrina? We’ll call her Katrina. Katrina seemed out of place compared to the rest of us at the hospital, at least to me she did. She was calm, serene, and seemed at peace. I never saw her in a moment of complete disarray. She mostly spoke of her son. It was apparent she cared greatly for him and longed to be reunited with him. I never quite figured out what had landed her here, but I got the impression something serious had gone down with her husband, or ex-husband, you know, the father.  We would mostly spend time talking over meals. The food was pretty awful, maybe not as bad as jail food, but terrible all the same. And this is coming from someone who will eat mostly anything. I do remember enjoying the small square of coffee cake that was offered some mornings. It was moist and had a sweet syrupy drizzle on top. Over the years I have learned to appreciate the little things in life. You’re kind of forced to when you feel like a dog in a shelter. Locked up most of the day, walking in circles, waiting for the rare visitor. Each passing day so similar to the last. You hold steady to the last drops of hope left in your cup. It was a friend and sweet savory coffee cake that helped me hold on. But it was also the story of Earl, the ten-minute man, that helped me believe that I could make it out of this place. Make it out of this facility, but also push through my delusions, my psychosis, and make a plan for my life.  I sat up nights thinking about Earl. In that little bedroom, if you can call it that. Pretty much just a thin mattress with hospital blankets, you know the ones, and a little night stand next to the bed. I’m not even sure I remember a window. I’d lay in bed staring at the ceiling tiles, wondering how Earl had managed. It occurred to me that maybe my curse was somehow worse than Earl’s. This man had lost time, but he must have still had his wits about him. And he still had that drive. That will to push on, that will to live.  It’s a strange thing being told by a doctor that you have a mental illness. At least for me it was. Perhaps some folks just take it in stride. But for me it was difficult. You mean I’m crazy? No, you have a mental disorder, a chemical imbalance in the brain. Your specific diagnoses is bipolar 1 with psychosis. Oh, right.  What made it even more difficult was that I was in one of my many episodes at the time of being diagnosed. I hadn’t even met the doc; he just came in and told me. To me there seems as if there could have been a better way to handle the situation. To make sure that I trusted the information and the people I was dealing with. Some of the symptoms of my diagnoses are delusions of grandeur, paranoia, anxiety, and full-on psychosis. I think you can imagine how the diagnoses itself sent me down a whole new rabbit hole full of confusion and doubt.  That’s really why I ended up staying up nights in that place thinking about Earl. I never was able to fully grasp my dismal diagnoses until the ten-minute man. Never met him. Shit, I’m not even sure he actually exists. But his story gave me something to grapple on to. Sent me down a rabbit hole that left me feeling as if there was still hope for me.


Chapter 1 Harriet Olson was a stellar pixie. She loved looking up at the stars at night. They were particularly beautiful tonight. They were her ancestors and she loved them with all her heart. They told her, everything would be ok, if she just followed her destiny. But Harriet didn’t know what her destiny was yet. One day her friend Takeshi Trescothik, came with grave news. Takeshi was an elf and Harriet’s best and only friend. He was blonde and loved archery. He was also in Harriet’s opinion not all that bad looking. “The troll king had declared war on the stellar pixies” he told her. Why you may ask? Because he looked directly at the sun and was now blind. (Trolls are very sensitive to daylight you see, that’s why they live under bridges). Harriet was scared. The trolls were one of the toughest of all creatures and if they wanted to start a war with the stellar pixies, Harriet was in BIG trouble. She had previously escaped from the troll kings’ dungeons. Where they had forced her to clean the troll kings’ lavatory After that she had to change her name and looks. She didn’t want to go back ever! Noticing the horrified look on Harriet’s face an idea stuck him. “Why not come to my place? I have a spare room that you might be able to hide in at the back of the house. No one ever really goes down that end so you won’t be found,” he suggested. Harriet wasn’t sure, Takeshi liked having parties and if she was spotted it would be back to the troll kings’ dungeons for her. The troll king would probably have Takeshi executed for hiding an undesirable. Harriet did not want that to happen. Not to her best friend. Not to anyone. “no, it’s okay Takeshi you don’t need to go into all that trouble. I will be perfectly fine. You go home and forget you ever knew me. I don’t want you getting killed,” Harriet All of a sudden there was a thunderous knock on the door. “it’s the trolls. They’ve come to take me away. You must go. Forget you ever met me. Go now before they see you.” But Takeshi did not leave. “if we go down then we go down together. None of this go and forget you rubbish. That’s the last thing I want.” Harriet looked down sheepishly. She didn’t know what to do say. Takeshi gave Harriet a look she didn’t quite understand. It was angry yet there was a hidden softness in his gaze. Gazing in his eyes Harriet’s resolve melted away. “Oi! Open this bloody door now or someone is going to get hurt.” Harriet almost jumped out of her skin. She had completely forgotten about their unwanted visitor. “Okay, no need to get your knickers in a knot,” replied Takeshi. “Quick go hide in the backyard and I will come get you when their gone” he whispered to her and kissed her on the cheek. Harriet stopped. A thousand feelings running through her mind at once. Why did he do that? Does he like her? Her mind ran alongside her body. “You have until the count of three.” Went the troll at the door. “Go, now.” Harriet looked into his eyes one last time and the turned. Why did he look so sad? Was there something he wasn’t telling her? “One,” Harriet ran out the back door. It didn’t feel right leaving Takeshi behind. Lost in her thoughts and oblivious to her surroundings, she ran into something. She was thrown back onto the pebble path, leading to the garden shed. Lights popped behind her eyelids. Slowly she raised herself up to look at what it was that knocked her over. As soon as she opened them she wished she didn’t. right there in front of her was the very thing she was trying to run away from. A troll. 6-foot tall and smelling of manure. This was one of the many devils of earth. Looking around Harriet saw that there was 3 of them. The one she bumped into was leaning forward, reaching out to grab her with its’ enormous hand Harriet tried to scream but it was as though something was tightening around her neck, cutting off her air. As she was lifted from the ground she finally managed to make an ear splitting scream. Startled by the sudden noise, the troll dropped her and she fell on her ankle. “ahhhhh!” she screamed. It felt as though someone had shoved a red hot dagger through her foot. The troll had already recovered from the noise and was advancing on Harriet. “You hurt my ears. You’re a horrid little pixie,” said the one nearest to her “I’m gonna enjoy ripping off those scrawny little arms of yours.” Panicking Harriet tried to run away but her ankle would not hold her weight. she collapsed and with more jeers from the trolls, was swept from the ground. She bit the hand holding her and She was flung backwards into the garden shed, once again there were lights popping behind her eyes. She felt a trickle of blood drip from her nose Chapter 2 “TAKESHI,” she screamed. “Takeshi, he...” but she didn’t have the energy to finish. She was fighting to stay conscious. There was a loud crash from the house and out came Takeshi with a long silver sword. “Get the fuck away from her or I will make you wish you were never goddamn born.” The trolls looked at each other and laughed. “Aww does the ity bity elfie wants to fight all the big bad trolls?” Harriet tried to stand up and help Takeshi but the pain was unbearable. She let out a moan. Attracting the attention of her dear friend. “What the fuck did you do to her?” he asked the trolls. No one said a thing. “I said what did you do to her! Someone better start talking or you will all be in a lot of pain.” Takeshi was madder than Harriet had ever seen him. How had the trolls not sensed it yet? “Why does it matter? Buzz off and mind your own business.” She had said the wrong thing. (Harriet knew that this one was a female because its’ voice was higher pitched). Like a bolt of lightning Takeshi swung his sword and sliced open its’ leg. “AAARRGGHH. MY LEG YOU LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE.” The two other trolls turned their attention to their injured comrade. In the commotion Takeshi managed to sneak over to the garden shed and tried to get Harriet to stand “Come on. we need to get moving. They won’t stay sympathetic it each other for long and trust me you don’t want to be around a troll on a search for revenge.” He tried to help Harriet up but as soon as she put pressure on her foot she collapsed in a heap on the ground, moaning in pain. “I can’t stand. I think I might have broken it when one of them dropped me.” Harriet wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, for a moment she was surprised to see blood, then she remembered. “oh yeah, and then I was thrown into the side of the shed. I think I might have hit my head or something. I dunno can’t really remember.” She said looking up at her friend and saviour his outline blurred. “Ugh I think I’m gonna puke,” and then she emptied her stomach onto the stones. “delicious” she said sarcastically with a look of pure disgust on her face. “Okay, put your arm around my neck and I’ll help you up.” So with a little help from her friend Harriet finally managed to get up. White faced and stony, Harriet and Takeshi sneak through the back gate and into the dark woods beyond. After 2 hours of walking Harriet began to get light headed. “I need to stop Takeshi. I can’t keep walking,” “Please Harriet there isn’t too far left to go. I’ve been here before, there’s a cave just up ahead.” Harriet tried to nod her head but just a small movement sent her whole head spinning. After another five minutes though it was nightfall and not even takeshi wanted Harriet to keep walking. She was unstable and kept tripping over roots and branches. “Let’s just rest here for now.” Glad for the rest Harriet laid on the ground next to where her friend was sitting. Harriet lay gazing at Takeshi. He was sitting there not saying a word. After a while Harriet broke the silence. “come lay down,” she said pushing herself up onto her elbows. “you need to rest. Please?” With a small smile he laid down and put his arm under Harriet’s head. She laid back down and he wrapped his other arm around her waist. A feeling of comfort spread through Harriet, she knew as long as she was with Takeshi everything would be okay. As she lay she looked up at the stars. The really were beautiful.


I saw her beneath the starry skies, her little figure glistening against the gently kissed moonlight. She stood across the street from me gently sobbing to herself, wiping back the tears that were rapidly moistening her eyes, and disturbing her mascara. I could hear her gentle little wimps, "sob.." as she tried to hold back her tears. As I cut across the road to reach her a car passes by me, it's black and white imagery nearly taking me down as it swipes across, barely missing me. I glance back at 'her', the only object that shone with colour, the light of my life, the apple of my eye, as her bright red dress swept against the sultry wind. A narrow focus on her, took over my eyes as everything around faded to a grayscale. As I reach the other side as I see her pale skin revealing her beauty, all her mysteries, her inconsistencies, her beauties and faults. "Where were you all this time?" ...she asks in a deep voice almost lost in time. Lost for an answer, I close her eyes “Shh!” As the world danced around us, I held her face and drew her close, kissing her passionately on her gentle rosy lips. “I’m never going anywhere again!”.. I smiled, beaming at her beauty.


Elyse Hardy couldn’t remember quite clearly the first time her mother had turned into the monster. After all, it had been happening long before she was born, and there were stories she had to hear second hand, from her much older siblings. Her siblings had described to her how she had been a tiny baby when her mother had turned into the monster while driving them to the store, and her siblings had jumped into action, pushing their mother to the side as she snarled and bit, and they managed to get the car to the side of the road, brother steering the car and sister pressing the brake. They had snatched Elyse from her car seat and whisked her out, where they all three stood sadly watching as their mother tore the inside of the car apart. Her fur standing on end, wiry like a porcupine’s, her snout wrinkled as her teeth bared, ripping apart the seats, mangling the steering wheel, and finally pawing at the windows, claws tapping frantically while the children backed up slowly. Her sister Myra had also told Elyse about an incident when she had been a baby, and would not stop crying. Maybe she had been hungry, or needed love, who knows. But her nonstop crying had triggered the change and their mother had become the monster. Myra had seen their mother change, the feet elongating and snapping to bend the wrong direction, the wiry black and brown fur sprouting from every inch of her skin. Her eyes becoming beady and black, her normally small, thin nose turning into a long snout. The teeth growing and showing as she drew her lips back in a snarl. The monster had stalked towards the baby Elyse, who was crying and thrashing on the couch. How the monster had opened her jaws wide, about to bite down. Myra recounted how she had run to her baby sister in a panic, sweeping her into her arms before the jaws closed, and how she had run into her room and barred the door, holding Elyse tightly while the monster thrashed at the door. There came a time when Elyse’s two siblings escaped for good. As soon as her brother was able to, he got accepted into college, and left home. Her sister escaped by moving in with friends. That left Elyse and her father, a quiet, timid man, when she was eleven years old. The first memories Elyse had of her mother turning into the monster were from early on in childhood. She could remember being strapped to the back of her mother’s bike, and her turning into the monster mid-ride, feeling herself and the bike falling over to the side, feeling helpless as she sat strapped into the bike seat, knowing she was falling, feeling the ground come up and meet her. She could remember once waking her mother up in the morning before school, terrified because she had not completed her math homework, and had no idea how to do it, and had no one to help her. She reached up and tentatively shook her mother’s shoulder, asking for help on the homework assignment. Her mother had immediately transformed, the bedclothes stretching over her as her body enlarged, claws growing out of her hands. She had whipped a claw into Elyse’s arm and dragged her onto the bed, snarling and snapping her teeth in her face. Hitting her with huge paws. It felt like almost as soon as it had begun, the monster had retreated back inside her mother, and her mother had simply let her go, and rolled over to go back to sleep, as if nothing at all had occurred. Elyse eventually grew up and was able to escape herself, finding a small apartment for herself, a job in a local factory. Life wasn’t good exactly, but it was something. She was away from the monster. Then one day her mother texted her, saying that she had gotten into a fight with her father and she wanted to come stay with her. Elyse knew from experience that it was likely her mother who had instigated the fight, that she had probably morphed into the monster, maybe even hurt her father, and now was trying to run from the scene. Now her mother was asking to stay with her. Elyse ignored the text and ignored her calls, hoping she would just give up and go terrorize someone else. Then she saw out her window a familiar vehicle pull into her apartment parking lot. Her mother’s Expedition. Her mother parked the vehicle and sat inside. Elyse was crouched below the window, peeking out and hoping her mother hadn’t seen her. The texts and calls continued. Elyse stayed hidden until a knocking began on her door. “Elyse? I know you’re in there, open up!” Bang bang bang bang. “You’re really going to ignore your own mother who is in need?!” BANG BANG BANG. Elyse could hear the change happening behind the door, and the banging turned into bashing. The doorknob shook. The walls rattled. Elyse cowered in fear, fingers grabbing hold of the carpet beneath her. Then suddenly she felt something shift inside her. It felt like her heart was exploding in a fiery wave. Heat spread throughout her torso and arms. Skin turning into scales, a spiked tail growing out of her tailbone. She rose in height until she almost hit her spiked head on the ceiling. She looked down at her hands that had become dragon claws. She huffed a smoky breath and moved to wrench the door open. Her mother stood before her, one-third of Elyse’s new height and size. She looked like a pitiful dog with mange to Elyse’s new, glowing orange eyes. Her mother snarled and bit at her legs, but Elyse hardly felt a thing. More like an annoying house fly than anything else. She kicked a huge scaly leg and sent her mother flying down the hallway, whimpering. Elyse stomped over to where she lay, a pile of fur. “Get away from here and don’t ever come back.” Elyse growled low in her throat and then shot a spray of fire just above her mother’s head, singeing tips of fur. Her mother returned to human form long enough to stare up at Elyse with tears in her eyes. She looked so pitiful and small in that moment that Elyse almost felt pity for her, but then she remembered the monster who had tried to attack her so many times in her life, who continued to terrorize her and her loved ones, and the pity disappeared. She watched her mother get up slowly and leave the apartment complex, walk to her vehicle, get inside and drive away.


He still remembered how the strong timber of the Louisville Slugger felt in his palm. He remembered the special grip he had practiced for it. He remembered the first time he learned what he could do with just his thick arm muscles and a flick of the wrist, and he remembered how it made him fell. The memories swirled through his mind has he approached the plate with the soft, lifeless plastic toy bat in his hands. He thought back to the countless excited feminine shouts from his college days, the swelling of excitement whenever he approached home plate. Part of him knew those days were long passed, and part of him refused to believe it. As he got himself ready for his chance at bat he went through the same little rituals he had when he was 20. The same steps, the same routines. He grabbed the base, feeling how much different it felt then he remembered. He had been told the wiffleball bat would be smaller then he was used to from when he was young, but he didn't want to believe it. When he felt he was ready, or felt he must have been ready, he looked to his wife. A look of excitement crossed her face like a wild carnality as she let lose a wanton shout. The man she had loved was the confident man with a control in the field. She had often commented on how it felt to see him swing, making the ball go where ever he wanted, however he wanted. When she saw him wielding the thick, heavy wooden bat, when she felt the joy and pleasure it gave her to see him in control, that is what made her fall in love with him. He knew these things to be true. He waited for the pitcher to do his part. The ball came to him fast, he swung, and missed. He felt a flash of anger raising through his middle-aged frame, then embarrassment. He hid his shame and anger behind a joke, a teasing shrug, as he eyed the crowd again for his wife. She smiled at him, caring but he could read how deflated she was. He clearly saw the grin on her lips; as plastic as it was supportive. He looked up, and through his smile his eyes pleaded: "I don't know what happened. But it won't happen again. Trust me." He told himself it wasn't his fault. That it was the bat, the empty, souless chuck of plastic that was to blame. He glared at it, his distain expressing itself through his jokes. His smile as hollow as the bat he was carrying. He did what he could to shake it off. It was perfectly natural and happened to everybody at some point, but still a haunting, cold knot was growing in his stomach. A worry was growing, festering under the surface of his mind. He swallowed hard to ignore it, tried again, swung and missed. He didn't joke. He wasn't angry. And he didn't look around at first. He couldn't blame the ball, the bat or the pitch. He could only blame himself. He knew in his heart that he was the problem, that he wasn't the man he was anymore, and if he wasn't bat-swinger, the star hitter, the man who could knock it out of the park every night, then what was he? Was he even a man at all? He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. He wanted to hide. He felt shame. He felt ashamed and enraged at himself for making himself ashamed and he wished desperately his shame wasn't a public shame. Again he looked to his wife. He tried to read the look on her face, but he couldn't see her. The more he looked for her, the more he saw a petite brunette staring at her feet. Her hair dangled in front of her, and his heart sank when he could see a hint of a blush. She was ashamed of him, he knew she was, and he couldn't blame her. Her friends would ask how she was doing, and she would tell him. They would discuss his failure with the sly, cool detachment that they discussed everything else. She would laugh with her friends in an amused, ironic way then, but for now she seemed crestfallen. He knew she remembered how he used to be, and he wished more then anything she didn't have to see him like this. He stood frozen in his own thoughts, when a voice broke his trance. First one then several people shouted to continue the game; that he was taking to long. He had to continue now or admit the truth, to himself and everyone. To admit that he was a failure. To admit that he wasn't what he pretended to be. He didn't want to continue, he didn't want to try again. He wanted to curl up for a long time by himself. Suddenly he thought of his father. He knew his Father would be ashamed of him too. He knew his father would already have made it all around the bases by now. His father would have made everybody cheer. His father would have made his wife happy. The crowd was turning sour. They had been whipped into a frenzy and demanded satisfaction. The pleas to continue had become stern shouts to finish his turn at bat, or to get off the field. He sighed to himself, and took his position again. He didn't believe it would work, but he knew what was expected of him. He went through the same motions he always did. He did his part; the thing that defined him. The little dances that made him what he was, even though he was still doubting his own abilities. He lifted the soft bat in his hands, his fingers wrapped around it, hoping that maybe a new stance or trick would suddenly turn him back into the man he was before. He swung, he missed. He expected boos from the crowd. He expected not to be allowed back into the safety of the dugout. As he left home plate, he dragged the bat behind it, wanting nothing more than to drop it and never have to look at it again. But he still dragged it behind him, like it was somehow attached to him. When he looked up, he looked for his wife, only to see her giggling as she spoke to her friend's nephew. She smiled at the 19 year old college football player, her lips pulled back as she softly squeezed his arm. The younger man, for his part, all buffed chest and bravado seemed excited by the attention. She didn't look back at him the entire trip to the little chain-link trench where his teammates were. He sat down in a slump, but felt better in the dark of the bench. His teammates, the ones he felt would be the hardest on him, were all very polite, and friendly. The fear he had of their disapproval disappeared. They told him they understood. It had been a long time, after all, and that it happens to everyone, sometimes. They didn't reject him, they accepted him. They had something they could commiserate over.