Once upon a time, there were three stoners named Beonard, Bumble and Bump. The Stoners were close friends, and lived together in a yellow house in the concrete jungle. The were joined by their adopted albino cat, Miles, a cat who lived a challenging life as a stray before being adopted. Since then, he has been mean to anyone who even attempted to pick him up. Beonard suffered scratches on his arm, Bumble on his leg, he even scratched Bump, the nicest to him, on his face. Still, the stoners insisted on giving him a better life. On a clear, sunny day in April, the three stoners ran out of weed. Although all the dealers they knew were out, Bumble heard a rumor of a new dealer with a fabled strain called The Wiz. As all of them cheered, Bump's calendar reminded him that today was Miles' vet appointment. Bumble said they should go buy some weed before they run out, but Bump said Miles' vet appointment was more important. Beonard agreed with Bump, and said they would go buy "The Wiz" after going to the vet. He even suggested they could take his four wheeled, silver chariot. Once Bumble begrudgingly agreed, Bump lured Miles into his crate with catnip and they all hopped in Beonard's chariot and raced down the interstate at 40 miles per hour, to the vet. While examining the pale, volatile cat, the plump, bearded veterinarian commented that Miles had become a little chubby, but the three stoners were more concerned with his behavior. They asked why the cat was so hostile toward them, but the physician answered that he will only warm up to those that show him true love. Once he started talking about the cat's weight again, the stoners trailed off and forgot to pay the bill. They were more concerned with picking up The Wiz. "Speeding" down the interstate at 35 miles per hour, the three stoners talked about Miles. Bumble scoffed in disbelief that the cat could ever love them after already giving him a home a year ago. Bump replied that he must love them deep down, but had trouble expressing it after the harsh life he lived before. Beonard questioned if it was worth it to wait another whole year for him to be more loving. Before Bump could answer, Bumble pointed out the mile marker 69 sign, so Beonard pulled the silver chariot over and the three stoners giggled at it for 20 minutes. Bump then made a startling realization, they had been driving in the wrong direction, and they were 45 minutes from the dealer's house. The three friends were devastated, none of them could wait that long to get stoned. Everyone remained silent as the sound of the running motor filled the Kia sedan. Just when all seemed lost, a large bright green fire sparked next to the road sign. Out of the blaze stepped a tall woman in a long sleeveless dress with pale green skin, and dark greek dreadlocks of hemp. The three stoners stepped out of the car and slowly approached the mysterious woman, immediately struck by the strong weed aroma she gave off, and asked who she was. She declared herself as Mary Jane Wanda, Goddess of Weed, supplying the plant to those in need for a chill time. Beonard asked if she was here because they needed the sticky icky, but she replied she was only there to laugh at the mile 69 marker on the interstate. She did, however, offer them the weed of their choice, but their payment would be costly, depending on the strain. Bumble told her the only strain they desired: The Wiz. Wanda the Weed God bellowed that that strain is indeed highly sought after, so for their payment, she asked from them their most prized possessions. From Beonard, Wanda asked for his favorite knife that he always carried with him. Although reluctant, his judgement was quickly overwhelmed by Wanda's fragrance, and he gave her his knife. In return, he was given a small bag of The Wiz. From Bumble, Wanda asked for his prized jewel that he carried with him wherever he went. Bumble too was hesitant, but changed his mind once in the presence of her scent, and gave her his jewel. Again, her reward was a small bag containing the strain they have desired most. From Bump, however, she only asked to see his cat. Bump complied, pulling out the crate and set it on the ground before her, opening the door and letting the cat out. Wanda was surprisingly taken by how adorable the feline was, and expressed that she would accept the cat as payment, stating it would be the perfect gift for her friend's upcoming birthday. In return, she would reward the three stoners with all The Wiz they needed. The friends looked at each other with a defeated look on their faces. To Bumble and Beonard, both of their problems could be solved. Bump, however, was reluctant. He was not as ready to get rid of the cat, and refused, even as he felt his mind become victim to Wanda's odor. Slowly, though, the aroma emanating from Wanda's aura began to cloud Bump's mind. As he felt himself succumb to Wanda's pull, Miles turned around, staring Bump in the eye, and whimpered a soft "meow". Bump felt ecstatic, reached down, and lifted Miles to cradle him in his arms. His friends, expecting the cat to react violently, stepped back. Instead, the albino cat melted in his arms, completely at ease, and for the first time, he was purring. All three stoners looked at each other once more before turning to Wanda, and declining her offer, stating that Miles was one of them. Moved by their action, the Weed Goddess happily rewarded each of them an ounce of The Wiz before laughing at the mile 69 sign once more, and disappearing in the green fire. In celebration of their new bond with Miles, the stoners hopped back into the silver chariot, and drove 25 miles an hour back to their yellow house to binge watch *Planet Earth 2*. After they smoked the last of The Wiz a month later, they gave up weed altogether, realizing they could still get high, on love.


Since I was a kid I’ve always liked mysteries, I’ve always watched horror films and those old programs that talked about the sci-fi occurrences, recently me including my friends: Sam, Laura, Ben, Ashley and Connor were attempting to explore abandoned buildings and places on which have already spent so much time on yet haven’t found a single interesting thing, we wanted to give up. Suddenly we noticed that our radio has caught a strange signal, we had a look at it, it was a woman, a woman who was asking for help although she seemed terrified, her voice sounded shaken and it was an obvious hint that something horrible had happened. Most of us have already decided on going but not Connor, he was against the idea and I as well as Ashley agreed with him but curiosity took over us. “If you really don’t want to go then you can just stay here and wait for us, coward!” exclaimed Sam, Laura was the nice girl no wonder she stood up for us saying “It’s only natural that some people wouldn’t want to go and that shouldn’t be any of your business Sam!”, Sam seemed more annoyed that ever. However we collected things we thought we would need such as flashlight and food as well as drinks, sleeping bags and some change of clothes if needed. Connor decided to come with us after all which was a big relief since he was good with locations, later evening we decided that next morning at about 5:30 we’re getting ready to find out where the signal was coming from. It was the next day, we got ready and took everything we collected the day before. Ben took the radio with him to find out the location of the signal, it seemed to lead into a huge forest I have never heard of, we walked, walked and walked it felt like it an eternity, eventually we could see something that looked like a roof of a mansion peeking from the top of the trees and signal seemed to led there, some of us started to get freaked out but there was no way we could go back after all that effort. The moment we could see the mansion clearly we could it was abandoned, it had two huge door in the front and supposedly 3 floors as well as a small shack by it we couldn’t quite tell the structure yet as the trees covered it some way or another. Walking to the shack the signal got stronger and stronger, as we entered it we noticed loads of pictures of people we didn’t know. Unexpectedly Ashley shouted “Oh my god, it can’t be,” she was intercepted by Ben “what is it? It seems like a bad idea I think we should go back.” “It’s the missing people that police couldn’t find after years of searching!” Ashley shouted, her voice was shaken in fear. “Wait, there is recording on the table, we could use the laptop I’ve got with me to play it”. In the recordings there was a woman, she told us not to go inside the mansion no matter what, she told us not to try and find or rescue her. It made us want to do the exact opposite, it was stupid, for sure it was but we’ve come a long way so we are going to continue it. Approaching the door we realised it was tightly locked with chains. Sam tried to look for another way, we decided to go through the bushes and it seems we have found a way, but it was gross and disgusting, there were horse legs covering so we were forced to crawl underneath it, Ashley was so sick she threw up. None of us knew what to do. My stomach turned. Disturbing. That’s what it was and I’m sure all of us have felt the same way, but we continued. We slowly climbed the ladder down, it seemed to be the basement. Half way flooded and cold. A strangle feeling made us shiver to our spines. We slowly moved through all the water. Everything seemed so...”old” said Ashley. Sam was in front of us, strangely he hasn’t said a thing recently, he was probably stuck in his own thoughts, like all of us were. A corpse from up to the head down to the torso suddenly emerged from the waters all of us screamed. Terrified we had to continue, but I couldn’t forget it, it was bloodied yet seemed old, we didn’t know what to think or do. The waters seemed to get deeper up to about our necks and the ceiling was low down. Claustrophobic. Emotionally drained we continued until we found an exit. Climbing up the ladder we noticed the woman from the recording. The woman was was locked behind bars, she was bloodied and her clothes were ragged. We approached quietly. “Hey!,” exclaimed Sam “it’s you isn’t it, the woman from the recording!”. The woman seemed incredibly confused “recording?,” she said “oh no, no, no”, “what?” all of us synced. “You cannot be here!” She exclaimed “it wasn’t me it was the man, no a monster, he lured you here!”. The silhouette that somewhat had resembled a man emerged from the shadow of the dark. Looking at him in dim light, however, you could see he was not a man. If you squinted, you could see it, but looking at him now you could see he was not. Far, far from it. He grabbed Sam and slashed his head off with an he and he dropped breathless, blood gushing from his neck. I wanted to cry. The monster looked us opened the bars grabbed the woman and with a rough voice, told us “follow me.” he grinned like a psycho “you should meet the others, we could be a family” we wanted to run away, we regretted it, regretted everything. Eventually we reached the room that somewhat appeared to be a dinner room, there were other human like creatures, they made us sit around the table. The old woman, no the monster slowly stumbled to the dinner table with something she called “soup”, there was no way it was that, as it was filled with cockroaches and it was a gross, dirty colour. “eat, eat it, EAT IT” the monster shouted. We knew we had to, we didn’t know what they would do if we didn’t, after one spoon of it we drop to the floor, I see Ben gurgle, his eyes went back. My eyes open slowly, I see the man dragging me, they close again. I wake up chained to a bed. The old woman next to me, “you finally woke up, the girl wants to talk to you” as the old woman leaves I see the other woman that was locked up approach me.” They weren’t like this,” she whispered “they used to be a normal family until they were infected, a small girl, she infected them” “what happened to others?” I said. She takes out a key out of her pocket and says “I don’t know, but we can’t save them we have to get out.” My heart drops and I feel emotionally destroyed. She moves a wardrobe out of the way and there seem to be a small way, we squeeze trough it, can cockroaches crawling around us. We walk through a corridor “close” she whispers. Suddenly she screams and shouts in agony, she stops and stands emotionless, grabs the closest knife to her and starts attaching me, I try to protect myself using my hands I grab the knife and my hands bleed. She stabs me once. Stops again and screams as she smashes her head against the wall “get out, get out of my head!”. I faint. I wake up already outside the mansion. Barely understanding anything I ran and ran and ran until I reach the city I reach the police and try to contact the hospital on everything I’ve known that happened, they take for one off those psychos, but still decide to investigate. 5 years later I haven’t heard anything about it. It’s surprising how I survived. I live peacefully in my apartment, someone knocks on my door, I open it and realise “the woman” I say shaken , it’s woman that stabbed me and the crazy man I faint again and can’t remember anything. I wake up in the abandoned mansion , next to me lies the corpse of Ashley and say to myself crying “what do I do now...


I jolt awake. Something feels wrong. I open my eyes but there is just darkness. I can hear voices, muffled, but I can hear the gentle murmur of one sound after another. I start to become aware of myself. I can feel there is something over my head and my hands are tied together. I try to tune in to any surrounding sounds that may indicate where I am. I can hear an engine, feel it vibrating underneath the soles of my shoes. I strain to see something, anything, but there is nothing but darkness surrounding me. There is a sudden stop and I am lunged forward. I smack my head off something and I feel myself being pulled off somewhere. I am hit with a breeze so cold I could freeze before being pushed down onto what I can only presume is a chair. I feel a tug on my head, my hair being pulled in the process and suddenly I can see again. My eyes adjust to the light. All around me are black figures, gathered in front of a fire. I focus on them and that’s when I see it. They’re all wearing masks. The majority of them are wearing what looks like the head of a goat. What have I gotten myself into? I try to get up to move but it appears that I am tied to a chair in front of this large gathering of people. “Excuse me...” I begin. “Would someone care to tell me what the hell is going on here?!” Nobody seems to acknowledge me. Everyone seems to be muttering the same line under their breaths. “She will be reclaimed in the cleansing of the soul.” This feels surreal. I must still be dreaming. “Hello?!” I scream, once more trying to grab somebody’s attention. Everyone stops at once and turns. One of the people wearing the masks comes closer to me and booms “Somebody tape this things mouth shut” I feel two people run up behind me and I scream. My screams are soon muffled by a large amount of duct tape protruding across the surface of my mouth. The same person who issued the command before dismisses everyone but four of the goat headed followers. As they start towards me, each one of them brandishes a weapon of their choice. One wearing an excessive amount of pink lipstick withdraws a dagger from her boot. Another with the eyes of their mask cut out takes two swords from behind their back. The third goat headed member takes a pistol from his back pocket and hands it to the leader. “You’re signature weapon, my Lord” he bows before whipping out a pair of nunchucks for himself. “So..” the leader of the group begins. “How are we going to murder this one then?” There is a creepy grin to be seen stretching out from underneath his mask. “This is my favourite part” smiles the third member. “The planning” The leader shoots him a look. “Shut up Pygmy, nobody asked you '' he spat before smacking the third member over the head with the pistol. “Idiot” The girl with the pink lipstick starts towards me with her dagger pointing straight ahead and I feel my whole body begin to tense. “So what’s your name, pretty lady?” Her voice is a sickly sweet. Every word she says sounds like honey oozing out of her throat. I do not reply. She jams the dagger against my throat. I wince. “I said, what’s your name?” Her tone is more aggressive this time and I’m too afraid of what she might do if I don’t reply. “Mac” She whips her head to the side. “How sweet, little baby Mac” I force a smile as the others circle me, making me their prey. I struggle to find words in fear of death. The leader walks over to me and cuts one of the ropes free. I feel my right hand go limp beside me. He picks it up gently in his hand and plants a kiss on the top of my hand. I try to disguise the disgust that is so clearly on my face but fail. He turns my wrist over in his hand and freezes. “Oh no” he starts to shake his head and throws his pistol to the ground. “No, no, no, no” he starts to get louder and the other members of the group glance at each other and begin to back away from me. “What is wrong, my Lord '' the pink lipstick girl, whose name I have now learned is Daisy, asks, “We have majorly messed up” screams the leader. “Why?!” Pygmy asks, clearly in distress. The leader turns to them and points his index finger at me. “Look at her wrist and see for yourself.” One by one they each walk over to me cautiously and pick up my wrist, all of them freezing and joining their leader in a frenzy of panic. After a few moments the leader comes over to me and rips the duct tape from my lips. It feels like he’s taking a layer of my skin with it. He grabs my wrist and thrusts it in my face. “What is the meaning of this?!” Just a few inches from my face is my tattoo. I’ve had it ever since I was born. An upside down cross, completely black. No colour. “My tattoo...?” I begin, completely unaware of what is currently happening. “That ain’t no tattoo...” says Daisy. “That there, is the mark of the devil himself” I freeze. None of this can be true. Obviously these guys are messing with me and this is their cruel plan to kill me. The leader begins to freak out again. “She’s one of Satan’s own, anyone that touched her will now suffer in the most painful way imaginable. Sure enough, Daisy drops to the ground and starts screaming in agony, her dagger coming to life and stabbing her in multiple places over and over. Blood begins to seep into the ground below her and soon enough she is nothing but a motionless corpse. Next, the leader grabs the pistol from the ground. He attempts to make his death quick and painless and raises the gun to his head. His arm cracks and every bone in his body begins to splinter. He drops as the final crack sends him into eternal slumber. I feel the restraints loosen behind me and get up to run. The two men left from the group start running towards me in an attempt to fight for their lives. One swings their fist but misses and I swing back with my leg, knocking him out flat on the ground. The other picks up the chair and attempts to throw it at me, I grab it in my hands and knee them in the chest. They fall to the ground, gasping for air as I issue one last final blow to the head and he collapses, paralysed. I drop the chair and my whole body shakes. There is a distant glow of what looks to be more of their followers. Without a second thought, I turn around and sprint. Sprint and sprint, deep into the woods, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going but at least I’m getting further from them, whoever they are. My lungs begin to burn, I collapse against a tree and try to steady my breath. I sit forward on my knees and feel my wrist burning. I turn it over and sure enough, what was once a solid black cross is now a bright crimson. Something drips onto my wrist. One drop after another, rain pummels down onto me. Except it’s not normal and clear. It is dark and red, with a metallic tinge off of it. I sit, waiting for this dreaded rain to end when suddenly I hear someone exhale above me. I look up, shaking from head to toe, and standing there is none other than the Dark Lord himself. I push myself back up against the tree. “What is going on?!” I scream. A big, toothy grin emerges from the figures face. “Welcome home my little Machiavellian, I’ve been waiting for you.” I try to steady my breath but fail and feel my entire body go limp. I let myself go as I hit the ground. Cursed forever by the ink that holds me to this hell.


"Are you sure?", Ahia said, her lips trembling as she was about to cry. "Are you even aware of what you're putting on the line?" "I wish I was." Kagros put down the binocular. His leather boots unbearably squeezed his feet, but whenever he even wasted a thought on loosening them, Bluni's voice echoed in his head. "If you ever lose your boots, they will disappear. Bring them to Meriman, she knows what to do with them. Do not *ever* loosen them." These were the last words that had left Bluni's mouth before her eyes had fallen to emptiness. Bluni. She had only been twenty-one years old, and out of all the people who could have possibly fallen victim to the attack on Bomitut, it had to be her. *I love you, Kagros, I love you forever.* Kagros's heart began beating faster and more loudly. Bluni was dead. Nubron was dead. With him and Ahia, the Bomit tribe had picked just the worst two persons to track down Aluttar, and even so, they couldn't be one hundred per cent sure that Aluttar was really the one who had destroyed the village. "I'm starting to doubt reality", Kagros broke the minute-long silence. Ahia's eyes were already turning red. "This can't be real, you know?" "I don't wish this to be real either", Ahia squeezed out with a pain-tainted voice. "No, it's not what you think I mean. I mean, of course we are in the real world. This isn't a nightmare we can wake up from. But someone is playing a game with us." "What game?" "Don't you see? We're forced to infiltrate the town the woman I loved the most came from. The woman I wanted to marry, have children and grow old with. And all of this because they want us to dig around in the old secrets of the single richest family in Saborian history, the family your brother married a daughter of." Understanding covered Ahia's face. "Now that both my girlfriend and your brother are dead", Kagros continued, "they think our rage will thrill us to annihilate whoever they want us to think is the culprit." "And they'll kill us if we don't", Ahia concluded. "But I still don't want to walk into this town and put my nose into something I have to right to see", Kagros tried to justify his doubts. "As I said, they'll kill us if we don't do this." "But what if Aluttar is innocent? What if they've just sent us here to find out about terrible secrets that have been kept hidden for a reason?" "I won't get back to the village empty-handed!", Ahia shouted, now furious. "I will find and kill whoever is responsible for Nubron's death!" Kagros didn't let her annoy him. "Would Nubron want that? Would he want you to kill a person just because you've been made think they are the culprit?" "Wouldn't your precious Bluni?", she countered. Ahia was sure that Bluni would have wanted Kagros to do exactly what they were planning on doing in this very moment. "No!", Kagros shouted, clenching his fist. "You have no idea about what she was like!" "Do you?" Slowly, her voice turned back to calm. Kagros kept breathing heavily instead of answering. He worked as hard as he could to keep the tears from wettening his face, but miserably failed at it. Ahia realized what she had done to him, walked up to him and put her hand on his arm. "Look, Kagros, I don't want to do this either. But my fear for my life is greater than the fear of what might happen if we do what we've been told to. Yours should too." The sunrise covered the hills and forests around the town with a spooky veil of mist.


What happens the moment before Creation? The Book of Genesis begins with the following: B'reshit bara Elohim et Hashamayim v'et ha'aretz: In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. But the Greeks envisioned a moment before Creation which was a backdrop, a reason for Creation. It was called CHAOS. Chaos Beyond the deep, lost, spinning, mad-- the children of Atom in infinite clad Colliding, gliding, by splendor surrounded-- black masses gather, form darkness unbounded. No fingers to grasp, No true hands to hold, Still quick spirits grasp, The substance to mold. Somewhere there lives a hope unfulfilled In the core of its being, not muted, not stilled. A song with no sound, a dream with no form, a memory of future, by Chaos foresworn. With an aching unspoken, the Universe bends-- a shudder, a sighing ... the moment begins ... from Creation: A Tale of Our Birth © March 2003 Dimentica I am called Dimentica. My home is a still place; at night, you can only hear crickets, and they start and stop suddenly as if something startled them. What could it be? I did not go to school and no one tried to hurt me or make me feel stupid, but I know I am stupid. It is a little cold tonight, so I go to the willow tree and take my cloak to wrap around me. It has burrs and little globs of sap and white bird droppings; but they have dried, and I don’t mind. The burrs scratch a little, but it is good to feel something, even something scratchy. What happened to all the squirrels that used to play here? They were thin, but there were still acorns and only three wolves. Where did they go? No one shot the wolves, but they howled day and night, and I could not talk to them and find out what was wrong. I think maybe the moon looks different. Did it used to have more silver ribbons hanging from it? Now clouds stream over its face. And is the moon an it ? How can the lonely moon be it ? We are the same, I think. We are both alone, but the moon is not stupid. She is able to reflect light, and then she shines. So this is to be a god or goddess, to shine. If you shine, you are brilliant. This is the same. People will look up and see you are really something. They will want you. They may bow to you, and bring you little presents--insides of nuts, fruit, maybe a knife to cut with. Where are the people now? Whenever I sleep, I travel to places where there are people, but I cannot touch them. Something is wrong with my hands. They are too thin, or my body doesn’t have the normal ways to feel. And I am ashamed to not feel beautiful and I think of myself as dirty, because it is only possible to wash off the grains of dirt and gravel when the light rain comes, and this is only once every five days, or even less now in .... Summer? Spring? Again, I lose the right word. I wonder if there is another language to use to understand, to make me able to take things in my hand, hold them, and know their essence, then find what names are right to call things, ideas, animals and birds and ... the tree I really like best. It is a very old, tall tree with heavy branches and crumbling bark. The roots must go very very deep so it still can have water and tiny buds when the season is warmer. The buds are babies, I think. Babies. Where are the babies? Did the wolves lose their babies? I remember a sound of booming and think there was a large bird that took animals away, but not to eat. But if not to eat, why? My most important word is “why.” Now I think that if I am able to ask, to know how to ask why, to wonder about something, then I am not stupid. Because it is possible to believe an answer may be somewhere. I want to sleep, to go back to the city where words and images, and energy, and life, and ... babies ... are alive. A new thought. Start with the babies. Maybe they will see me, because they have not yet been taught to be afraid of the unseen. It is worth a try. A thought begins in me. The moon is my mother...she has the book. When I touch the book, I think it belongs to a witch, the book is pulsing, shivering. But then I hear music. It is a song, a new one. The song is: In the city the traffic flows like the rivers once flowed, but they are no more. Once they wove throughout a land where barefoot people sat, sang and fished near them. Their king scattered oats, and their queen offered spider webs, strong as silk, for capes and slippers. In the corners of their caves were beehives with swarms of black bees whooshing in and out when the sun opened and closed, as is doing now. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary, but she is enough. The spindly spiders are making strong and dew-light webs. Tomorrow there will be food for all living in this realm. And extra for the babies. After Dimentica, there was a poem from a lover. She was more powerful than she ever believed. He hoped, prayed, and then knew. She was the beginning, and the Moon was truly her mother. Creation Moon When I lay near the ceiling, looking down at her her center was the beginning of moon ... her breasts were satellites, I would circle them with my fingers, hardly breathing ... everything round about her was the beginning of my universe, of the whole universe.. her eyes were burning stars, soon their fire would sear me to the point where I would burn, then burst into eternal flame She started it all, and I was inspired now, I would finish it. We would call the constellations, Salt, water, ice, glaciers couldn’t stop it. The spinning, the explosions of future, it all started with her, and I just followed, crawling, begging, a supplicant to her power. Katherine Lansing Davis © April 6, 2024


Trigger Warning: Contemplation of Suicide. (And also swearing) The night air chilled my skin. The downpour forced the trench coat to wrap around me like the cold hands of death grasping at my soul. Gusts of wind spat rain at my face in periodic breaths. The wind’s exhales dared to snatch my fedora off my head. I checked my holster one more time and twisted relief washed over me as I found the pistol safe next to my chest. A single bullet was loaded. “They may have my badge, but not my gun.” The words sounded weak coming from my old lungs. Either the callous hands of time were clasped on my neck or my smoking habit finally caught up to me. I let my arm rest on the bridge’s railing and stole a glance at the winding river below me. The falling rain sent ripples through the flowing water mirroring distorted reflections of the city lights. Buildings flickered with light like man made stars amidst the darkness that is humanity. “This city in the rain is full of promise now.” The voice couldn’t be anything other than Johnson. I’d recognize that police lackey’s pubescent voice anywhere. “Case closed, Detective. All thanks to you.” My gaze stayed on the evening’s weather. A grunt of agreement left my chest. “They said you retired, sir.” A moment of silence passed as if by waiting he wanted me to deny it. Of course he’d want me to continue, he admired me too much. “What now?” I turned towards him. The poor fellow was soaked to his skin even through an extra large coat. Cars sped down the road behind him growling like beasts. “What’s left for an old man?” I said throwing my weight on the cane for emphasis. Johnson pushed back his dark wet hair, resting his hand on his head as he kept his sight on me. Those young eyes of his watched me with concern and childlike awe. He didn’t drop his gaze causing a smirk to appear from my lips. No verbal response from him, I thought. He took my lesson to heart then. “There isn’t much left for me.” Was that a softness to my voice? “Not a lot of time, not a lot left to do.” Johnson watched me with hawk-like vision. Subtle movement of his eyes searched my posture and poker face. An expression of shock and horror crossed his face. “You aren’t planning to... jump. Are you?” A stab of guilt pierced my heart. Damn the boy, and damn me for caring. One simple action, and I could make amends. My hand grasped his shoulder. “No, I was planning on using a pistol.” I looked back at the river with my hand gripping my cane until my knuckles turned white. I’d done my duty cleaning up the streets of this city. 40 long years to lock away 70 of the worst scum this metropolis could produce. Make that 71 as of tonight, though I could hardly take credit for it; not after the life it cost. Any detective could have solved the murder in two months and it took me three. The decay from time had finally muddled my mind enough for me to sink back down to the common fools of society. Ever since my first case, I was told I had a gift from God. I must have drained all of the divine ability he gave me like a fine wine. Can’t angels enjoy a cigar every now and then? Can’t the devil take a day off? If God can hear me, at least give me this wish. Can I fade from memory without anyone batting an eye? Johnson laughed. “Didn’t expect to be dried off by your sense of humor.” I didn’t laugh. “You mean it; don’t you?” he said. I shook my head. “Don’t get emotional on me now, Johnson. I lived my life the way I wanted to. Left this city better than I found it. At least let me die in peace.” My hand twitched in an involuntary reach towards my holster. Johnson glanced at the movement a without hesitation extended his hand. “Hand it over, Detective.” “Didn’t know you got promoted enough to give me orders.” “You retired, hand over the gun.” “Not on your life. The bloody thing is mine” “Not anymore, sir. Let it go.” “Why?” “Because you wouldn't send yourself to wait for judgement day when you have one friend left on this side of heaven. Now hand it over, Rick.” Damn the boy, he said my name. I remained stunned by his words for a second too long. Johnson dashed towards me reaching for my gun. My old muscles couldn’t keep up. He had the gun out of my holster before I could grab his arm. He pointed the weapon at me in the same movement. “Impressive” I muttered. Johnson finally turned his skills into instinct. He smiled with a mix of joy and mischief. For the first time since I could remember, I was perplexed. I even raised an eyebrow, which caused him to grin more in a giddy sort of way. “What’s this now?” I said. “I managed to impress and surprise the city’s best detective. Didn’t know a couple hours of retirement is all it takes for you to lose your touch.” His words pierced my heart quicker than any bullet ever could. He was right. I lost my touch. I let my shoulders slump. My knees felt weaker than before. I slid to the ground and rested my head against the railing. The rain like forgotten tears flowed down my face. Johnson sat next to me still holding my gun in one hand. “This city is in the rain,” Johnson said. “Like you always said, sir. Not a comfortable place and not bright, sunny or happy. Partway in the dark, but with a little bit of goodness washing away the filth.” Johnson looked me in the eyes. “The clouds are parting, Rick. I think I can see a star shining through.” The poetic words of a starry eyed fool forced tears to add to the watery river falling from my face. I felt an arm rest behind my neck and around my shoulder. Johnson embraced me. “Careful now,” I said. "I'll suffocate.” Johnson laughed and let go of me. The rain filled in the lapse in conversation. The traffic ceased as the night stretched into an unholy hour that had the scent of eternity. That smell pulled the trigger to my memory sending a spray of hurt back into my mind. Regret redrew her face on my closed eyelids. Those freckles stained crimson. That dark hair matted with blood. Those blue eyes that once shimmered with life stared into forsaken nothingness. A pull of the trigger and my sin would have been paid for. One simple action, and I could have made amends. “One mistake Johnson. If I was quicker...” My voice fell silent against my wishes. “If I was sooner-” Johnson cut me off. “Don’t do that to yourself, Rick. Not once in three years have you ever wondered what if out loud, and don’t you dare start now. You can’t save her life by wondering what you could have done better. Damn it I didn't know her well, but she sure as hell wouldn’t want to see you on the other side tonight. Further more she wouldn’t want you wasting the rest of your life wallowing in pity.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You are sad, detective, as you should be. Even through that stone face and sadistic humor, you have a heart that chooses to love people sir. If anything is for certain it's that the only place you'll be free from the dangers of love is hell and an angel like you can't get there even if you tried. I know you try to hide it and you toss aside your emotions to make decisions no one else would. But damn it detective, you love people and you love them fiercely! So be sad, Rick. For her sake let your sorry ass be sad.” Johnson's words struck cords in my soul as if conducting a whisper of a song of hope in the shards and shadows that resided there. The empty abyss of longing remained tearing me from the inside out, but a peace wrapped itself around the sorrow soaking in the sadness just enough for me to find it bearable. I looked up at his outstretched hand and despite the arguments my pride stated, I reached out and let him help me to my feet. He held out my gun to me. “Careful now,” He said. I glared at him with a smirk on my wrinkled face. Since when did this city have such heavenly fools like Johnson? I took a final look at my trusted old pistol as it rested in my hand for one last time. Then I looked at the river below me and it beckoned me again. No regrets, I thought. Whispering a final goodbye, I sent the gun spiraling over the rail. “Take me home Johnson,” I said. “You know the way.”


The launch sequence hit zero and the Hindsight accelerated to many times the speed of sound. Once it had reached a certain distance, the computer engaged the spacefold drivers. Other than a brief flash, the moment in which we ceased to be near Earth and beame impossibly far away from it was unremarkable. Before us was a beautiful, terrifying expanse of nothing. We had arrived. Our destination was a desolate stretch of space some 3,000 light years from Earth. Officially, our mission was to scout other planets for signs of alien life. In reality, humans had made contact with intelligent life a decade prior. A carbon-based, lemur-like race called sunids who communicated via an intricate sign language. I’d met a few of them. They were quite polite, if a bit immature. Dizzyingly good at chess, too. In an act of incredible prudence, the International Space Administration decided to keep their existence a secret. Turns out it’s much easier to secure funding when the public thinks their money is aiding “the search for aliens.” We’d ventured all this way to search not for extraterrestrial life; we sought humanity. Through *The Looking Glass*, an ultraprecise telescope mounted on the Hindsight, we would be able to intercept millenia-old light waves sent out from Earth for the first time in human history. It was our mission to travel an incomprehensible distance from Earth at a nigh instantaneous speed, all in order to turn around and stare down the rock that humanity had worked for so many years to leave. On the crew were Rilda Selth, an engineer, Tanya Baldin, an astrophysicist, Dalton Sitry, a historian, and myself, also a historian. We were practically family--we’d had two years to settle any grievances while training for the mission. Despite this, I had routine differences of opinion with Dalton. If our opinions aligned, there would be no purpose in having two historians on the crew. We were scheduled to remain aboard the Hindsight for five years, and every 30 days we were to send back to Earth all the footage captured by TLG, as well as a report co-authored by Dalton and I discussing the facts and implications of what the footage alone couldn’t convey. I’ve had Tanya explain to me exactly how we managed to communicate across 900 parsecs, but her efforts have been futile. By the time I’ve had enough drinks to think asking is a good idea, I’m too far gone to remember the answer. I was beside myself with anticipation. We would unravel the great mysteries of history, uncover secrets lost to time, and determine whether or not Jesus of Nazareth was resurrected. Suffice it to say, the chief reason to hold our mission to secrecy was for fear of panic. Humanity does not enjoy challenges to its beliefs. That was true no matter the era. We would be looking into the past. It was necessary to keep certain truths secret. We had one week to prepare before the first event: the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, 79 AD. Dalton and I put together our archiving system in time for the observation. We were unable to agree on a method, though argument itself proved to be an effective strategy. Tanya’s job was to confirm our coordinates and set up the telescope, something magnitudes more difficult than it sounds. Calculating the zoom factor alone took her half a day. In the years to come, I would spend many nights lying in bed, listening to Tanya calibrate TLG with surgical precision. Finally, Rilda ran the ship diagnostics and inspected the various life-support systems. The damn thing was practically a five-star hotel. It was equipped with perpetual food and water apparatus, as well as a clothing recycler. The beds were made from siliphene sponge, a material so comfortable it’s been said that spending a single night on it is as rejuvenating as a month on any other mattress. The computer had a catalog of most of the games, movies, shows, and books that had been released in the past few thousand years. After a week of anticipation, the time for the eruption finally arrived. Aside from being a storied disaster, the subject of countless songs and paintings, the destruction of Pompeii had the distinct advantage of being rather bright. The logic behind beginning operations with such a noticeable event was to lower the chances of us missing. An unnecessary precaution; there was no way on Earth I’d allow myself to miss something *that* cool. Tanya operated TLG while Rilda monitored for any malfunctions. Dalton and I sat alert, hands at our keyboards, ready to make history. Each of us unconsciously held their breath. I could hear my own heartbeat. Finally, Tanya spoke. “Eruption confirmed.” The monitors displaying TLG’s feed filled the room with spectacular reds and oranges, dancing across the flat, metal walls and creating a stunning lightshow. I ignored it. Typing furiously, I scrutinized the screen in front of me like those blasted sunids scrutinized my chess playing. We didn’t bear witness to any key events lost to time, but that wasn’t our objective. Pompeii’s destruction was about as well documented as ancient events come, so comparing those records to what we observed was the perfect test to confirm the validity of our method. We spent roughly twelve hours glued to our monitors, reluctant even to blink. After completing my work I considered sleeping, but tossed aside the notion of rest. Instead, I watched the footage again. All twelve hours. The spectacle fascinated and excited me, but left me with an empty sadness. A few thousand years is nothing to the timeless anguish of a life cut short. The silent lava ravaging the noiseless crowd. Had I been able to hear their screams I couldn’t have endured it. When the recording finally ended, I took what seemed my first breath in hours and stumbled to bed. I slept for two days. . . . Even before parting my eyelids I knew something was amiss. I heard typing coming from the archive. The only person aside from myself who would have any reason to use the archive computer was Dalton. The only reason Dalton would have to use the archive computer would be to put together the report on Pompeii. Our *collaborative* report. I was in the archive before I had finished the thought. “Dalton! What the hell are you doing?” “Calm down, Til!” “You bastard! You were trying to finish the Pompeii report while I was out cold!” “C’mon, Til, let’s be reasonable here--” “I *am* being reasonable,” I said as I flipped his chair. “Christ’s sake,” grumbled Dalton, picking himself off the ground and rubbing his bald head as if to summon a genie, “You know as well as I do that Pompeii was in line with the accepted history. If anything, I was doing you a favor by writing the report on my own.” I read over what he had written. Frustratingly, he was right. My stomach grumbled, reflecting my mood, and I left before Dalton could deride me further. On my way to the dining room, I recalled a past victory to numb the pain of my present defeat: the only time I had beaten a sunid at chess. The sunid’s name was Ynol. A departure from most of her kind, Ynol was rude and not very good at chess. I had played against her roughly a year and a half ago, not long after beginning training for my mission. It was a close game, and truthfully I only won because she blundered a bishop early on. She had all but threatened me to a rematch in the six months following her defeat, but I refused each time. I wasn’t going to undo my one victory against those little geniuses. Eventually she moved on. She became interested in TLG, and we spent many meals discussing the details of my mission via text. Despite being unable to speak, sunids are quick learners and many of them became literate after only a year of study. In fact, Ynol was the first to reach fluency. My mind continued to wander through the pleasant memory of victory as I prepared lunch. My day dream was interrupted when Rilda and Tanya entered the room, laughing about something unimportant. I sat down with my tuna fish sandwich. Rilda and Tanya sat next to me, each with a bowl of chicken soup. Rilda broke the silence. “So... what was that crash I heard a few minutes ago? And all the screaming?” “Don’t worry about it,” I said with a laugh. “I’m worried,” she responded. “Dalton was writing the Pompeii report while I was asleep. Had to put a stop to it.” “Ah, of course.” “At least someone gets it.” Then Tanya chimed in, “If you kill him we’re throwing you off the ship.” I looked pleadingly to Rilda. She just shook her head. “Sorry. I guess if you do kill him you’ll just have to hide the body.” Two losses in ten minutes. Utterly embarrassing. . . . It turns out that even siliphene beds have a wrong side, and that I woke up on it. I stumbled to the dining room and fixed myself a pair of eggs and a few strips of bacon. Nearly five years had passed, and I was ready to sleep in my own bed. The others seemed similarly homesick. Before we could make our return, however, we had to witness the resurrection of Jesus. The prospect of seeing that event was the only kernel of enthusiasm I allowed myself to gnaw on that morning. For over 3,000 years humanity had sought the answer to the question “does God exist?” I would be among the first four people in the universe to know the answer. Breakfast failed to improve my mood, and I followed Dalton to the observatory. Tanya and Rilda were already there, making the final preparations and checking TLG one last time. This would be a difficult event to capture. We would have to confirm the day Jesus was crucified, which would require us to pinpoint his location. Then we would have to follow his burial and watch his grave for at least three weeks to confirm that he didn’t rise. If he rose by that time... well, then this would take quite a while. The messiah could be a quack for all we cared; everyone just wanted to go home. We took our places once more, our minds already considering what to look for and how to parse the event. Today would be the culmination of five years of work. Of all the ground-shaking truths we’d learned over the past half-decade, there was no doubt in the room that this would be the most significant. My fingers tensed. Dalton grimaced next to me. Rilda stared at the largest monitor, and Tanya was visibly fighting to keep her hands from shaking. Finally, she threw back her head and announced: “We have eyes on Jesus.” Over the next few weeks that we spent watching Jesus, I came to understand much of the human struggle. When we finally learned the truth of the resurrection, I found that I was not surprised. Somehow, my mind was at ease. It took Dalton and I nearly a month to put together the report; twice as long as usual. When we finally sent it in we were too spiteful to celebrate. We spent the next month preparing for the return home. Tanya spent the time calculating the jump. Rilda performed a full check of the ship’s systems. She would be our only hope if something went wrong. Meanwhile, Dalton and I finalized our records and made a few edits to our reports. We would update them when we returned home. Finally, the day arrived. I let myself sleep in so that I’d have that much less time to wait before the jump. Each minute took an hour, and each hour seemed endless. I nearly cried when Tanya called us to the flight deck. We were going home. I was the last to arrive. Tanya and Rilda were already at the controls, ready to bring us home. Dalton reclined nearby. “Ready?” asked Tanya. “Ready, ” Each of us confirmed. “Terrific. All crewmates brace for jump.” She activated the spacefold drivers. . . . Two dozen mushroom clouds covered the half of Earth that I could see. “...what’s going on? H-hey, Tanya, why are there... explosions? That’s not... what’s going on?” “Yeah. Tanya, why are we seeing the past?” Stammered Dalton. “Aren’t we supposed to be just a light-second away from Earth?” “We are,” whispered Tanya. “That’s the present.” Rilda forced through clenched teeth.“Why?” “Tanya, what happened?” I asked “I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know.” “Maybe it was us,” said Dalton, putting into words the fear that had gripped the room. “Dalton, be reasonable,” I was talking to myself more than him, “We’ve been out in... in space for five years. How could this be our fault?” “The... report,” he replied. “Christ, the report.” Tanya spoke again, “there’s no way of knowing if that was the cause.” Rilda replied, “we can see into the past. I’m sure we can figure out if our report had anything to do with it.” “What if we travel out a light-month?” I suggested. “Tiliar’s right,” said Dalton, “we should be able to see the Earth immediately before we sent the report. “How long will that take to calculate?” Asked Rilda. “One... one week,” Said Tanya. “Hang on,” I said. “What if we go back a light-month and the Earth really is ok? What if we... really did cause that destruction?” No one offered an answer to my question, and eventually we each wandered back to our rooms. We spent what must have been a week alone with our thoughts. We met sporadically during meals, but even then not a word passed between us. I do not know how much time slipped by before we received the message. *Hello, crew of the Hindsight.* *You were supposed to return home four months ago and witness the apocalypse. I’m very disappointed that you’ve not contacted me. Please acknowledge that you have received this message at your earliest convenience.* *Best,* *Ynol* Dalton responded with an explanation of what had happened when we tried to return to Earth. *Oh, I forgive you, then. I’m glad you’re alive! Otherwise, my whole plan would have been pointless.* *All human life on this planet has been eradicated. I was able to avoid the fallout via my ship. Regrettably, I did not let any of the people at the I.S.O. join me. They have all perished.* What happened? *Oh! Right! You see, I leaked the history of Jesus in order to allow humanity to finally resolve its greatest division: religion.* My stomach fell through the floor upon reading those words. We *were* to blame, and Humanity had been destroyed by accident. *Actually, what I just said is a lie. Did you figure that out? Bet not. Well, it is. I leaked the Jesus report as a catalyst for the destruction of humanity. Now let me talk to Tiliar, I have something I have to ask him.* Dalton turned to me. “...Tiliar? Why does the antichrist know who you are?” The others stared. I couldn’t move. “Ynol... is the name of a sunid I played chess against once while we were training. She’s the only one I ever beat, in fact.” Dalton turned around and continued the conversation. Tiliar says you’re a sunid he beat at chess. *Then he didn’t give you the full story. Yes, we played one game of chess, which he won by a fluke. He then refused a rematch to settle the score. I was upset. Frustrated. I wanted revenge. I asked countless times, and each time he refused me. He’s a spineless coward, and he enraged me. I began to plot.* *Eventually, I learned about* The Looking Glass *and your mission. It was perfect. You’d be out in space. Nowhere to run. Through what Tiliar thought were friendly conversations, I slowly learned the specifics of your mission. I learned your itinerary and the method you were using to see the past. In fact,* The Looking Glass *gave me a fantastic idea for a modified--no, it’s not time to stunningly reveal that just yet. The point is that I completely fooled him; he had no idea of my true motive. I saw my opportunity and took it. I intercepted the report on Jesus. It was as easy as fool’s mating an infant. Since the officials didn’t know anyone outside of them and your crew were even aware of the report’s existence, they didn’t even bother testing for tappers. Once in my possession, I simply duplicated and distributed the report. Faced with the truth of Jesus, humanity could not overcome the division sown by religion, and ended up annihilating itself. I personally exterminated any humans who had managed to survive.* *Each and every step I calculated with outrageous precision. You are now the last humans alive. I am the only one who knows where you can land safely. You are my hostages. I reasoned that under these circumstances, Tiliar would agree to a* *friendly rematch.* *I challenge you, Tiliar Kirphen! Defeat means the extinction of humanity. Victory means a chance to rebuild.* *‘A normal game of chess?’ you ask? No, There will be one difference with this game. Another dimension to its strategy.* . . . *You might want to write this down.* *You will position yourself in an orbit two light-weeks away. You will play white, and will transmit your first move as soon as possible. One week after you send out the transmission, I will send you* my *first move. Two weeks after you have sent your first move, you will send your second. One week after you’ve sent your second move, which will be two weeks after my first move, I will send* my *second. Two weeks after you have sent your second move, you will send your third. One week after you’ve sent your third move, which will be two weeks after my second move, I will send* my *third. Two weeks after you have sent your third move, you will send your fourth. One week after you’ve sent your fourth move, which will be two weeks after* my *third move, I will send* my *fourth. Two weeks after you have sent your fourth move, you will send your fifth. One week after you’ve sent your fifth move, which will be two weeks after my fourth move, I will send* my *fifth. We will each continue to transmit a move every two weeks, offset from each other by one week.* *Do you understand? This rematch will serve as our climactic battle, five years in the making. It couldn’t just be any old game of chess.* The entire conversation felt like a bad dream. I had spent the past four months searching for a reason why humanity would destroy itself. What greater story was the final chapter of humanity a part of? What was the meaning of this grand civilization of hairless apes now that it had collapsed? I had written down countless possibilities while half-hysterical, ranging from denial to rage to acceptance and the rest. Now, Ynol had handed me the truth. Forced it upon me. Humanity had gone extinct so that this sunid could concoct the next revolution in chess. Hands shaking, I took over from Dalton at the keyboard. I accept. *Excellent, Tiliar. Your move.


This weekend my girlfriend's dad wanted to take me fishing - doing that whole clichéd male bonding thing. All good, he's a nice guy so I was in. We drove from just outside Inverness over to the Isle of Skye (Scotland) which I was pretty stoked about because I've never been that far West before. It was a top day; good fishing, decent weather, funny chat - nothing to bother writing a story about on Reddit - until we hit this little pub afterwards. So we go into this pub in Portree, grab a table near the bar and have a few beers. Standard country pub for a Saturday - mix of old regulars, young kids trying to look 18, the local lads in their shit Ben Shermans trying to chat up the local 'talent' who barely have a full set of teeth between them. But I couldn't shake this weird vibe. Like I kept noticing people go quiet when someone else walked by, or people giving each other sideways glances. Nothing directed towards us so I wasn't too wary. Mistake number 1. Anyway, I go up to the bar for another couple beers and the barman offers the usual small talk. 'Just visiting aye?' 'Over from the mainland aye?' 'See the Old Man did ye aye?' Me: 'Yeah man, just over for a spot of fishing.' Mistake number 2. The place goes deathly silent. The barman visibly winces. If it had been a film instead of real life you would have heard a needle scratch over a record. This guy with horrible B.O. storms over to me and grabs my arm painfully. He looks at me like I just shat in his porridge and says through his teeth, 'Live bait right?' Instantly another guy leaps from his chair, crosses the pub in a flash and he's leaning on my other side. He looks the B.O. guy right in his slightly too-far-apart eyes and says 'No. He was fly fishing you prick, right?' I am in complete WTF mode. What are these two on about? Suddenly people all over the bar start chiming in. It was an instant split into two factions. 'Bait is for buffties!' 'Flies are for fags!' 'Bait is a wankers game' 'Shove yer flies up yer arse' Etc Etc It's all kicking off. B.O. boy grabs me, puts his beak right into mine. 'Well?! Bait or fly fishing?' 'F-f-f-ffly?' I stammer. Mistake number 3. Bam - sucker punch right to the eye. Then; pandemonium. It's an instant fist salad in the pub. People shouting, punching, kicking, throwing. It's the freaking wild, wild west coast of Scotland. I stand like a deer in headlights watching this country pub tear itself apart. I stand there uselessly, doing my best lighthouse impression, when a hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me outside in one swift movement. My heads spinning. I am three exits past confused. And can't see the square route of fuck all through one eye. It's the barman who has dragged me out, managing to grab my g/f's dad on the way. The three of us are stood there silent in the cold for what feels like ages, just looking at each other, a mexican stand off of staring. We can hear the mosh of the locals from inside. 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT!?' I finally manage to articulate. The bartender takes his time to catch his breath and stands up calmly. He looks at his pub and shakes his head like he's seen this a million times before, then just calmly says... 'In a Skye full of people, only some want to fly. Isn't that crazy?' 'Crazy.


This is part 1 of a novella that I've been working on. If you like it, link to my recently published book and website are at the bottom. Thanks for reading :)  **1. Routine** The snow had just begun to fall when Jonas opened the tired, wooden door of his cabin and stepped outside, the warmth at his back swallowed instantly by the chilled mountain air. A pair of massive, fur-covered snowshoes jangled restlessly at his side. The sky had taken on an orange tint as the sun sank low in its arc. It was only half-past three and it was clear the days were still growing shorter. In the distance, dark clouds were building. Jonas knew that by nightfall the snow could be several feet deep. While most would have been preparing for the oncoming storm, he felt completely at ease. The worse the weather, the less likely he would be to run into hikers on the upper trails. Tourists tended to turn back at the first sign of inclement weather. Over the years, Jonas had become adept at navigating the mountain through clear skies and whiteouts. He would need to be cautious, but the storm wouldn’t be a problem. The cabin he called home for the last five years was positioned five miles off the nearest hiking trail. The terrain leading to it was largely considered impassable. Occasionally there were some overzealous youths who fancied themselves explorers, but Jonas tried to think about them as little as possible. They never made it very far and ended up paying the ultimate price for their foolishness. He took one last look at the warmth of his cabin windows, picked up his pack, and promised to have a good drink by the fire upon his return. The trees around his cabin shook as the wind blew through them with a hollow whine. Jonas popped in a pair of ear buds and put on a classic rock playlist. The foreboding noises of the forest were drowned out by a riff from Rush. It was a song about warring trees, and he chuckled as he began his walk. The way to the main trail was treacherous, running the gamut between steep ravines and technical, rocky switchbacks. When Jonas had arrived, the path was nearly impassable. Over the years, he had slowly worked away at it, making each trip a little easier, at least for someone who knew his way. For others, one step could mean the difference between life and death. Spending every waking moment on the mountain made Jonas surefooted. Walking through the forest filled him with a sense of pride. He considered how blessed the last five years had been. Back in the city, something as simple as ordering a cup of coffee was a struggle. The navigation of small talk was like strolling through a minefield. Often, by the time he had thought of something to say, minutes had passed and people were staring. As a result, he had made the decision to live reclusively, which, in a small town, wasn’t exactly accepted. While Jonas might have been slightly abnormal in his distaste for conversation, he was otherwise ordinary. He possessed a slightly above-average IQ, moderate good looks, and was tall enough that no one questioned him for long. Overall, he had rolled lucky genetic dice and he hated it. His appearance made others think he was approachable, and that just made things harder. Despite his retreat into the mountains, Jonas had still managed to keep himself clean-shaven, resisting the urge to grow his beard out to mythical proportions. Though he never saw anyone, self-grooming had become a ritual and there was comfort in repetition. On most days, his activities followed a set plan and he took great ease from the structure: no interruptions, no distractions, just life. By the time he reached the main hiking trails, the clear skies had turned slate grey and heavy white flakes were falling intermittently. He stopped, unshouldered his pack, and took out his earbuds with a sigh. The storm would be good for deterring hikers, but it meant he wasn’t going to be leaving any tracks either. *I guess they’ll just have to do with a few slashes and samples.* Jonas’s employers weren’t particular about how he worked, so long as he got the job done. He unclipped the snowshoes and examined them for abnormalities. They had been specially designed to leave authentic footprints; any variation might tip off an eager cryptozoologist to the fallacy. While they were covered in brown fur, the tread had been constructed from an artificial, semi-soft plastic meant to resemble organic material. Jonas wasn’t sure how closely anyone would check the tracks he left, but his employers’ word was law. Satisfied that they were in working order, Jonas strapped the shoes on and pulled the rest of his suit from the bag. To the untrained eye, it might have just appeared to be a bundle of matted fur. To Jonas, it was his second life. With ease, he slipped into the suit, fastened it tight, and pulled up the thick hood. It had been reinforced to make his head appear about twice its normal size and was great for keeping out the chill. The finishing touch to the ensemble was a pair of gloves meant to look like large, furry paws. Embedded in the tip of each finger was a long, razor-sharp claw. He slid his hands in and swiped experimentally at a tree to his left, leaving four long gouges in the bark. The claws tore through the wood like tissue paper, sending strips of wood flying. Satisfied, Jonas grinned. In the suit, he felt more like himself than he did anywhere else. He buried his pack in the snow beneath the tree he had marked and set off. Even with the empty slopes, Jonas kept his performance authentic. His casual walk became a thick lumber, every breath was a primal grunt. Ordinarily he would have stuck to the higher elevation trails, but the weather provided a unique opportunity. The closer he got to the beginner hiking areas, the more likely his samples were to be discovered. *No one makes the History Channel without taking a few risks.* Once he felt he was close enough, Jonas started the real work. For hours he ran through the growing storm, snapping small trees like twigs, slashing at bark, and occasionally ripping out a chunk of fur to leave on a branch. The samples had been custom-curated by his employer to be unidentifiable and able to withstand harsh conditions. The wind whipped, snow fell in heavy flakes, and Jonas listened gleefully as his howls echoed off the empty forest surrounding him. The evening was perfect. He felt a lightness in his heart that was rare, even on the best of days. Jonas turned his head toward the sky to stare into the abyss above and became lost in the snowfall. A blinding white light erupted from the trees, shattering his calm and freezing Jonas in place. *Oh no,* he thought, feeling the happiness melt out of him, leaving behind a cold lump in his chest. The light was unmistakably directed at him, and despite the thicket between him and the source, he knew he had been seen. Knowing already what the answer was, Jonas turned his head to look for the source. Not ten feet away was a frost-covered hiker in a bright orange coat, visibly shivering. *Shit, and today was going so well.* “Hello? Thank goodness I found you, I got lost and can’t seem to make my way back to the main trail.” The hiker’s voice quavered. *How could I have missed him?* The answer was obvious. *You were careless, you stupid son of a bitch.* “Sir, I can see you there. Can you please help me? My cell is dead.” *Turn the light away, idiot.* Jonas could only pretend for so long. “Please help me.” The tremor in his voice grew. *Should have just walked away.* Jonas took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the trees. The white light nearly blinded him and he lifted a massive, fur-covered arm to shield his eyes. At a distance the suit might have seemed intimidating, but in the cold close-up of a flashlight there was no way the hiker would believe it. The hiker stared forward, silent, and confused. Jonas let out what he intended to be a primal yowl, but it died in his throat along the way. *All that practice for nothing.* He stamped the large snow shoes, kicking up miniature flurries, adding to the storm. It did the trick. The hiker turned and started to run. The light of the flashlight was suddenly gone, leaving the forest in full dark once more. Jonas watched as the cone of light bounced away. *Maybe he’ll run off a cliff or freeze to death.* It was no use, he was out of options. The risk of the hiker making it back down the mountain was too great, and his employers had been very specific about loose ends. Jonas steeled himself and took chase. It had taken a while in the early years, but as time passed, he had become quite adept at running in the snowshoes. In no time at all, he caught up to the man who was stumbling and tripping his way through the growing snowpack. “I’m really sorry about this,” yelled Jonas, and he brought one of his clawed hands down in a sweeping arc. It caught the hiker across the back, splashing hot blood across the snow in garish red stripes. The hiker screamed and fell to his knees, clutching where he had been struck. A pool of red began to form around him, melting the fresh snow. Jonas had cut deep. The hiker gagged and spluttered, trying desperately to breathe but inhaling only his own blood. He pressed one gloved hand to the wound and reached out to Jonas with the other as if still expecting help. His eyes bulged, pleading, and terrified. “Jesus,” Jonas muttered. “I really am sorry about that.” He always tried to make the end as quick as possible but had missed his mark this time. The end was bad enough when the executioner was a professional. He took aim, careful and precise this time, and plunged his claws through the back of the hiker’s neck, ending his life with a hollow gurgle. Time slowed for a minute and the forest went silent. Jonas was alone once again. *Each time it gets a little easier.* Pulling the claws out, he sat back in the snow, panting and watching the steam rise into the air. Dizziness and nausea swept over him. Botched kills were never easy to look at. Hot frustration bubbled up from inside. “That’s why there are signs, moron!” he yelled to the quickly freezing corpse. “Don’t stay in the park after dark!” If the people of Clearwater just obeyed the rules, there would be far less bloodshed. Their ignorance as always astounded Jonas. For a few minutes, he just stood there, next to the body, catching his breath. He might have been good at it but running in the suit was no easy feat. The storm had briefly abated, allowing pale moonlight to illuminate the scene. It was grizzly but looked genuine. Despite the ugly nature of it, Jonas had done his job and done it well. He took off one of his gloves and pulled out a cell phone. With frozen fingers, he typed: “Bigfoot kills again. Third hiker found on the north side of the mountain this year.” He looked it over, added his GPS location, and pressed send.


I was out with the Doc enjoying a blowfish dinner course : blowfish sashimi with sudachi lime, blowfish hotpot, blowfish gonads ( surprisingly good ) and blowfish tempura, all washed down with hirezake ( blowfish fins set alight in sake). It was a hell of a spread. During our conversation, he mentioned Kamikochi, a mountain resort nestled in the Alps. ‘One of the great Japan views!’, he exclaimed, red-faced from drink, whilst picking a blowfish bone out of his teeth. His eyes shone. I remembered the conversation and took a bus to Kamikochi in June 2020. The bus crawled through a forest and up a winding mountain road into a big empty car park with a view of white-capped mountain peaks in front of it and an ethereal blue river that wound its way down through the valley. The bus dropped us off and drove away again leaving just me and a handful of hikers there. The hikers seemed prepared. They threw on MontBell backpacks, adjusted the laces in their boots, pulled up their thick socks, and disappeared into the forest like a platoon of elves, the gentle tinkle of their bear bells getting quieter and quieter until there was no sound at all. I stood in the car park alone and stared at the expanse in front of me. The Doc was right, it really was something else. I walked up to a nearby wooden tourist cabin and left my luggage with a lady at the counter, and the only person in the whole center as far as I could tell. I went outside again and walked through a gathering of pines into the morning sunshine, my feet scrunching cones, until I came to a bridge. Water rushed underneath it and there was a symphonic buzz of insects. On the bridge stood two old ladies nattering away, bent and jovial. They moved off to the side of the bridge and studied a burst of colorful flowers, like two wizened gnomes selecting ingredients for an evening recipe. I walked deeper into the forest. The trees were older there and an ancient mossy rock face slid out from under a gurgling small stream and rose up above the trees. I reached an out-of-season campsite, leaned up against one of the empty huts there and cracked open a small bottle of sake that I had brought with me. I shook it and the white residue at the bottom of the bottle dispersed evenly creating a milky cloud. The alcohol, sweet and smooth in taste, swirled into my veins and I walked on with new momentum and purpose. The land soon became marshy and mucky and a wooden platform which I strode down, went through the middle of it all. The water on each side was thick with reeds but the few intervals of open water that there were, reflected the alpine landscape beautifully - a serene glimmering of whites and blues. The marsh ended and my feet hit sturdier ground again. I passed a hornet’s nest high up a tree to the left, perfectly round and smooth, like a hairless coconut. The path came out into an opening. I crossed a small bridge with a shallow stream dribbling beneath it. The path then bent sharply to the left and that’s when I saw it. About 50 meters ahead, a large bear emerged out of the long grass to the right of the path and strode regally across it, its head down, sniffing the ground. I froze in shock and disbelief. It’s bulky body rippled as it shifted its weight from paw to paw. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen in the wild and I suddenly felt very small. I had of course seen a bear in the zoo, or on TV before, but not here, in the forest, on its own turf. It seemed to not have seen me yet, or at least it was giving off that impression. And it appeared to be a very clever animal too. Its fur had a dark reddish hue under the direct sunlight. This threw me initially, for I’d always presumed that should I ever encounter a black bear in Japan, it would be black as the night. But not the case at all, apparently. I stood still as a rock, then turned slowly and started walking back in the direction I had come, taking great care not to make any sudden movements. My back now faced the bear, something you should never do, or so they say. Well, good luck following that rule next time you see a bear in the woods! I picked up pace and looked back, half expecting to see the thing racing towards me, all muscle, tooth and claw. Pure fear and imagination took over - Thoughts of how silly I was to be there, alone, in that forest at all. And what an awful demise probably awaited me. I shrunk in shame at the stories people would tell.. ‘Hey do you remember Simon who went to Japan? He was killed by a bear!’ And how slow and painful it would be. These thoughts reeled through my mind like pictures in a slideshow but as they did, my feet put more and more distance between me and the beast, and fear quickly changed to relief when I saw the bridge ahead, and then bigger waves of relief arrived when I actually crossed it and came back to the campsite. I threw off my bag and breathed in lungfuls of sweet air. Five minutes had barely passed when the ground started to shake. Just my luck, an earthquake! The tin rooves of the empty huts all around me, rattled and pine cones fell out of the swaying trees. Three or four large boulders slipped off the mountain side and plopped into the river, one by one, the water swallowing them with ease. And then as they often do, the earthquake stopped as quickly as it had started. I picked up my bag and walked back to the tourist cabin. It was only 1pm but I’d had enough of the mountains for one day. Two days later, safely back in Tokyo, and very glad to be there, I might add, the TV news reported that a bear had mauled and killed a jogger in his 70s in a village about 40 km away from Kamikochi. Adult bears are known to walk up to that distance in a day. So it isn’t too far-fetched to imagine that that was my bear. So do be careful when you’re out walking in the mountains.


Mama always told me I was too naive. She said that my dysfunctional brain would soon enough be fucked by someone more defective than myself, and sure enough, she was right. She would always insult me under her breath, you know? But I loved my mama, the same way she loved me. I remember the way that she would pull my hair, as she brushed it, the innocent reminder that she was in charge no matter the circumstances. I thanked her, I really did. I let her know how grateful I was that she made me into who I am today. I would ́ve never been this strong without her. Small town, small circles. Just like the movies, mama left me out of her circle. Forced me to fend for myself, running around back and forth trying to find where I belong. Then he came, he was new and shiny, the girls fawned over him the same way they would a new shade of lipstick in the shops. He was special, different. The way his hair fell over his eyes whenever he would laugh. Although I hated to admit it, I wanted him. I was ready to accept the defect to my dysfunction, so I did, and he was mine. I’m sorry you only got to meet him once mama, you really would’ve loved him. He was a lot like you, the constant criticism of my maladaptive behavior, rarely letting him touch me. Until he did it, he pulled my hair just as you did the reminder of who was in possession of the power. It was him, and I immediately gave into that power. I gave into him, I let him own me, just the way you did. The only difference was, I liked the way he possessed my body, my soul, and every little part of me. I loved him. You always told me to trust the stranger, not the friend. What reason does the stranger have to hurt you? What grief have you caused them, as you caused to the closer people in your life? Unless you’re a movie character and you accidentally murdered their cousins, wifes, son in the absurd family tree, they have no reason to hold a grudge against you. But since the day I met him, I knew he wasn’t one to trust. Which made him all the more thrilling, everything inside of me told me to follow him, to love him. To love him the way that I needed to be loved, cradled with an undying partnership, based on your brain rather than your heart. I shared my secrets with him, not entrusting them but no longer caring whether or not they were known. I knew that he would do anything for my sake, which amounted in my curiosity in which he would kill for me? Was he willing to give up his sanity for the dysfunctional woman he met in this new town? Was I willing to put up with the defect that could ultimately put us both in an abundance of danger? We were inseparable, every part of me had a need to be close to him, crying out in agony when he was away. Goosebumps would arrive in my arms when he was near. Hair raising as he touched my back. The dopamine rushed throughout my body when his fingers wrapped around my neck. He craved violence, and I craved him. His sadist ways brought out my submissive nature whenever he was around. I would cry and beg for him to do as he pleased, wanting to make him proud, wanting his protection. I wanted your protection mama, I wanted love and care and yet you gave me shit advice and an eating disorder. My entire life was spent looking up to you, wishing to be the one forcing them out of my circle. I wanted to be you. I wanted every ounce of your power and presence. The way people would shiver as you walked into the room, jealousy turning the walls green with every step you took. The sun seemed to follow you as you walked. Your own personal light flooding into your eyes, the bright blue color sparkling like a broken glacier, holding itself up in the ocean, while everything around it tried to make it drown. But you never did, mama you always stayed afloat. Like a nagging pest that just wouldn’t leave no matter how hard you tried. Every attempt I managed at your life was counteracted by the forces of nature that always seemed to be on your side. Everyone was always on your side. Everyone loved you mama. But you never had any room for me. All I wanted was for you to love me. Then he came, then he swooped me up into his arms and gave me all the attention he could muster. I was the center of the universe. I was now the sun, turning my back on you just as everyone else did when you began to lose your shine. I loved him and he loved me. I loved you mama and you loved me. So when the sharp and silver blade plunged into your chest I hope you knew it was love, impaling you. The way he licked up your blood gave me the largest sense of admiration for you mama. For once you were providing for me in a way you never had. You made him happy mama, you should’ve seen the joy in his eyes as your liquids pooled below my feet, his tongue sliding up my thigh, traces of red following closely behind. The most erotic and fullfilling sense of comfort i’ve ever experienced. Everything in me wanted to scream in pleasure as your skin parted for the blade. As effortless as it would be to slice through a fruit. Now guess what mama? I’ve made you proud, I finally did it. Everybody fucking loves me. Everyones eyes follow where I walk everyones mouths drop when I look. I took your advice mama. Thank you.


My parents always talked about this and how this was their dream or maybe they meant the dream of the general populace. They thought, “besides teleportation, you could go anywhere you wanted at a much faster rate”. They didn’t think they’d see this in their lifetime, it was already seemingly impossible for the previous generation from my parents’ to have an electric car but when I was born, that was the first thing they purchased. “Safest on the market at the time,” my dad would say. As I kept aging, I guess the leaps and bounds in technology was just standard for me. My parent’s said they were alive when the Internet started which I found hard to believe until I looked it up. On road trips, I would watch shows anywhere we were and it was just a norm for me. On this day, even I did not believe it to be a norm. As usual, I started with my breakfast, morning caffeine, today I chose lemon bark coffee and I swear, it tastes like regular coffee but it doesn’t make me all nervous and junk. Anyway, went off to the store in preparation; I love road trips since my parents would always take me on them throughout my growing years and now with this car, I was able to visit them every month. My mom was scared of my car and my dad was so excited and wanted one. The only bummer he felt was he had no idea how to work on it, fix it, or tune it up so it felt like a distant invention rather than a project when something would go amiss. I prepped with groceries, too many snacks, I had enough of my pills for a little over a week-long visit, and plenty of drinks. My car had enough to make it to my usual stops before needing more juice. There were stops I often made along the way in the same towns but today I felt adventurous. I had more time off and I figured it could be fun. Takeoff time is much easier because after getting what you need for your vehicle, each type of vehicle used a different fuel source, you could just drive far enough away from the juice station to clear a path and float until you reached a safe height before flying off. Traffic is not as much an issue as I’ve heard it was in decades past but we do rely heavily on computers of each system to talk to one another to direct properly. Mine ran on electricity; I chose this because there were more stop options versus other kinds such as juiced grass, gasoline (only the very rich and pompous really got those), and the like. I chose this because just like the option to stop often if needed, my dad drilled safety into my head. I tried my absolute best but in the end, the unpredictable can never be planned. I have only four stops before reaching my parents’ if I don’t rush and allow the car to cruise along it’s destination. I made one stop shortly before entering the state north of my own, got some snacks (yes I stocked up before leaving but I’ve got a problem with road trip snacks), used the restroom, and got some incredibly strange looks. I am not normally the type to be full of myself, I am very aware that my car would be considered a luxury in the past but it was a middle class item in my day and age. I had been to this stop many times before and it was so strange to encounter people who looked like they were upset with me. My car was done charging and I set the next stop and took off. This new stop was the first new one and the town looked awful compared to my usual places. It was a tad creepy with it’s dilapidated structures surrounding the gas station and roads that seemed to go on forever without facilities in sight. I didn’t try to focus too much on it and stopped to charge. I didn’t feel like walking around this location and decided it was best to wait for my next stop before exploring again. So much for adventurous, I know. This was just not what I was thinking when I was planning on new places. Stop three seemed to have gotten worse and although my onboard computer claimed there was a charger, I couldn’t find one. The place was better maintained but felt so dated. Thankfully, I just wanted to stop to use the restroom and I had enough charge to make it another stop. I did my business, asked if I was headed the right way and got a very excited confirmation. It was eerie, as though this person were more a creature, a robot of sorts created for the sole purpose of excitement building for the customer. I shook it off and went on my way. I wanted to have fun but also wanted to keep my parents in the know of my progress. I sent them a message and took off again. Stop four seemed so retro. There were buildings around from the 1960’s and they were well maintained. I took out my personal charger and plugged in to a nearby outlet since, again, there were no official chargers around. I had to report the computer in my car as it seemed to be on the fritz. I probably should stick to stops I knew to work for the trip from here on out. An adventure could be had when my arrival wasn’t anticipated by the biggest worry warts of this generation. Don’t get me wrong, I love when my parents show how much they care but I do not want to make them worry. People were really nice in this part anyway. They had all sorts of puns around hinting at aliens being a big attraction. Suddenly, when putting my hand in the “touch an alien” box, I heard loud screaming and ran outside. Someone had tried to unplug my car, no doubt trying to either take the juice for their own or my cord. I bought the protective add-on which heated up the cord to unbearable temperatures should it be handled without my approval. My alarm was going crazy as well and I went up to it to shut it off. The man began yelling at me, saying I was stealing his power. I assumed from that encounter that this part of the country hadn’t approved free electricity. I apologized, phased my newly purchased items into the trunk grid and hopped back in. As I took off, I could see cars galore coming and going through that location, all driving from long distances away. I assumed from this as well that they wanted to stick to their dated technologies. That would definitely explain the electrical predicament. My final stop before reaching my parent’s would have to be skipped. I was feeling uncomfortable and my parents would let me charge. I did not know my fifth stop so it wasn’t worth the weirdness I might encounter. Still, even with the skipping of stops, the strangeness grew. I landed onto the street a couple blocks from my parents’ and began the short drive on wheels. I knocked on the door and some tiny boy answered. I recognized him but couldn’t place from where. I know my parents work a day care from their home and figured I must have seen him on one of my video calls. I introduced myself and he ran off excitedly to get my parents as requested. When he returned, I was enjoying the sight of times past when I heard, “I didn’t know I had an older brother!” I turned back and fear set in... the little one was me. My parents were about twenty years younger by the guess of my age from the little one. I did not have a memory of this event but I was suddenly dizzy. I stepped back and fell off the small step leading to the door. Sirens came ringing into my skull and I saw police pull up. Retro car, a Crown Victoria. I remember my father talking about this dream car of his when I was little. The officer pulled his gun and demanded that I state my business... I had never been threatened and I could not understand why it was happening now. It was too short a time for my parent’s to make the call. My parents looked at me and quickly let the officer know I was using an experimental aircraft from the Air Force whose base was a couple miles away. The officer looked reluctant but pulled his gun down and called on his radio... on his shoulder, not his neck device. More confirmation, I was somehow in the past. My parents brought me water and a chair. They were consoling me and told me I looked so much like them there was no doubt of who I am. My mouth refused to move the water down my throat, my hands would not stop trembling. *** It has been a full day since I landed and I have not yet ceased to exist. I write this as a memento, if needed, I need this knowledge so the boy will grow up and avoid the mistake I have made. I do not know what to do from here, whom to speak with or where to turn. If I spawn an idea, I will journal it so someone may know of what has transpired. If these are my last words, I may have disappeared whether by time-space conflict or I may have been kidnapped. I suspect I may be the one heard of long ago that was experimented on, a man that came from the sky. No one knew of his fate and no one cared to ask enough to find out because he sounded to be of myth. Wish me luck and please, save the boy from this fate. *** Fully charging still didn’t take long as my vehicle didn’t require very much. I had hoped that driving back might be what could return me to my time. My father worried it could make things worse but I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do now as it is. I flew off and kept flying following my onboard computer until I felt it was safe looking enough to land. Unfortunately, it never felt safe enough and I kept getting worried so, not paying enough attention led to my computer blaring, warning me that landing was necessary. I landed in what looked like a fairly populated area. These men with big blocks ran over and held them to their face. Lights flashed when I stepped out of my car. Everyone was dressed in suits and uniforms, even more dated than what I had seen previously. Guns came up and aimed directly at me. I raised my arms in surrender and asked more out of fearful confirmation than curiosity. Everyone looked confused like they couldn’t believe I was speaking to them. One man finally stepped forward and offered the newspaper, seemingly curious if I could understand. It was from the previous day... The date written was Monday, July 7, 1947. If I would have paid more attention and not let fear get to me, I might have been able to avoid landing in Roswell.