Let me start by saying I wrote this a few years ago when my little brother attempted suicide. I was in a bad place at the time and needed and outlet. Writing has always been one for me along with music, videogames and hiking. The escaping reality feeling has always helped, but this time it wasn't. This is about a veteran struggling with discharge from the military, his life experience and how the va treats us. I've always intended to write more part (4-5 total) but never get the time. Please let me know what you guys think here. PART ONE This is a story about how PTSD effects a persons mind... Let me stop here quickly and say everything that will be stated has happened to many veterans. The VA administration does not care about us. I am not personally complaining about the things that happen to us. Yes we all made a choice to serve our country. It not that the claims that we put in are denied either. It is the fact that every time we, as veterans, need help, we are forced to go through extra steps to get ANY KIND of help at all. People think that the military takes care of us and we get massive amounts of money, the issue is that what people are being told about what happens to us IS NOT TRUE. This story is hopefully going to help people understand the thought process of someone with PTSD, it does not make you violent, it does not cause people around to get hurt. The problem is the miscommunication with the civilian population about PTSD. PTSD is post traumatic stress disorder. ANYONE can have it from ANYTHING they have seen or personally been through that would put an extreme amount of stress on ones mental state. PTSD is more about depression and reliving the things you have been through to the point you break yourself down mentally. In this story the issue was that "Jeffery" thought he was alone, when in fact he wasn’t. The military takes care of our own, there are multiple groups out there that help veterans and families that are faced with experiencing PTSD within their homes. We take care of our brothers and sisters. WE are the ones that help. The VA takes credit for everything good that happens with a veteran, but when a veteran decides to take their life they REFUSE to take responsibility for the care they refused that person.... The biggest issue with our current generation is that they don’t realized that the ones that love you most are the ones willing to fight the most for you. There once was a soldier who had served nearly three decades in the military. This persons name was Jeffery James. Jeffery had served multiple deployments and had many near death experiences while on each of his deployments. Anyone that ever spoke to Jeffery never seemed to have anything bad to say about him. Though his subordinates seemed to sometimes have fearful thoughts about him, but they could never place why... until one day... This particular day, Jeffery had been out running errands. He had to go to the bank one day and in the process of being there he had noticed, out of the corner of his eye that there was a man with a revolver under his coat. Jeffery had been armed this particular day, he thought something seemed off for some reason. He seemed very anxious and couldn't place why. He didn't know what the cause of it was and he had contacted everyone he could and asked if they were all okay. Everyone had responded to him telling him that they were all fine. The one person he didn't check on.. was himself.. (People may think that saying he didn't check on himself may sounds kind of dumb, the thing is.. soldiers are trained to "check" on themselves in the attempt to make sure they have complete mental awareness of what they are doing and thinking. The issue was that on this day.. he didn't do this). As he saw this man he instantly proceeded to responded to the man as if he was a threat. Jeffery pulled his sidearm, as he was reaching for it the man attempted to reach into his coat and grab his revolver, the problem was that the man didn't have enough time to respond... The man was shot once, one shot straight to the mans femoral artery... as the mans body crumpled to the floor, Jeffery noticed that the man had a police badge. Jeffery instantly thought that he had made a mistake, He knew he was going to be labeled as a "cop killer" by the media. He knew he had misread the situation, his anxiety had gotten the best of him, and by allowing it to do so he knew he was going to jail. He was afraid of what was to come. As the man hit the floor, his body lie limp, with the mans badge and wallet near where his body had landed Jeffery ran to the man. The people in the bank started screaming. With all the yelling and crying going on, even though he had just assaulted this man, Jeffery proceeded to try and attempt first aid. Jeffery Immediately unclipped his belt and pulled his belt off, attempting to make a tourniquet for the man. Jeffery pleaded with the officer to hold on until paramedics would respond. Jeffery's pleading was heard to no avail because the man had bleed out. As officers responded to the scene at the bank, they questions Jeffery whom stated he was a retired veteran. The police thanked him for his service but inquired more deeply into why Jeffery had shot the officer. Jeffery had told them that he had only seen the weapon and that the officer had reached into his coat, He had thought that the officer was reaching for his weapon and he had responded accordingly. He was remorseful for what he had done but the problem was that he had shot an officer of the law and that he was now under investigation for what had conspired. As he was placed in handcuffs he seemed to blackout, he thought about his deployments, how so many near death moments had adversely affected his mental state, he started to question if any person he had every harmed really deserved what he had done to them. He attempted to count the bodies that lie at his feet in this moment, he thought about how many lives he may have taken unjustly. With no one to talk to about what he was going on he attempted to push it to the back of his mind. As Jeffery came to he realized he was in a cell at the police station with an officer telling him "You are being detained until we can go back and watch the footage of what happened". He understood this and thought that he would be okay, the way it looked to him, he had in fact done the right thing. The issue was that he couldn't have been anymore wrong at that moment. Over the next Seventy-two hours he barely slept. His thoughts had messed with his mind. His mind was going in overdrive thinking about everything that had happened in his career. He though about the times he "smoked" his soldiers and about the times he had taken direct action against another human being. He wondered if he might have misread those situations as well. If he had taken a life that wasn't doing anything harmful to him or anyone else. Perhaps the people he thought were placing mines we not actually doing what he thought. Perhaps the contractors working on his FOB we not actually conspiring against the military. As he lie awake thinking about everything, he started to second guess everything that had happened over the years. He thought that he may have in fact misread every moment something happened and by doing so what he perceived as a threat, might not have been anything more than a friendly gesture. -Twenty years later- Jeffery had been tried and charged for the murder of an officer of the law. He was getting out of prison today. He tried to think about everything that had happened over the last two decades. He had been able to watch the news while in his cell. He saw how America had declined over the time, he thought about trying to help with what had been going on but he could not think of a way to do so. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and walked out the exit gate of the prison. As he did one of the guards asked him "So what are you going to do now?" Jeffery shrugged and said "I have no idea, I have no family, no home, no job, nothing... I'm a soldier though. Trained to push though the adversity and find a way to deal with the issues at hand." The officer make a short chuckle and told him "good luck". Jeffery walked for hours though downtown Detroit. He was right, he didn't have any family, no home, no food, no job, nothing. He didn't have any idea no what he was going to do. He left like how he did when he was getting out of the Army twenty years ago. They had giving him outdated information and told him good luck. The prison had done the same thing during his rehabilitation processing. Jeffery found a bridge and gathered his few belongings near him and settled there for the night, As he lie there falling asleep he thought again about how he may have made a horrible mistake all those times and if he would ever he able to make amends with what he had done. The problem was that Jeffery had done what he thought was right in every situation. He continued to question his choices until he fell asleep that night. As Jeffery awoke the next day he realized some of his belongings were missing. He wondered how it had happened, had he slept that soundly? How had someone come along and took his stuff without him waking up? He for once didn’t have an answer. As the day went by, Jeffery had went to the Local VA office and attempted to sign up for housing assistance and benefits, since he was still on terminal leave when the shooting occurred he hadn't been allowed to have access to a computer to be able to sign up for them. As he walked in he noted that the hospital had a strange odor to it, it reminded him of death. The smell of putrid corpses. He couldn’t understand why the hospital would have such an odor to it. He also noticed that other veterans would look at him strangely as he looked around trying to figure out where to go. As he walked he eventually found the "help desk" and asked them "Excuse me miss, how do I enroll for benefits?" she quickly responded in a somewhat forceful tone "You need to go online ASAP and enroll on our sister website called 'E-benefits'. It is there to help US process your claims quicker. Just go somewhere and fill out the forms and send in a copy of your discharge papers." Jeffery was confused on why he would have to go though all the extra work where there was a sign just down the hall that read "claims" on it. He thought a moment on how to ask this quest, then thought against it and asked, "Miss, if I don’t have resources to get a copy of my paperwork or internet access, how do I go about filing a claim?' The lady responded quickly again "You need to contact the head office of VA affairs in DC to get a copy of them then. You will need to write a written request with all of your information and dates of service, then go to your local library and file the claim." Jeffery was somewhat upset with the things she said and it didn’t make any sense why he had to go trough all the extra steps. Why couldn’t he just go down the hall and get it done. They should have access to his records, right? He just decided to leave and do as she stated. He had just gotten out of prison, he didn’t want to seem angry and cause problems. -Two days later- Jeffery sat at a local coffee shop writing his request. He put all information he thought was needed to get ahold of his paperwork. The issue was that he needed an address to have them sent to. When he was sentenced his home was sold by the bank. He didn’t have an income to pay his bills with so he understood why it was done. As he finished his letter he put a phone number on the letter and asked that they call him at the local pay phone so he could explain his situation. He didn’t know how they would respond to his request. He had been staying under the same bridge for the past few days. His thoughts kept haunting him. He felt like he was loosing his grip on his sanity. Every time he had a moment he would think back to the moments he acted, to the lives he had taken. He kept thinking he may have made the wrong choices. He wished he had gotten married, had children, a family. He had almost married once while he was in the service, but he deployed and while he was gone, his fiancé had cheated on him. As soon as he found out he was home on leave and found her at home with another man, enraged he hit the man and left. How could she be in HIS home and do such a thing. He didn’t understand the simple things in life, or how someone could betray another person like that. Unsettled by the memory of her, he pushed the thought to the back on his mind. He sealed the letter and placed it in the drop slot of a local postal box. -Three weeks later- Jeffery had went by the VA hospital a few more times over the past few weeks. Every time he had went there, they had told him "We have not received any file on you from D.C. still, we don’t have any idea when the paperwork will come in. Its not that we're saying you're not a veteran, but normally the paperwork would have been here by now." He was hurt by these people trying to "help" him saying this to him. He tried to recall what the Army had told him about the VA. He thought he remember them saying that they always helped and when he got out, his file would be in the VA system. It seemed that the information he was given was wrong. He was hurting, he needed someone to talk to. He needed help. His pride was the only thing that kept him going right now. One thing could change his entire mindset. He needed help now. The problem was that the VA seemed to be having "issues" with the paperwork. Jeffery went across town to try and find the local hospital to inquire about getting seen by a mental health specialist. After hours of walking he finally found his way there. As he walked in the first thing he noticed was the smell again. The same exact smell that the VA hospital had. He walked in pushing the smell to the back of his mind. He asked to talk to someone because he had been thinking about harming himself recently. The nurse asked "How often do you think you have these thoughts? Just about everyday for the past twenty years... Really? Is the first time you are thinking about getting treatment? Yes... Okay, I will need you for you to go a few windows down and have them put your insurance information into our system and we can start getting you help sir." Jeffery thought about it for a moment and realized he didn’t have insurance, he proceeded to walk out the door when the nurse asked, "Sir, where are you going?" "I do not have insurance." Jeffery replied. He continued to walk out the door, the nurse picked up the nearby phone and spoke to someone. At this point, Jeffery was outside and headed down the sidewalk away from the hospital. As he was walking a police cruiser pulled up. Two officers got out of the vehicle and approached Jeffery. One of the officer asked how he was and why he was at the hospital. Jeffery told them that he came to try and get help for what he was going through. The other officer spoke up quickly, "What's your name man?" "Jeffery James" "Hmmm... Do you have any kind of identification on you, Mr. James?" "Sadly no, I just got out of prison three weeks ago." "What you were in prison for?" "I... I was involved in a incident in a bank here in Detroit 20 years ago.. I... I have made a mistake and misread a situation and shot an officer..." The first officer slowly reached towards his sidearm and unlatched his holster, prepared for what may happen. The second officer, put his hand out and said, "Let me talk to him. See what happened more in depth. Sometime we hear only certain parts of what is going on." The fist officer responded with a nod and said "I'm here if you need me.. Just say the word..." The second officer nodded and walked to Jeffery. As they spoke, Jeffery told him of the entire day and what he thought he saw that horrible day. He explained that his anxiety had gotten the best of him and that he had acted irrationally. The officer whom was also a veteran, told Jeffery that "sometimes we allow our emotions to dictate who we are as human beings. What we THINK we see isn't always how it happened." This may Jeffery even more upset. Though he didn’t show it, his thoughts were flooding back to him. How he may have made the wrong choices on those deployments, that he may have given the wrong orders to his soldiers and how they got injured or worse. Jeffery was in tears. The officer asked "What's wrong?" Jeffery asked, "How do you determine if you made the right or wrong decisions? How do you know that what you told someone to do was the right thing?" "I don’t.. I know that’s not the answer you are looking for, but at the end of the day we did what we thought was right. How many people could handle what we have been though? How can we second guess ourselves when we have a mission? That mission to try and keep every single soldier with us alive when we leave that FOB. We cant allow ourselves to question out decisions the day before. I hate to say it, but during that time we have to be numb. By allowing our emotions to dictate who we are and how we act will take more lives then save them." The officer replied. Jeffery had never thought about war in this way. It shed new light on the situation he was experiencing. He had never had someone to talk to about these things. The military always said for you to go to Mental Health If you were having a rough time, but Jeffery knew what would come of it. He knew they would label him. He knew they would secretly whisper behind his back. His platoon would fall apart by thinking he would fail them. He needed to be strong during those rough times. He was the person who was put in that positon to keep order within his platoon. As he was thinking to himself the officer placed his hand on Jeffery's back and asked him "Where do you live?" "No where at the moment. I have no home. No Surviving family." Jeffery said quietly. He didn’t realized that depression had kicked in since he had gotten out of prison. He didn’t continue to pay attention to his mental state. The officer noticed this and told Jeffery, "Here is what we are going to do for you. There is a half-way house just up the road, we will take you up there tonight if you are willing and get you a roof and warm food in your stomach. " Jeffery smiled a bit and thanked to officer for what he was doing for him. The officer had kept his word and got him into the shelter. He had also gave Jeffery his cell phone number to call in the event anything happened to him. Over the next few months the officer checked up on him at the shelter making sure he was doing well and not getting into any trouble. Jeffery started to build a bond with the officer. That bond kept growing. He helped Jeffery get an ID card and gave him a part time job at his home after getting to know him more. He thought Jeffery was a great person but internally was hurting, the biggest problem was that even with talking Jeffery seemed to still be struggling internally. The officer didn’t know how to really going about helping Jeffery, he had went to DHS and tried to get him state help. They said they couldn’t help. Since Jeffery didn’t have enough paperwork to prove he was whom he claimed to be, they couldn’t do anything. The officer tried over and over to get him help, but every time it seemed he hit a wall. -Two years later- Jeffery still had not heard anything from the VA about his benefits, but had gotten a job and a vehicle all while keeping in touch with his friend. His friend had helped him so much over the last two years to get him to where he was today. He had a small apartment, a shitty job, but a job nonetheless and a vehicle that was able to get him to and from work. Jeffery on the way to the officers home to see if he had work was stopped about a block out. He noted there was police tape all around a cruiser but didn’t know why it was there. He got our of his car and approached one of the officers guarding the area to make sure people didn’t enter and asked "What happened here? Did the officer get hurt? I have a friend I have been working on the force for the past few years that lives just up the road, was he involved at all?" The officer quickly replied "Are you Mr. James?" "Yes, why?" Jeffery asked. The officer told him to go to the station house, an investigator had something for him. Jeffery went to the station and asked who he needed to speak to involving an accident. The clerk directed him to the investigators office and told him to wait outside. Eventually the investigator appeared and told him to come in. They talked to a little while and handed him a note that had a hand print on the out side of the white envelope that read: "TO Mr. Jeffery James." Jeffery asked "Is this needed for evidence?" The investigator answered "You need to read what is in there... it will do you some good I hope..." Jeffery looked questioningly at the officer and opened the letter that read: "Brother, This is for you. I have seen your struggle lately, Even with everything that has happened to you over the past few months, I have also been struggling. I want you to know that my family left me, my wife took the kids and the car last week with the divorce. The house is still in my name and my will has been changed to say that YOU and ONLY YOU are to have the home with all furnishings. Everything in the home is to belong to you. If anyone demands that this home belongs to them, send them straight to my lawyer and contact her directly and tell her that this letter was left for you. She has the spare key to my home. I want you to know, even though it came down to this, you are family. Family does not let each other fail. Even though I hid what was going on with me, I have but one condition for you to keep this home. We all struggle from time to time, we all have our issues and personal demons we face everyday. Some of us get eaten alive them, others fight back and win. You are the fighter. I want you to help our family out brother, help them like I helped you, even though I made this choice and refused to show you what was truly going on with me, you still helped me over these past two years. You got to know who I am as a person. You got to see a side of me, that people haven't seen since I served. I want you to know, that the day you got injured in 1980 in Bosnia it was because of me. I refused to listen to your orders and by doing so, it cause you to be harmed. When you told me who you were two years ago outside of the hospital I knew who you were. That same injury is why you lost your memory, I knew you couldn’t remember who I was. I knew it was the greatest leader I had ever came across in years. You taught me how to be a great leader even with knowing how the real world was and how people were. You taught us what it meant to care about one another. That our platoon was a family. If the weakest link in that family failed, the ENTIRE family worked together at once to fix the broken link by hand. A family takes care of things 'in house' and by doing so it builds trust. Trust that is needed in our line of work. For the past two years I lied to you. I lied and refused to tell you what had happened. By doing so it ate me alive. It truly did. It ate at me so much that I will end up taking my life today during a traffic stop. This note will be left on me to show that even though I made a horrible mistake back then that could have taken your life, that you are still here making a tremendous impact on people lives. Sincerely SSGT Mark Johnson" Jeffery was fraught with guilt. He had never noticed that his platoon was around him. He finally saw after all this time that he and the others had been fighting along side one another. Just like every other time. He trained these guys that they were a family. He instilled it into them, that FAMILY ALWAYS came first. That family did not have to be related to you at all. Family was the bond you built with those around you. FAMILY were the ones that were ALWAYS there to help you in the roughest of times. His family was and had ALWAYS been all around him. Jeffery turned to his old friend, face full of tears and said "We WILL fix ourselves together like always. I wish I had noticed sooner about what was going on. I have gotten complacent over the years. It is not just me though. ALL of us have. We must band as one again and make us a full family. We must reach out to all of us. We are ALL a family, regardless of if we directly served together or not!" -END PART ONE- While you have been reading this there are over 300,00 homeless veterans sleeping on the streets. The worst part is that number continues to rise. Over 1.4 million veterans are at risk of becoming homeless. More than 67% of homeless veterans currently on the street have served our country for at least three years, these people have given everything and we as a society continue to fail them. The moral of this story was to directly show HOW PTSD affects ones mind set and causes those who suffer from it differntly. No two people that suffer from PTSD experience the same exact mindset. EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT. PTSD affects us like we have different opinions and situations. We might not like what someone else says but no two people feel EXACTLY the same about what was said and a situation. Some of you may see this as helpful, others may want MY personal experience. What happens, happens. At the end of the day we ALL need to band together. WE ARE A FAMILY. WE ALL may have served in different capacities but we all fought the for the same outcome. We left behind our loved ones to fight for a war that we didn’t actually understand. Even though we did that and may have never met IN PERSON, but we all are a family. Regardless of any differences we all want the same thing. To help out brothers and sister in their time of need. This may just be part one of what I am doing, but I hope it sheds some light on the issues we as veterans face.


The farther I look the more the tunnel shrinks. I’ve been in here for miles. I don’t remember how I got in and I’m sure I won’t know how I get out. “Get a grip” I think. It’s laughable to think that’s possible. I walked away without my name miles ago. I don’t even know who I’m telling to get a grip so how the fuck do I expect to do it. I wonder what my name is doing now. Does it miss me? Does it care that I’ve abandoned it? I picture it crouched down, knees tucked into its chest, cold, alone, afraid. Well maybe if it would’ve kept walking it wouldn’t be alone. It’s not my fault that it gave up. I was getting sick of listening to it complain anyways. It acts like I wanted to be here. If anything I should be the one that’s upset. I’m the one still walking! Coward. “COWARD!” The sound echoes with ferocity. From all around it’s shouted back at me. COWARD! COWARD! COWARD! The vibrations grow louder with each shout and my bones begin to mimic them. I can feel my ribs insulting me quietly inside my chest. coward. coward. They were right. I couldn’t stand the stagnation so I abandoned my name. I am a coward. It didn’t want this just as much as I didn’t. Now it’s alone, cold, afraid. No time to sulk. I’ll just get a new one. Let’s see. How about, “Me.” It feels familiar against my tongue. Maybe it was my middle name. “Okay Me you better keep up.” Understood. Good. Wait, how far have I gone without a thought? Why isn’t Me talking? What’s the point of bringing a new name if it wasn’t gonna do anything? All it’s done is hitch a free ride inside of me. Asshole. The least it could do is find some food. I can’t even begin to comprehend how hungry I am right now. I’ll look around for something, anything. Behind me? No, there’s nothing but blood filled footprints. Maybe I stepped on a bug earlier. I sit down and examine the battered soles of my feet for anything. Nothing. Okay, don’t panic. Please please please please don’t panic. There has to be something. Does there? “SHUT UP ME!” Again the sound reverberates and grows unbelievably loud. My own words become daggers digging into my head, clogging my throat and piercing through my eyeballs. I bite into my middle fingernail. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I keep chewing on the nail until I realize it. What is that? It’s warmth is a blessing to my mouth. The taste is indescribably fantastic. I can’t believe it. You were hiding it from me all along. You selfish, slimy, skank. Of course you would keep it from me. You used me. I bite down hard into the flesh. You were hiding it from me, Me. In my own fucking hand. STOP! THIS ISN’T RIGHT! Of course you would say that. You want it all to yourself. I continue ripping away and chewing the sweet meat. I bet you hid it in all of them, didn’t you. I bite hard into my ring finger. It’s there too! I scarf it down faster than the first. If this is in my hand I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve hidden throughout the rest. I sharpen the bone of my middle finger with my teeth for hours. STOP! DON’T DO THIS! I’m ignoring you you slut. I finally got it sharp enough to cut my tongue. I take the finger and make a deep incision into my stomach. I can feel you fighting back but I am stronger. I use the bone of my other finger to help open it up deeper. Warmth pours down my crotch and surrounds me. I shove my free hand deep within myself and find what you hid. I yank hard and pull the cord out. Wait, where did you go? Why can’t I hear you anymore? What’s happening? As I lay here I think about my name for the last time.


Logline: A married family man rediscovers a box that holds an opportunity to rekindle an old relationship, but there are difficulties reaching out to the past to improve your current situation. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Brandon O'Connor, 30 years old, married for three years to his wife, Darcy, two children, Brianna and Robbie, and a home in the burbs. It's not uncommon for Brandon to receive a honey-do list the size of his arm on the weekend, a shopping list containing items like goji berries and spirulina, whatever they might be, and family commitments scheduled during his beloved football games. This weekend was especially irritating for Brandon, Darcy is looking to start a garden in the backyard, but a few years ago, they removed the outdoor water faucets and forgot where they put them. Now, Brandon has the daunting job of finding the faucets in a basement stocked wall-to-wall with boxes. As Brandon looked through boxes, he came across an older box from when he was in college. Curious, he opened it to show his long-forgotten past, notes, textbooks, old movie ticket stubs, and his old cell phone and charger. Brandon couldn't believe that he used this thing; it barely had the internet. He plugged the phone into the wall, and it turned on! Notwithstanding, the service being turned off years earlier, he found an unread text message; it must have been sent as soon as the service was shut off. He opens it up; it's from his ex-girlfriend, Jordan Campbell. "I'm sorry the way things ended; I want to give it another try, call me please, I love you." Brandon is in disbelief, he starts to imagine what might have happened if he saw this text before the phone shut off? Life may have been nothing like what it looks like now. He starts to dwell on the text; maybe we could reconnect? "Nah, I'm a married man with kids, I can't be messing around with notions like that," Brandon says in his head. "Brandon, did you find those faucets yet, jeez, I asked you to do the smallest little thing, and it takes you all morning!" Darcy yells from upstairs, needling at Brandon's patience. He stares at his old phone, enters Jordan’s old number as a contact in his current phone, what are the odds the numbers are still the same? He's about to text her but gives it a second thought. "Brandon, bring up a jug of bleach, the kids got dirt all over the couch, and it won't come out," Darcy yells from upstairs. Brandon takes a deep breath and quickly fires off a text before going to grab the bleach. "Hey Jordan, it's Brandon, long time no see. Saw your number, was thinking about you, wondering if you wanted to get together and catch up?" It was two days until Jordan got back to him, "Wow! Brandon, what a blast from the past. Lunch, Alonzo's, 1 p.m. on Thursday?" Jordan's text read. Brandon was in the middle of a tough day at work, Darcy nagging him how about collecting money for Brianna's Girl Scout cookies and reminding him, for the tenth time, that he had to bring Robbie to taekwondo practice. He thought about lunch with Jordan the whole day, finally, when he got to his car at the end of that long day, he texted, "Sounds good, I'll see you then." When he pressed the send button, he felt guilty, but at the same time, he was only enjoying lunch with an old friend. Yeah, they dated in college, they were actually voted most likely to get married in a contest held by Brandon's fraternity, but that was a long time ago. That night, Brandon went down to look through the box in the basement some more, looking at the old notes, the things he kept from his college years, the little doodles on the restaurant napkins, and a reminder note of Jordan's favorite cologne to wear. Thursday was approaching; he knew he had the day off but was a little worried that Darcy was going to give him a whole bunch of stuff to do. On Wednesday, he told Darcy that he needed to help a friend build a shed. Even with that excuse, she still made a list of three things, including canceling an internet free trial subscription, going to the video game store to purchase something for Robbie's birthday, and picking up a couple of pizzas for dinner. Not as long as his lists usually are, but still time-consuming considering he also had to meet Jordan in the afternoon. He showed up a little early at Alonso's, picked a table for two, one of the best booths in the restaurant. He waited with excitement, wearing one of the few suits his kids didn't stain, yet. He scrounged the bottom of a bottle of cologne with a few drops of the brand that she liked when they were in college. Jordan is running about ten minutes late, all of a sudden, Darcy and her mother walked into the restaurant. What the odds, Brandon first tries to bury his face in the menu, they don't see him; luckily, they're not sitting in any direct line of sight. Brandon got a text from Jordan, "My office just called, they said I had to go back. I can't make it to lunch, raincheck?" "Ah, too bad, definitely," Brandon texted back, secretly relieved, as he was sure he would be caught if Jordan had shown up. With his secret rendezvous now in abort mode, Brandon's next goal was to get out of this restaurant without his wife seeing him. Brandon sneaks over to a group of waiters, pointing at the table that they're sitting at, he says, "I need a couple of waiters to go over there and sing to those two women, happy birthday, there's a 20 in it for each of you," A few of them make their way over to the table. "We've heard that there's a birthday over here! Happy birthday to you..." that's Brandon's cue, as his wife turns to beat red, Brandon can sneak out in the commotion. Crisis averted. A few days have gone by; the weekend is here, Brandon spends much of the time in the basement looking through the box. He comes across a little stuffed toy dog that Jordan got him when they were a couple; it reminds him that Jordan loves dogs. She used to drag him to the kennel and get upset about the dogs who needed homes. Maybe I should include something that involves her passion for dogs, got it, a picnic outside the dog park. "We'll have a picnic while the dogs play in the park," he says in his mind as he's texting Jordan the suggestion. "Hey, I'm sorry we weren't able to catch up the other day, how about a picnic outside the dog park on Saturday?" "Oh, I can't do Saturday, how about Sunday afternoon?" She writes back. "Perfect, I know Rufus has been looking to get out of the house." Brandon writes. Jordan sent a picture of her dog, "I know, Matilda, too, what a great idea I'll see you then," Jordan wrote. As the weekend arrives, Brendan realizes that he's talked himself into a corner here, how is he going to get Rufus out of the house without Darcy realizing it? Out of the blue on Sunday afternoon, Brandon declares that he's going to bring Rufus to the dog park; unfortunately, he thought he'd just said it in Darcy's earshot, but his daughter, Brianna, heard him as well. "Yeah, I want to go to the dog park!" said Brianna. Brandon, trapped again, has to think fast his feet. "Not this time, sweetheart, I want to test it out first and make sure there are no mean dogs," Brandon says. Darcy gives him a curious look, "Just take her to the dog park," Darcy says. Brandon agrees, and he, Brianna, and Rufus pile into the station wagon and ride off to the dog park. Brandon is sweating the entire trip, as he's about to turn into the park, he panics and just drives straight. "Where are you going, isn't that a dog park?" Brianna asks. "I don't like that dog park, too many fleas, I know a better one," Brandon says. He can't believe he's going to cancel on Jordan, "I'm sorry to do this, but Rufus just twisted his ankle getting into the car, I guess I've got to take him to the vet." "Oh no, is he all right?" Jordan asks. "He should be, but better safe than sorry, I'll text you next week, we've got to do something soon!" Brandon said. "Absolutely!" writes Jordan. That afternoon, Brandon drove 45 minutes to the closest dog park so that Brianna and Rufus could run around for ten minutes before Brianna stepped into poop, and Rufus got into a fight with another dog. Brandon returns to his life of honey-do lists and girl scout cookies and doesn't hear anything from Jordan. He starts to become fascinated with the box in the basement, going down there every time he has a spare moment. He spends time searching through old letters and other memorabilia from when he was in college. He also starts to go through old text message conversations on that old phone; he sees a message from Jordan that reads, "What a weekend skiing in the mountains, you really are something special; I love you more than you know." A warm feeling of nostalgia comes to him again. He decides to text Jordan, "Sorry, we couldn't get together last weekend. It's a long shot, but how about some skiing up in the mountains this weekend, just like old times?" "I think I could swing that," Jordan writes. "Okay, I'll meet you up at the Green Hill Hotel, where we used to stay back in the day," says Brandon. "Looking forward to it," Jordan wrote. An hour and a half away, in the middle of the mountains, with his college ex-girlfriend, something was going to happen this weekend. The only thing left was that he had to come up with a justification to be gone for the weekend. Brandon noticed that the New York Knicks were playing on Saturday night and told Darcy that he and some of his buddies were going into the city to watch the game and spend the night. Despite some objections to the boy's night, Darcy finally let him go. The weekend was here, Brandon drove an hour and a half to the Green Mountain Hotel. He's there early and has lunch at the hotel bar. As he leaves the bar near the main lobby, he sees Jordan with her husband and two children. Brandon feels stupid; he ducked behind some columns so that she didn't see him. Once Jordan and her family got on the elevator, and the doors closed, he left the hotel and wrote another apology text. "Once again, I'm sorry, my wife needed help with the kids this weekend, so I can't go skiing. I hope you have a nice time with your family." "I completely get it, the life of a parent, all plans are tentative,” Jordan texted back. It's was a long drive back home for Brandon. When he came home late Saturday night, his wife, Darcy, greeted him. "What's wrong? I thought you were going to watch the game with the guys?" Darcy asked. "I wasn't feeling it; I think I need to make more of an effort here, to be a better father, a better husband," Brandon says. "Well, I'm happy you're home, the kids have missed you today, we love you," says Darcy as Brandon smiles. Brandon eventually made his way downstairs that night, took Jordan's number out of his phone, and collected all the material he'd been looking at over the last few weeks, along with that old cell phone. He packed it all into that old box he found in the basement; he labeled it, "college years," sealed it up, and placed it back on the shelf, out of sight, out of mind. Often the past is intended to stay in the past.


A small cart was pulled down an idyllic countryside road, the grass flats surrounding the cart were lush, vibrant, and spotted with flowers of all colours. The trees nearby bore fruit, adding a sweet scent to the air, and the distant hills adds shape to the horizon, allowing for the golden rays of the morning sun to creep through, creating strong beams of light. At the end of one of these light beams was a man holding the reigns to a small donkey that pulled his cart. The light rested upon his chest as the ambient light filled the wrinkles on his face so no shadow could hide, giving him a more youthful look that better represented how the man felt. Although his body had aged, his muscles not what they used to be, but still strong with the endurance of a hard life hidden beneath every callous, and every scar. The man chewed on fresh seeds as he made his way to town, down the road he spied three individuals walking towards him, he smiled, waving his hand he called out. “Good morning!” The sun started to pick up heat as it rose into the sky, no longer caressing Dolor lovingly, now attacking it like a child jabbing the side of a nearby adult, trying to grab its attention. Down below in the grass laid the body of an old man, and the seeds that he chewed upon. Standing on the cart were four individuals that sifted their hands through the seed that lay in the back of the cart. A stout Dwarf leant against the cart with his staff in hand as he watched his partner, a satyr searched the pockets of the old man. Meanwhile an elf woman was pulling fistful of seeds from the bags and screaming in frustration as her partner sat where the old man sat, a human, he took in a deep breath and raised his arms to the sky to welcome the rays of the sun. “It truly is a good morning.” He said as he let out a deep sigh. “Travis, I swear to the divine, if you don’t do anything to help, I will goddam cut you.” Said the elvish woman as she continued her frantic searching. “Calm down my love, we got stitched for information. The guy who dropped the hint is probably far out of town by now.” “Don’t call me love.” She said with a swiftly drawn knife pointed at him. “I will add more scars to that lump of flesh you call a body.” “You need to calm her down Travis, you know how Val’ea gets when she thinks there are magic items around.” The dwarf said as he moved away from the cart. “You wanna be next Gorn?” Her eyes darted between the two of them as the knife danced gently in her hand. “Gorn will you please relive my beautiful partner of her anxiety?” Travis asked as he looked to Gorn. Gorn sighed, he raised his staff and cast a simple spell which seemed to have no effect. “Sorry love, but the fact we aint seeing anything sparkle means this was a stitch up. No hidden magic items here.” Travis said as he smiled to Val’ea. Val’ea’s eyes calmed down and her breathing slowed. She seemed to freeze for a moment before taking a more relaxed stance. “I am sorry, you know how I get when I get the urge. I do hate my ancestry some times.” “I don’t.” Travis said as he grabbed Val’ea around the waist. “You Elves know how to have a good time.” Travis and Val’ea laughed softly before gropping one another and making out in the back of the cart. Gorn looked to his partner as she was looking up at the other two with a face of disgust. “Shae, find anything on the old man?” “Nothing, well unless you include the small pouch of coin he had.” “Does it cover the cost of the tip?” Gorn asked genuinely. Shae counted the coins, juggling the pouch occasionally as she went. “Maybe. I mean like, close enough if you ask me. Plus, now we have a cart filled with seeds, so that is a thing I guess.” “Oi you two, quit it. We been stitched up, what are we going to do now?” Gorn called out as he stood next to Shae. Travis pulled back from Vae’ea and looked around as he licked his lips. “How about we go forest, trade the seeds with the local Cappy, get what we can from them in the way of healing items, then use them and our ability to murder to take whatever they have left?” Everyone looked to one another, then with a short, and sharp laugh they all hopped into the cart and whipped at the donkey that strained to take them off road, and towards the sparse forest on the outskirts of the town. Meanwhile in the deep of the forest the small tribe of Cappies were still sluggish from only just waking up. The forest gave them a fine shelter from the bulk of the sun that tried to get through to them. Instead of the harsh lines, they got soft beams that were controlled by the leaves on the swaying branches of the still trees. The light gave a comforting warmth, while the cool breeze that rolled between the trees stopped them from overheating. The slow river that ran through their forest gave them ample space for growing their food, and some of the ingredients that they need in making their medicinal agents. Those they can’t grow, they find arriving by the animals they have befriended to aid them. Small rodents arrived with nuts, and ground growing fungus, larger animals stripped bark, and pulled flowers from plants that grow much too high for the smaller animals to reach. Through the woods, the sound of a cart echoed softly as a tired donkey followed the windy path that set forth towards the Cappies. The Cappies themselves could hear the coming cart, so they prepared their goods for trade as to not waste the incoming trader’s time. “Good morning!” Travis yelled with a raised arm, and a large smile. “Beautiful day for it isn’t it?” The Cappies smiled, returning the wave and hailing good mornings in response. Travis leapt from the cart as the others started to pull the grain from the cart. A few of the Cappies ran off, while a couple even dove into the water and disappeared up stream. “I hope we didn’t scare them off. I am Travis.” He said as he placed a hand on his chest. “Those behind me are my friends, and we are here to trade some seed.” One of the Cappies walked up to the donkey and started to pet her, despite her anxious mood she appeared calm from sheer exhaustion. One of the Cappies approached Travis and smiled as they looked up at him. “I am Tor Eem, I am what you would call the leader of this little tribe. What kind of seed did you bring for us today? Because we recently had to let go of a large store of seed, and we are looking to replace it.” Travis knelt down to look the Cappy in the eye, while laying a hand on his shoulder. “Listen friend, I will level with you. I don’t actually know what we have in the cart. I just snatched what I could in the markets this morning with the hope that it would be something that you were after. We are in a desperate way for healing tonics and salves. Sadly, the act of hunting monsters in this area has taken a toll on those still at home.” “That is terrible to hear, I am sure we can work something out for you. I mean, that is the least we can do for those who put their lives on the line to kill those that may kill us if given the chance.” Tor Eem walked over to the cart to sink his own fingers in the grain. He closed his eyes, and with a sad heart, and tears falling from his face he placed a blessing on the seeds. Travis looked to the others as they poorly hid the laughter that hid behind their toothy grins. “These are Solet seeds. Very tasty, especially to you humans.” They said gesturing to Travis. “It is quite valuable, and very actually grow it around here. I would say that we have the biggest stores in the area.” “Well maybe not, whoever grew these clearly had quite the patch.” Gorn added as he took the final sac from the cart. “Do you think there might be a trade for these goods?” “No.” There was a long pause as the small party looked around confused. “I am sorry, but what?” Val’ea asked as politely as she could. “Well, the thing is that we know we are the biggest farmers of these seeds in the area, as we are the only farmer of these seeds in this area. Meaning anyone who rolls into your town with a cart full of these seeds came from here.” Tor Eem looked around at the small party with sadness in his eyes. “Please say you did not kill Thomas, we were quite fond of the old man, he had the best vegetables in the area.” The donkey called out and Tor Eem eyes welled up even more. “Yes, we love you too. You were a noble steed for Thomas.” The small group looked to one another confused. “It is quite simple, Thomas only left with this cart not too long ago, he traded with our early morning people who are currently resting. There is no way that he could have made it to town to sell and have the buyers come straight back. Especially with Thomas’ little Emily.” “Hey this is not no Emily, she is our donkey, and she does not have a name.” Shae said as she stepped in front of the donkey. “Give it up, we can speak with animals, there is no mistaking that that is Emily. Even without her speaking to us, we would have known. Thomas had a very rustic look that no one else managed to maintain like he did. Please just leave the cart and goods, and leave our forest.” Tor Eem started to head away from the cart when Shae laid the tip of her spear down into the soil in front of him. “I think we will be taking what medical supplies you have gathered here, then we will take whatever else you have lying around.” Tor Eem walked around the spear head and walked off without a word. Shae looked to the others for confirmation, Gorn stepped forward and grabbed Tor Eem’s arm spinning them around so they could look eye to eye. “Listen here fur ball. We are taking what you have, and there is nothing you can do to stop us. So load the cart or their will be blood.” Tor Eem looked up as a bird called out over the sounds of Gorn’s brutish slurring. “You didn’t even give him the decency of a burial? You have brought much sadness to our tribe this day. Please leave.” Travis spat the hulls of seeds that he had started to chew on. “Oh wow, these are really tasty. We should take a bag for us.” Tor Eem looked back at the group as they stood relaxed behind the tense Gorn. They laughed and joked with one another as Tor Eem watched Travis with angry eyes as he spat hulls from his mouth messily. “Are you listening? Or do I need to teach you a lesson in respect?” Gorn grabbed Tor Eem by the throat and started to squeeze. Tor just stood there as the air in their lungs quickly disappeared. The others watched from behind laughing. “Man these things are even softer than I thought. Why don’t more people pick on the Cappies?” Val’ea called out mockingly. Suddenly without warning, an enormous wolf took hold of Gorn’s arm and pried his grip from Tor. The others in Gorn’s group raised their weapons as they checked their surroundings for more wolves. “Listen here, all of you.” Tor could be hardly heard over the screams of Gorn, but yet they still spoke softly, and with a calm that could cause envy in those who meditate. “There is a reason that we can live here in peace, and that is because we make it, we take it. Wherever we travel, we do not stay unless we can make ourselves safe, because with safety comes the ability to care for those around you.” The group were barely listening as they watched as an enormous pack of wolves appeared from the trees. “I have never seen a wolf pack so big.” Shae said as she the Cappies caught her attention once more. “If you help us kill them, we promise not to hurt you.” The Cappies stood in silence. “We speak to the animals, what part of that don’t you understand? We as a race may not be capable at defending ourselves, but our friends are more than capable of killing those that dare threaten us.” There was the sound of yelping, and the wolf that was on Gorn limped off whimpering. “I thought you lot were supposed to care for all creatures. So you can’t hurt us, or you will be going against your very nature.” Gorn said as he limped to his friends. “You really are stupid. Us killing you is us protecting our friends, if you had died before today Thomas would still be alive. The next best thing we can do is to avenge him. So, in the nicest way possible, please prepare to die.” The small group screamed as the wolves closed in as an un-stoppable wave of teeth and claws. By late evening Thomas’ cart was returned to his farmstead where a teary-eyed woman fell to her knees as she watched the Cappies bring it back with his body lying in the back of Emily’s cart. They stayed with her to help her bury her husband, they sold the seeds and provided her with the money, along with money from healing products that they sold in the market. Emily was put to bed in the stable by the Cappies, but Thomas’ wife was the one to give her a blanket, and it was Emily who immediately took it off to wander forth and lay by Thomas’ grave side. The wife followed behind with the blanket and laid in the crook of her belly as she mourned her late husband. The Cappies slowly departed, leaving a pack of wolves to surround the farm. Over the next months a small group of the Cappies returned daily to help Thomas’ wife with the farm, maintaining it, and helping with the crops that he grew. Down on the road where he fell, he was remembered by the Cappies making a small stack of stones with seeds lain across it, to which they would place seed on daily to allow Thomas to enjoy the birds that benefited from his shrine.


This night, I am a sardine, riding the stuffed subway. The atmosphere is a mix of hot salami breath, boozy exhalations, overboard perfume, and the intrusiveness of freshly smoked weed. People pressing, gravelly coughs, wonky ringtones, shuffle shuffle shuffle. No place for the anxious or the introverted or the healthy. My brain buddy says to me, by way of consolation, *There there. At least you aren't in India.* Or China, or London, or.... Yes, I have seen the photographs. People squished against glass doors, and professional train stuffers that won't take no for an answer. In this, my lifelong town, we haven't come to that pass yet. *Hey, if you pass out, at least you won't fall.* We careen through tunnels of semi dark. On a curve, I am prodded by elbows and my foot is stepped upon by a hard heel. In the jostling, I can't tell whose, and no one says sorry excuse me or anything of the like. From my forced vantagepoint, I fix on a pair of female hands but I cannot see their owner. They rest upon her skirted lap, and, oddly, they don't hold a phone. She moves them in peculiar ways for a young person, cupping one hand within the other and rubbing slowly back and forth as if in arthritic pain. Joining her hands, she then raises and lowers them in seeming prayer or supplication. Finally, she reaches into her pocket or purse, brings out a small circlet of paper, and slips it onto her ring finger. I see that it's a cigar band and I chuckle to myself, having seen this sort of thing in the movies where the boyfriend asks the girl to marry him but can't afford a ring. She plays with it for a few seconds, turning it round and round, then takes it off, as if to put it away. She drops it on the floor, then quickly picks it up. I glimpse a head of long straight tawny hair, and her young face in profile. She sees me and I redden a bit, smiling sheepishly. Apparently conscious of an audience now, she stops fidgeting. One hand rests flat upon her knee, and the other is closed loosely in a fist. With two more stops to go before I reach mine, I begin to sidle towards the doors, but stop for a moment as I draw close to her. She's unaware, I think, because she has her head down and is toying with the ring again. Slips it back on once more, then looks straight ahead. She sees me, and gives a Mona Lisa smile. I feel like her decision's been made, and I smile back. The doors open and I push my way out onto the platform. I stop for a second, thinking. Yeah, I knew it. I know it. This girl, who is now a woman, I have seen before. Her life of running away is no more, and I'm so happy. Yeah, I'm happy.


They killed them. They killed mummy and daddy and big sis and little sis. Little sis always looked like a pig with that nose of hers and she squealed like one too when they split open her tummy. She tumbled over and looked right at Marcus, but not at him. Through him, like he was a ghost or not even there at all. And then big sis was dragged by her feet into the stable and she screamed and screamed and screamed. *I couldn’t stop them. I was afraid.* Marcus would have died too if daddy didn’t get in the way of an arrow. It struck him in the neck. He gargled blood and spattered all over him. But he told him to run. So he ran, the bad men yelling after him. He had always liked running. But where to run? To get to the nearest village he would have had to run through the bad men. He couldn’t go back that way, he would die. So he ran to the forest. The forbidden forest. The forest he was told to never enter. The forest was death. He had always padded the waters though; running along the tree line and picking up branches for the hearth back at home. It didn’t seem that scary. Peaceful if anything. But if he turned back he was dead. How bad could a forbidden forest be? The air was strange in the forest. The canopy was thick and light struggled to get through. Tree roots and shrubs and vines snaked along the forest floor so he had to watch his every step. He slowed down just a little, but still kept pace, running as fast as his feet could carry him. A scream in the distance. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, looking every which way. A scream in that direction, and then that one. Screams of pain and horror. But he couldn’t see anything. Nothing but trees. “Are they your friends, child?” The voice echoed inside his head, hollow and ethereal. He looked around once more, up and down, left and right, searching for someone. “Speak. There is... no reason to be afraid.” He felt dizzy, tired, thirsty, and hungry all at the same time. The air felt hot against his skin and his sweat ran cold, yet he spoke with a calmness he had never felt before. “No. They are not my friends. They killed them. Killed them all.” More screams in the distance. “Who did they kill?” “My family. Mummy and daddy and big sis and little sis! The bad men killed them!” “Is that so?” An apparition appeared out of thin air. It was tall, and ghostly at first but it quickly gained corporealness. It looked human and talked human, though it talked funny. It wore no clothes; its body was wreathed in twigs, roots, and leaves in intricate swirls and patterns. Marcus couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. “We have all lost much to bad men.” “Yes. All my life I have been picked on by bad men who are bigger than me. I’m sick of it!” The thing paused for a moment, it’s face absent of all emotion, the blood curdling screams ever present in the background, then spoke again, “What if I helped you?” “Helped me? With what?” It half smiled to reveal a row of razer teeth. “To get revenge.” The forest sprung into life. Trees rocked back and forth as vines whipped across the sky. Something wet and sticky splashed against Marcus’ face, and then all was calm. In front of him were three men, wrapped in vines, hanging suspended upside down a few feet above the ground. Their skins were split and crisscrossed with cuts, the muscles cut away from the bone and hanging loose. Entrails drooped freely from the belly of the middle man who choked on his own bile and excrement. A thin vine was wrapped around each of their necks, taut enough to prevent them making anymore screams, but, from the sounds of their exasperated breaths, not enough to suffocate them. The thing stepped forward with wild eyes and a mad grin. It spread its arms out wide. “Revenge, served freely.” It handed Marcus a dagger carved from bone. He took it almost without noticing, his eyes transfixed on the men in front of him. “Do it, Marcus. Vengeance is sweet. Sweet like honey.” *I can’t. I... can’t kill these people, Can I?* Images raced through his head. Of playing with big sis and little sis in the sun. How they teased him for always getting the muddiest and getting the most hurt. How his mother would always tuck him under the covers before bed. His father who was not the strongest, but always tried the hardest. And then the memories were washed away in waves of blood and fire. His home alight, smoke billowing into the air. The laughter of the bad men echoed in his mind, over and over, louder and louder, until he felt his skull cracking. *No! Make it stop!* His knuckles were white as he gripped the dagger. With a roar he stabbed the men. In the neck. In the face. The chest. As high up as he could reach, everywhere he could stab he stabbed. The vines loosened as he did so; the men shrieking cries of despair. They fell silent. His rage spent, Marcus’ fell to his knees and bawled and wailed. The thing put a finger to his chin and tilted his head and peered into his eyes. Its eyes, black but sparkling like the night sky, were mesmerising. “You have blessed and watered these grounds with the blood of your-” he stopped himself, “no, our enemies. Please, accept my invitation.” “Invitation?” his voice was croaky and distorted. “To meet my kin.” Marcus nodded and stood up. He followed the thing further into the forest, leaving the men behind. *The forest is death. But not for me.


INT. - OLIVIA’S AND HER ROOMMATE TIM’S APARTMENT - SATURDAY EVENING Phone rings. OLIVIA (Answers phone) Hello Jane. JANE Will you answer when I’m in a car crash and calling from a stranger’s phone? OLIVIA If I don’t recognize the caller ID, I don’t answer. And if you’re in a car crash, I hope you have the sense to dial emergency before calling me. JANE Don’t ever let me use you as my emergency contact. Olivia huffs. JANE Speaking of emergencies, I have been summoned to Scranton. Can you stay here with Babs until Sunday? OLIVIA Well, I guess I can cancel my date. JANE You’d do that for me? OLIVIA I’ll be there in 30 minutes. Olivia hangs up. She scrambles to pack an overnight bag. Her cat, Percy, watches from a chair in the corner of the room. OLIVIA (Talking to her cat) Mama’s gonna be gone for a while but I’ll be back soon. Percy purrs and Olivia's shoes clack on the hardwood floor, the door closes and locks. EXT. - OLIVIA’S AND TIM’S APARTMENT INT. - JANE’S HOUSE - SUNDAY MORNING The bed creaks as OLIVIA sits up and yawns. She shuffles to the bathroom, turns the water on and off, then ambles into the kitchen and steps in a puddle of urine. OLIVIA Whoa, good morning. Ignoring a dog in the morning is not a good idea. Where is Babs anyway, hmm? I’d hide too if I were her. Olivia gets down on her hands and knees and crawls to the antiseptic wipes on the shelf under the sink. OLIVIA (Grumbling) Why couldn’t they have gotten a cat? Olivia pops the top on the container of antiseptic wipes, pulls out a disposable cloth and scours her foot. She pulls out three more wipes to mop up the mess, her face grimacing with disgust. OLIVIA Bring on the coffee. Olivia opens several of the cupboards searching for coffee while mumbling to herself, then crouches to rummage under the sink. Babs, the dachshund, trots over, ready to play. OLIVIA (To Babs) There you are, I wish I could share your enthusiasm. -- Doesn’t your mommy drink coffee? Olivia scratches the dog on the rear, stands and nearly collides with the bottom edge of an open cabinet door. She quickly jerks her head to the side but inadvertently connects with the corner of the ajar cabinet on her left. OLIVIA Ow, damnit. She winces when she feels the sting and massages the area with the heel of her palm before slamming the open cupboard door shut in a flash of fury. OLIVIA (Trying to remain calm) Okay, no coffee. (Sarcastically) Do you drink milk? Olivia opens the refrigerator and chuckles when she sees the coffee. OLIVIA Found you. She grabs a filter and scoops the coffee into the machine, breathing in the comfortable, robust scent. OLIVIA (Inhaling) Ah, that’s the stuff. While it trickles into the carafe, she scoops and pours kibble into Babs’s dish and refills her water bowl. OLIVIA And one-half cup of chow for Babs. The dog chomps, snorts, and laps up the water. OLIVIA (To Babs) Be right back. Olivia patters to the bedroom. She changes out of her PJs then returns to the kitchen and fills a to-go mug with coffee. She tucks a plastic bag under her arm. OLIVIA Don’t forget the poop bag. Come on buddy. The twosome takes a short walk around the block. The sun is scorching, so Olivia decides that she will take advantage of her neighbor’s pool. She stops at her apartment to put on her swimsuit, Babs in tow. When she enters the bedroom, Percy looks up from his chair. OLIVIA (to Percy) Just checkin in buddy. Percy mews and lowers his head, eyeing Olivia and the panting dog suspiciously. Olivia puts on her swimsuit while talking to a growling Babs. Then... OLIVIA Come on Babs. See you later. (To Percy) The door to the apartment closes and Olivia returns to Jane’s house with Babs. OLIVIA And we’re back. Olivia removes Babs’s leash and Babs trots away. OLIVIA See you for dinner, I guess. Babs trots over to her bed in the corner of the living room, twirls, and settles noisily into contentment. Olivia strolls across the room and grunts as she tugs the sliding glass door open, then steps onto the warmth of the patio. She sprints toward the inground pool, feet slapping against the cement, and dives into the water, torpedoing to the opposite side. When she emerges, a miniscule, worm-like creature inches its way toward the injury behind her ear and wiggles through the puncture wound. She hoists herself onto the sidewalk, grabs the skimmer, and drags it across the surface of the water in an effort to catch drowned insects and fallen leaves in the net. OLIVIA (Humming) When she is through, she dives into the water and swims a few laps. She climbs on a floating raft. Soon her stomach begins to rumble. She rolls into the cool water before toweling off and going inside the house by way of the sliding doors. She throws a Hot Pocket into the microwave and the buttons beep as she starts the timer. She and Babs hear a vehicle trundle onto the gravel driveway. The dog darts from her bed, nails clicking on the slate tile of the foyer. She sits in front of the door, willing it to open, her tail whipping to and fro. Her ears perk and she freezes as her master’s voice approaches. Olivia opens the door and Babs yaps with delight as Jane pushes past her. OLIVIA (To Jane) Hey, welcome home. JANE (To Babs) Make room for the suitcase buddy. Jane drops her duffle bag and hands Olivia flowers before picking up Babs. Babs licks her face. JANE (To Babs) I missed my Babsy. We’re so happy to see each other. Yes we are. JANE (To Olivia) I forgot your favorite flower so carnations will have to do. OLIVIA How’s the family situation? I hope all is well in Scranton. JANE The situation has been solved. Microwave beeps. OLIVIA Oh, I popped in a Hot Pocket. JANE Stay, eat. Glad you made use of the pool, the water needed to be stirred a bit. OLIVIA Actually, I’ll take my meal to go. Percy is going to think I abandoned him. Olivia caresses the dog. OLIVIA I enjoyed your company, Babs. EXT. - JANE’S HOUSE INT. - OLIVIA’S AND TIM’S APARTMENT - MONDAY MORNING Percy pounces on Olivia's chest and yawns. OLIVIA (Open’s her eyes.) Phew, tuna breath. Home sweet home. Percy leaps to the floor and Olivia throws back the sheet. She saunters to the bathroom and looks into the mirror while folding back her ear to check her wound. OLIVIA (Yelling) Tim, can you take a look at something? I’m in the bathroom. TIM (Yelling) I told you that we need to keep this relationship platonic. OLIVIA (Yelling) Ha ha, just get your ass in here. Tim stands outside the bathroom door. TIM Yes ma’am? Olivia Does this look infected? Tim examines Olivia’s wound. TIM It’s a little swollen, there’s a puncture wound on the tip of the lump. (Chuckling) The lump has a tail, like a polliwog. Put some triple antibiotic on it. OLIVIA What, a tale? TIM Not a literal tale, there's like a bald spot trailing the lump about an inch long. OLIVIA Yeah, ok. I need to get ready for work. Olivia shoves Tim out of the bathroom and shuts the door. After getting ready for the day, she walks to the kitchen, pours a cup of coffee, and pulls out a chair. OLIVIA Butternut muffins and bananas, yum. TIM Anything exciting happening at the Institution today? OLIVIA You mean the assisted living facility? I’m planting trees in the nursery. TIM Nursery? Does calling a garden a nursery make the old people feel younger? OLIVIA Ask your mama. TIM Oooooooo burn. Olivia finishes her coffee and feeds Percy. OLIVIA (To Percy) Have a great day baby. TIM (To Olivia) You to Sweetie. Olivia slams the door. EXT. - OLIVIA’S AND TIM’S APARTMENT The assisted living residence where Olivia works as the seasonal landscaper is less than a mile away, so she hops on her bicycle. Later, when she arrives home, she sags on the stool in front of the vanity mirror in her bedroom. INT. - OLIVIA’S AND TIM’S APARTMENT Olivia sags on the stool in front of the vanity mirror in her bedroom. OLIVIA Mirror, mirror, on the wall. She takes the pins and elastic out of her coiled bun. Several loose hairs catch in the nylon bristles of her brush. OLIVIA Huh, well, they say you lose a hundred hairs a day. She frowns but braids her hair as usual before showering and going to bed. EXT. - MONDAY INT. - TUESDAY MORNING Cat yowling. OLIVIA (Sleepily) I’m coming, hold it for mama. Percy’s body repeatedly jerks then he vomits. By the time Olivia cleans it up, she is running late for work, so she doesn’t take the time to unravel her braid from the night before. TIM (Yells to Olivia as she rushes out the door.) Have a great day. Door slams. After work on Tuesday, Olivia collapses onto the stool in front of the vanity mirror and unlaces her messy braid from the previous night. Several strands get tangled between her fingers. OLIVIA What the...? That’s more than a hundred hairs. This can’t be good. Not wanting to fuss with her hair any further, she leaves it loose, showers and goes to bed. EXT. - TUESDAY On Wednesday morning. Percy wakes Olivia by kneading her ample breasts. OLIVIA Hey Percy cat, careful with the claws. When she lifts her hand up to pet him, he leaps from her chest and her hand flops onto something silky and sleek, like a cat’s tail. Her eyes shoot open, and she sits up in a dreamy panic. Tassels and tuffs of Olivia’s hair cover the pillow beside her OLIVIA (Astonished) What, my hair? She hurries to the bathroom mirror. OLIVIA (Voice escalating) No, no, no, no, no, no... Tim runs from the kitchen. OLIVIA (To Tim) Shave my head. TIM What? OLIVIA Every day I lose more hair. I look like a freaking witch. (Hesitates, then sighs with frustration) Never mind. Olivia opens the medicine cabinet a grabs Tim’s electric razor. TIM Your hands are shaking, I’ll do it. Tim starts shaving Olivia’s head. TIM Holy twisting trail! OLIVIA Tell me! TIM Remember that polliwog tail? OLIVIA You mean the bald patch? TIM It seems to have grown. OLIVIA Grown? TIM More like spread. OLIVIA (Panicky) Tim! TIM There’s a trail on your scalp. Like a tiny lawn mower got out of control. OLIVIA What are you talking about? TIM Let me finish shaving, then you can see for yourself. (After a few seconds) Damn. Hold on. Tim gets a hand mirror from Olivia’s bedroom and gives it to her. Olivia O--M--G where did this lump come from? Olivia presses the quarter-sized lump at one end of the meandering trail. The lump ripples. OLIVIA Squeeze it. TM Um, no. OLIVIA Come on, it’s awkward for me, I can’t see what I’m doing. Olivia opens the cabinet and knocks pill bottles and bandages from the shelves into the sink. A pair of toenail scissors catches her eye. OLIVIA Maybe I could stab it with these. TIM Give me that pack of razors. Olivia tosses the scissors into the sink and finds the razors. Tim removes a blade. TIM I need alcohol. OLIVIA (Impatient) Just do it! TIM Okay, okay, hold still. Olivia lets out a squeal as Tim slices the surface of the lump. TIM Holy extra-terrestrial, something is trying to force its way out. OLIVIA Pull it out. TIM It’s too quick. Come on you bastard. I got it. I think it’s the head, it’s hard as a gold nugget. OLIVIA Did you ever hold a gold nugget? TIM My father lost a gold filling once, I found it . Squelching noises. TIM I’m pulling. The lump is going down like this thing is uncoiling as I pull. (Seconds later) The lump is completely deflated now, but it’s still coming. OLIVIA I could feel it slithering beneath my skin. TIM Out. OLIVIA Thank goodness. Tim lifts the lid on the toilet with the intent of flushing the slimy sucker, but it starts to curl upward toward his wrist, startling him, and he drops it on the floor. TIM Aww, shit! OLIVIA What? TIM It almost bit me. OLIVIA Did you drop it? TIM It’s coiled near the baseboard. Percy prances over, sniffing and batting at it with his paw. OLIVIA Percy no, shoo, get, don’t do it. Percy scoops the creature into his mouth and escapes through the open doorway. TIM I think he ate it. The cat pauses in the hallway to gag, half of the thing dangling from his chops. Tim pounces. TIM Gotcha! --Son of a. Percy’s slick fur slips easily from Tim’s grasp, and he darts ahead a few more feet, pausing again to gag. Tim pounces again, reaching for the scruff of his neck. TIM No use struggling, pal. Tim slides the entity from the gagging cat’s throat and scrambles to the kitchen sink, flicks the switch, and drops the parasite into the gurgling garbage disposal. EXT- WEDNESDAY Olivia arrives home from work on Friday. TIM So, was your new due a hit? OLIVIA Actually, it was. Gladys is my biggest fan. She says it reminds her of the winding waterslides her grandchildren love so much. TIM I like it too. You look badass. It goes nicely with your piercings and tats. Olivia enters her bedroom and finds her bed strewn with Percy’s hairballs. OLIVIA (Worried) Percy, here kitty kitty. Percy saunters over to Olivia purring. He rolls onto his back, exposing his belly. OLIVIA (yelling) Tim. Tim stands in the doorway to Olivia’s room. He looks at Percy, the cat has one long, ‘S’ shaped bald streak mowed through his fur. TIM Is that an ‘S’ on his belly? Super Cat. OLIVIA This isn’t funny. TIM (Reluctantly) The creature may have torn while I was pulling it out. OLIVIA What!? My poor baby. TIM He’ll get it out naturally. OLIVIA I’m putting you on litter duty. TIM You say that like it’s something new to me. Eww, is that a hairball? OLIVIA Don’t change the subject. TIM No, look. That hairball’s moving. On the bed, a hairball twitches. Tim moves closer. TIM I believe Percy expelled the last of it.


I have never been so thirsty for poison. A dribbled stream over my lips would mend my frayed nerves and soothe my aching spine. I would take to the aspect of water torture over my current situation, dripping fluids upon my forehead for even the chance of a stray splatter to make its way to my tongue. The folds in my brain are covered in thorns and are rubbing against each other. I can feel my blood thickening. What I have done to myself is nothing short of martyrdom, I am paying for the sins of my past transgressions and have never been more at peace. I told myself, that if one more bottle were to make it to my lips, I would do it. If one more person had to be victim to my affliction, I would do it. If one more second passed where I was lost to the syrup, I would do it. What I had promised myself has finally been done. I failed my own oath and this is the price. I have pounded steel spikes into the wall and floor of the living room. Four spikes in total, two in the floor and two on the wall, spaced perfectly to the dimensions of my limbs. They held strong in their positions for a few months, a constant reminder that if I were to tip the scale of sobriety I would have to impale myself. Daily, I would feel the pin points with my finger tips to assure that there was no doubt that they would pierce my sinful flesh with ease. I slowly stepped both feet on the floor spikes and with little effort and the assistance of my own weight, the soles of my feet gave easily to my own devices of abstinence. I did not scream, but the pain was nauseating. My mouth tasted like salt and motor oil, the sensation of my survival instincts screaming at me to stop, that I would be better in the future, if only I would give myself some leniency. It was that same screaming that told me it was alright to make mistakes over and over, there will be next week to be better. Next week had been coming for four years. Four years of swallowing cheap swill and bile, choking back the excuses I gave myself. The adrenaline from my archaic acts of penance made me blood drunk for my own sadism as I lunged forward to place my hands even with the surface behind the spikes on the wall. As the steel slid through my palms, my fingers spidered out to brace for their final resting point. Here I stood, crucified to my wall for the actions I took. I called my own bluff and now I am pinned to the very foundation that hid my grievous acts from the world. The red jelly melted from the holes in my hands and hugged the wall as well as my arms. The small shifts and settings of the house made its old timber ribs groan as it breathed with the rhythm of earth. I had never given it much thought, but the spikes transferred this rhythm through my tendons and muscles. I could feel the heartbeat of the brick and plaster walls that lined my final resting place. Let me be a reminder to the world that there is no action without a consequence. The lies we tell each other and the masks we sculpt for our own sensibilities are only paper thin. A single pin prick is all it takes to make everything fall. For the first time in years, I can finally say that my mind is not clouded. With my self inflicted stigmata, I am an icon to those who will see me that there is no other way to truly indulge the flesh with temptation than to go head first. Within my final hours on this earthly plane, I imagine the aftermath. I have reconciled with my soul, and there is nothing left to be sorry for. My name is Jenny, and I’m an alcoholic.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning for round two, welcome! This is the perfect time for you to join in on the fun, as we re-launch Serial Saturday to better suit all of our readers and writers out there. We’ve heard your feedback, and our hope is to make this feature useful to writers of all genres, backgrounds, and skill levels. To our returning Serial Saturday participants, we hope you’ve had a wonderful break and are ready to dive back in. As we’ve made a few changes, please remember to read the entire post before submitting!   ***   #This week's theme is Emergence! As your characters are coming into themselves, what will emergence mean for them and what effect will it have on the world around them? Will they rise from the ashes into someone new? Will they break the chains holding them back? Maybe the world is emerging from a place or time of darkness that has plagued its inhabitants. The interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: We recognize that writing a serial can take some bit of planning. Each week we will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * January 31- Emergence (this week) * February 7- Secrets * February 14- Illusion   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 7pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story.   ***   #The Rules: * All top-level comments must be a story. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * Your story must be written for this post. Pre-written content will not be allowed. * Your story should be 500-850 words. Use to check your word count. * While the name has changed to “Serial Sunday”, the deadline is still 7pm the following Saturday. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. If not, our bot won’t recognize your serial installments. * Submissions are limited to one serial submission from each author per week. * Each author must leave a comment on at least 2 other stories during the course of the week. That comment should include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail!   ***   #Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * You can nominate your favorite stories each week. Send me a message on discord, reddit, or through modmail and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfires to make nominations. * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule.