TW, Child abuse, physical and psychological violence, mental health and sexual violence. “Okay class! Pop quiz” The man shouts above the cries, and we all listen, glued to our desk, like flies buzzing in and never leaving a cheap fly trap. I can see the entire class from my vantage in the back, and I choke back the bile rising in my throat, from the smell of rank piss all over the room. Pools of it surround the flooring underneath, making misshapen puddles where the kids are sitting. I’m shocked when I see Billy Thorn, who has been a thorn in my side this year, has also pissed himself. A swell of something I don’t recognize churns inside my stomach. I wanna thank the man for bringing even Billy thorn down a notch, but I immediately see Mr. Cooper slumped inside that chair, specs of red dotted behind him, and think that I am no different from the rest of the hostages. “I want everyone to think of me as a friend, that today is just a free day.” He says, as if he’s just another substitute, filling in. I wanna reach for my phone, but remember that he has collected all our electronics, and they sit in the front of the room, alongside Mr. Coopers limp body. Like anyone in our positions were holding out for hope, but know none is coming, our phones aren’t buzzing, and there’s no outraged parents outside, praying their children will get out safely. “So, here’s what we are going to do kids, y’all are what” he looks over to the big yellow lettering by the front door. “6 th grade, man I remember when I was your age. We are going to hear each other out, ya know? Show and tell, tell us about each other, and I’ll determine if I like you or not.” I specifically eye the man for his age because it’s indeterminate. He looks younger than my father, but older than my older brother, who is in the 11 th grade. I wanna doubt that he remembers his time at all, and he’s just making conversation. I start to wonder if I’ll remember today when I’m also older, but a broken sob and hiccup commences beside me, and I wonder if they all want to cry like the girls in the class, I don’t want to cry, not for this batch of kids, they’re so unlike me, but I also can’t help but fear the man upfront. We don’t know him, or why he’s done what he’s done, but we do know that he is very capable of being violent. Mr. Cooper is slumped on his desk, and in the man’s, hand is the hammer that has smashed into his head in. The hammer is like the one my dad lets me keep inside my room. I study it, hoping that it isn’t the exact one from my room, because I don’t want this to be my fault, I don’t want them to know that I gave this man the weapon used to bludgeon our teacher to death. My mind keeps slipping back to my room, where the hammer is tucked under my bed, and can’t help but see the man upfront, searching and scouring my bedroom, finding out about me, knowing me better than I know myself. I feel he knows my secret and that’s why he’s here today, not for Mr. Cooper, but for me. “So, let’s start with you.” The man points to Laura Jean, a grade B student, she doesn’t necessarily fall into Billy’s crowd, but she laughs with them, so she is all the same to me, and I feel like the man knows her, just like he knows me. I want to slam my hands on the desk, like my father does when he’s upset, to distract the man, while one of the braver students take him down, but I know this isn’t wise, this man is capable of more than we might know. Laura Jean falters, tears staining her face, right now she looks like my mother after a slam of my father’s hands, her face crumpled up and wet, her words slurring with a continuous cry. She tells the man her name, and one thing about herself, and the man makes us react to this, like today is a normal day. “And do you have anything to show us miss Jean?” The man says, planting both elbow on the desk, and cupping his face, but this time we don’t laugh with the teacher, we just stare at the man and Laura Jean shaking, her head trying to keep from looking into his eyes. She shakes her head no, and the man slams his fist on the desk, scaring half the classroom as the other half silently weep trying to not garner more attention from the man. “Not good Miss Jean, we always need something to SHOW, or else how can we TELL who you are.” He emphasizes the show and tell words of the sentence, practically spitting it right Into her face, so the rest of us know not to bullshit around. He regroups himself, pointing to another student, this one behind Laura Jean and for the first time I realize I’m three students away from exposing my true self. I think back to a lesson Mr. Cooper taught me, when he held me after the bell, not saying it, but writing it in a letter, telling me we had to talk. So, I stayed back and listened to what he had to tell me, which was. “Peter, so how are you getting on?” I remember hating this question, he knew how I was getting on, but I nodded, shrugging my shoulders. Then he asked, “read any new books?” I had wanted to tell him of all the new books I had read over the week, which was one a day. I had no one to talk about books with, besides my baby sister, who couldn’t even talk yet. I didn’t wanna admit that it gotten this bad. I just nodded telling him some kids books that I had checked out from the library. He smiled, thinking he had gotten through to me, then said something that not even now, I could forget. “You know you’re my favorite.” I looked up with wide eyed shock, wondering if he was lying or just trying to make me feel better. He raised his eyebrows, “now don’t go telling anybody I told you that, but you remember our first assignment?” I nodded, my head feeling like it would fall off it I hadn’t stopped when I did. “You were the only one who answered honestly, from the soul.” He said dragging the word ‘soul’ out, like it was too cool for school. He continued, “the others were just boasting, but you Peter, you said it with passion, I respected that.” I was in shock, I had never been anyone’s favorite, nor my mother’s or dad’s. Mr. Cooper patted me on the shoulder and told me, “it does get better, life I mean, and it’s pretty rad being an adult, you can practically do whatever you want.” I wondered at that time what I would be like as an adult. “M-my da-dads the sheriff, and h-he’ll kill you if you harm any of us.” The shaking voice brought me back to reality. It was Billy thorn, two seats ahead of me, and the next person to present themselves, I had completely missed what happened to Clyde’s presentation, if he did one. He was crying face in his hands, while Billy tried to berate the man, so I assumed it hadn’t worked out for him. “Sheriff thorn? You mean” the man said, gently guiding the hammer down Billy’s full puffed out cheeks and under his burly double chin. The hammers silvery handle, slicked with dried blood was a different shade of red, than Billy’s cheeks, which were full blown cherry color, the same shade of Mr. Coopers car, the one he took me in near the start of fall break last year. “let me guess” He said pulling the hammer from Billy’s chins, then mined it like one of those old cartoons where they hit their head over and over to remember something lost. Then in a fake sprout of eureka, he followed with. “the apple does not fall far from the tree?” Billy’s hands were visibly shaking, and a part of me was relieved to see this monstrous child be so downtrodden, but still he was a child like me, he didn’t deserve to be berated, like I never wanted to be. From behind them I could tell the act Billy was putting on was a façade, and not a very good one, he was trying to act tough, like his father would, or at least that’s what my father said, ‘whole line of rotten egg headed bullies’ I laughed and felt renewed when he had told me, but that never lasted, the relentlessness that was Billy overcame even my spirit. But, seeing him like this, I was conflicted, my heart wanted to feel for him, like I had wanted him to feel for me, but I yearned to see him get put in his place, just not like this, no one deserved this. “So, you think daddy would want to know what a piss baby you were today? Should we send him pictures of it?” Billy’s face reddened more than a tomato, his face looking like it would burst, a sausage overheated, heat pouring out its overheated creases. I followed the man’s eyes down beneath Billy’s chair, where a pool of piss sat stagnant and glistening off in the morning light. Billy’s whole façade cracked, and he started to sob, like the rest. I looked to the front door, hoping for another teacher to come in and see us, or even another student, but this was one of the classrooms out in the open, for anyone to come in and invade, a trailer by itself, two classrooms used by one class, and it was us. The rest of the students sat still in their seats; their eyes glued on us. “So, Mister Thorn, what do you have for us today?” “S-screw you” Billy shouted, his voice mixed in with sobs, the other whimpers of those around us. The man sighed and waved the hammer around, like a magical wand, then brought it down with so much force, that we all flinched, like thunder crashing after a bright lightning flash. The hammer didn’t hit what we initially thought, it only crashed against Billy’s desk. Smacking against it in such a rough manner that the middle of the desk had a faint black, maybe red, scuff to it now. Billy fainted, which caused some of the girls to scream, thinking that Billy was either taken out or injured. As if a reflect to the mild scream, the man whipped around, pointing his hammer towards them all. “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison” the man poetically spewed this out. We all watched as he walked back to the teacher’s desk, and grabbed ahold of Mr. Coopers limp hand, parading it around like a hand puppet. “Howdy students, you know today’s lesson of the day. Let’s get to know each other. Hyuck hyuck” he laughed outrageously loud, then moved the hair out of his face, like he was enjoying himself, then he pointed out. “Who’s next?” I tightened my fist and stared on, it was my turn soon, and I still hadn’t figured what I would say, I didn’t wanna do it, but if I did it and got it over with maybe I could blend in, have him not bother with someone like me at all, maybe he wouldn’t discover my secret at all, maybe it would all just end. The man was now sitting on the desk, his hammer pointed out like a talk show hosts microphone. “So, what’s your name, and talent?” He said pointing the mic to the student right in front of me. Gary was a quiet kid like me, but unlike me in a lot of ways, he wasn’t weird, nor the smelly weird kid. He was just Gary who they all copied homework and test questions. “I- I’m Gary Allen an-and I wa-wanna be the president.” He finally spit out, his nerves shredded, and most likely his spirit too. This is what Gary always spouted off about, being the president of the whole United States, he’d always say that his mom and dad were grooming him to be successful. “Oh ho, those are some big aspirations Gary, but can I ask, of what?” Gary’s barely audible huh only reached me because the man said. “CMON GARE PRESIDENT OF WHAT?” Mr. Cooper once asked me did If I knew how lethal a gun was? I said I had, because my father was huge on them, and he even showed me how to use them, shoot them and clean them. I wasn’t fond of weapons, but I was fond of spending time with my father. So, when I was over and he showed me a collection of weapons he had similar to my father’s, I acted amazed, even though all I wanted was someone to talk to too. We talked about more than weapons, we talked about past lessons, and myself, along with my family life. He’d told me that I was the only student he’d ever let see his collection, and rode in his car. I was his special student, different from the rest, and I needed to keep this a secret, us meeting like this, because it could never be known that I was given special treatment. I think of that yellow couch, the smell of lemon drops, and the cold feeling of the fan blowing against my skin. I think of grasping the gun he showed me that day, holding it and taking aim. “So, who do I have the pleasure of talking to today?” The man asked, right up to my face, invading what I had thought was a safe spot away from it all. He had his hammer in my face, a makeshift microphone once again. I was snapped back to reality, listening to the cries of my classmates, as this man stood in front of me. “Oh” he said, focusing his eyes on me. “Oh, ho I think we’ve got a winner.” His voice was choked and loud, almost inaudible, if I wasn’t right there. The rest of my class stared at us in horror, probably thinking, good take him away and be done with the rest of us, he deserves it, we don’t, please just go. Then the man did something I hadn’t expected, he hugged me, whispering something in my ear. “He did huh?” he said after coming back up. I hadn’t heard him; I was so focused on the rest of the class and the strong smell of alcohol coming out of his breath. “You’re his type, I mean, I can tell, you’re just like me” he said singing it lackadaisically, the hammer still in his hand swinging around loosely as he talked. “Let me guess, special, one of a kind, different from the rest? Car rides to fast food joints?” I didn’t nod nor acknowledge what he was saying, I was spinning in my own head. I had known I wasn’t the only one, I saw it when he had fallen asleep, the name tags of previous students, before me. “So, Mister, just like me, What’s your name and what’s his secret?” He said pointing back to Mr. Cooper. Ferocity in his voice, a danger I hadn’t sensed earlier. My eye darted to my bag beside me, which held the present I had got for Mr. Cooper, the one that I would never be able to give him, because this man took him away from me. He took what I wanted away. Then it became clear, I had the perfect chance to end it all here, I didn’t care if my secret came out in the end, as long as I could save this classroom, who had never saved me, I wonder what they’ll say. Brave child saves the day, or revenge slayings end brutally, the cycle never ending. I had wondered when he told me he was like me, which name he was in that pile, but I know it doesn’t matter, because a victim is a victim. “My name is Peter Hamm” a name I had been poked fun about since I was born, oh what a ham hock, oh the little piggy, take it you pig. A curse brought onto me by my own existence. “I do have something to show today, it’s a present from my father, that I wanted to show.” I don’t know what kind of face I was making, or if I was making one or not, but I do think I was smiling. The man’s surprise and welcome didn’t shock me, he was just like me, so he would welcome what I had and what was coming to him. He crossed his arms expecting something great from me. So, I reached into my backpack and grabbed the surprise I had in store, not for my classmates, but for Mr. Copper himself, but now that he’s no longer here, I have to gift it to the man whose taken away my grief, maybe that’s not the right word, my way to deal with my own pain. Feeling around, I reach inside and grab the Glock 21c in the bottom of my bag, my father’s precious child, the one he proudly shows out in cupboard, which he leaves drunkenly open. I switch the safety off, and I survive.


As if running a gauntlet, a night train speeds on gravity tracks between crumbling high-rises. Flame scarred brick apartment buildings stand like forgotten tombstones. Rubble spills onto wet black streets, a dream-like sheen. Graffiti streaks by spelling out bloated warnings, the train moving too fast to decipher the message. With rhythmic shudders, the train slows and enters a tunnel beneath the Hudson. Soon, a landing platform appears in stark white lights. The train breaks to a stop, the Grand Central Complex. A young man and woman de-board along with a throng of hundreds of rush hour commuters. The men wear well-kept leather brown shoes, slick blue suits, hold leather briefcases; the women are in gray pinstripe or simple black Armani, many carry Louis Vuitton handbags. Joining everyone else at the entrance to a low ceiling corridor of white marble, the couple cues up on a moving walkway. As they’re pulled forward, the walls diffuse into scenes of hologram projections: water falls behind white teethed tour guides hawking the excitement of Machu Picchu tours in lush rainforests; Danube river cruise with proud castles floats by; lithe teenagers hawk Ozempic, Semaglutide, delivery guaranteed. Behind everyone, the walls change back once the motion passes. No one talks. As they exit the marble corridor, a cathedral-like space opens up and the throng of commuters raise their eyes to a monolithic dome. A god-like fresco covers the ceiling of a grand hall. At the top, scaffolded men lie prone, painting a religious scene emulated on Leonardo da Vinci. *** Earlier that day, a boy with the tired eyes of an old man, a pain beyond reach in deep pools of dull brown, lays out his tools in the dimness of a shed set apart from a ramshackle house. Black tarpaper, a crumbling walkway, where his mom and little sister live. Their dad? Long gone, he died in the resistance. The boy’s workbench displays his supplies, the tools of his trade: pliers in a variety of sizes, a soldering gun, duct tape, a doorbell mechanism, a half-empty gallon can of solvent, an empty nearby. The boy’s hands shake as he mixes solvent into a putty-like texture similar to modeling clay. He, while packing c4 into twenty canvas eight-inch tubes, sweats, an icy trickle down his spine, burns his eyes. He does not blink. When he presses on the pliable brown and white clay-like material, pushing the explosive into the bags with his thumbs, the plastic feels moist, smells like black engine oil, cool on his fingers in the moist heat. To keep the grease out of his long red hair, he pushes his bangs away with the back of his hand. His eyes concentrate, he thinks of a clockmaker. Wasn’t it his great grandfather who was a clockmaker? No, his grandfather’s brother. But they’re all dead so he can’t ask. There’s no one to ask. After tying the twenty tubes together with flexible wire, he lifts the cylinders around his waist, adjusting them much like a vest. As if modeling for a fresh shirt to start school, he examines the assembly in front of a mirror placed against a plank wall. But he doesn’t have the right shirt, or a school. He would have to do something or security might question him, he thinks, hell, not the right shirt . After taking off the vest, he places it in the bottom cabinet underneath the workbench. Calling from the kitchen, his mom insists. “Frederick, it’s dinner!” She knows it’s best not to come to his shed. He’d made that clear. The family of three, himself at fifteen, his mother, and his younger sister, join together every night for whatever food they have. His mother will soon leave for her second job. She says she’s lucky to have it. Bears fascinate his little sister. “When the cubs split from the mom, the momma bear will protect the little bears,” she says. “You better not get in the way. You’ll get ate.” Her head barely clears the table as she’s small, even for her age, six. “What happens when the mother bear gets attacked?” he asks. My god, where does she come up with bears? “The momma bear saves the cubs, silly. The cubs can’t save the family.” “What about when the cub gets big enough?” His mother interrupts. “Enough about bears.” As his mother leaves for work, he tells her he will be working late downtown. “Working?” she says. “You don’t work, if you did, what for?” Later, he packs the c4 explosives into a backpack and meets Michael at the street. Michael’s got soldier eyes, a professional, and he’s steady like he’s been here before. He holds his face close to Frederick’s ear and whispers, “You’re doing the right thing.” Frederick turns back for one last look, and like a lost kitten, his sister is on the front stoop with her bare knees drawn up under a pink and blue thin dress. “You take care of your mom, Ellie.” “What do you mean?” she asks. “Life will be a whole lot better, and soon. I promise you girl.” *** In the bright Grand Central Station the young couple wait for a table at Maxines. The woman takes time to admire the tiled expanse which spreads out around the two of them. “Grand Central. I barely remember the old one,” she says. They soon have a lavish dining table, linen, a single purple orchid, English bone china with a gold rim. Hundreds of voices echo evenly around them, hollow acoustics, the air settling safely. The woman has in front of her what looks like a filleted fish with the bones removed. She doesn’t eat. “How is your food,” asks the man. “You should have something. Can I get you something else? You’ll feel better.” “Nice of you to say.” “I want you to stay strong. It’s your health I’m thinking about. The fish is bad, do you think?” “The fish is fine. I just don’t want it.” She plays with her food and the man eats. The woman is staring at the far wall. “There used to be a café down at that end. Do you remember? Strange how I miss New York. There is no other city quite like it.” She folds her white linen napkin just so in her lap. He reaches out and gently covers the woman’s hand with his own. “We don’t have long. Please have something.” She picks at her fish with a heavy silver fork. “This fish does look excellent. The shape they form them is ideal, don’t you think? They make these things perfect now.” She pushes her plate away. He sets his wineglass down, a red Bordeaux. “I would love to get you something else. What would you like? I’ll have them fix you a new fish.” “It’s not the fixing I have a problem with. It’s way beyond just fixing, isn’t it?” For the first time, she looks at her husband. “I used to come here with my grandmother. She’d take me on the train and I remember how tight she held my hand. She had arthritis and she walked with a cane. But she still wore these red high heels. There’s no way she was giving up the heels. Her eyes were blue, she’d describe them as a lapis blue, and she said the color came from Norway, the Vikings. The Vikings. Can you believe it? Anyway, she told me the story of how her great-grandparents came over on the boat to Ellis Island--but they must have lived much later--so it was generations before. As I washed her hair, she’d tell the story over and over.” After leaning in front of her, the man quickly begins to cut the fish into bite-size pieces. “The Phillips had a boy just two weeks ago, you know. They say he’s going to be a music prodigy. A prodigy like Mozart. Anyway, I’ve known George since Oxford. You may remember I’ve talked about him, but I didn’t know he was a pianist. I found out one day when he needed help to move his piano. It was a beast of a thing to move. But he insisted we move it to clear the view to the Hudson and he didn’t play much anymore. He said he just wasn’t wired for it, you know?” The woman laughs. “Maybe I will have another fish. The kitchen probably has a whole goddamn freezer of fish.” “This might surprise you, but I just want you to be happy. It’s a painless procedure. You’ll see.” “And you don’t think I’m happy now?” “Of course you are. We both are. It’s just that we can be more happy.” “And you think this will make us more happy?” The man looks at his watch. “We don’t have time for this. If we miss our slot we may not get another.” “Our slot, of course, but--” “When you think about it, there’s no choice.” “I’m sure you’re right, but I can’t help thinking my grandmother used to say she loved her husband because he was sensitive about his being short. ‘Napoleon was short, dammit,’ he’d say. Then he’d growl, ‘See? So there,’ like he’d won the argument. She laughed about his having these two-inch lifts in his shoes that hurt his feet like hell. Her words, like hell. He refused to say anything, she said, but she knew he could barely stand it, and he always wore the lifts and he worked his tail off and he was vulnerable and that’s why she loved him.” *** Frederick waits in the cold storage room of the kitchen. His friend Michael holds both palms of his hands in front of him. You need to hide, the hands say. I’ll tell you when we’re ready. So he hides, scrunched down behind stacked pallets of single ribeye steaks, each portion in vacuum pack. The labels say, ‘food product’. He puts his fisted hands, trembling, against the bottom of his chin, closes his eyes, tight. When Michael tells him the time is now he straps on the c4 vest and puts on the white apron he’s been given. *** The man takes out his credit card and puts it on the table. “When this is over you’ll see this is for us. I don’t blame you for being nervous.” With her fingers, the woman examines the frayed edge of her linen napkin. “You’re just nervous,” he says. She doesn’t take her eyes off the napkin as she feels the loose threads. “There’s no great story about how fish get their eye color is there? It’s just color.” The couple sits for a long time and neither speaks. Finally, the man says, “We can’t just go home, even if we wanted to, can we?” The woman tosses her linen napkin on the table, it falls crumpling to the floor. She quickly rises out of her chair and she is beautiful with a mole on her cheek. “Let’s go or we’ll miss the train.” “Excuse me. We’ll take the check,” the man calls to the waiter. “We’ll have to make a run for it.” When they near the marble tunnel exit the man stops, and she turns back. “You said run. So run.” Standing tall on the tile floor, her husband says, “Maybe we can go home.” With her face breaking soft, the woman flicks her eyes back to the restaurant. He smiles. “Sure, let’s get a bottle, you and I.” Back at the restaurant, they see their table is not yet cleared, they sit down together. Pulling her close with his hand on the back of her neck, the man kisses his wife. “Waiter? We decided to stay.” As the waiter approaches he’s different, red hair, very young, and his white apron falls from around his waist. He’s sweating. The waiter grabs the apron with his left hand to pull it back up. The man sees an array of brown and white canvass tubes surrounding the waiter’s torso, tied down with straps, red and blue wires. In the waiter’s hand is a button that makes the man think of a white knobbed doorbell. For an instant, the man questions himself why the server has a doorbell.


Allan Richards sat in the driver’s seat of his parked rundown sedan as he checked the copy of the invitation he had printed out earlier that morning, verifying that "Community First United Church of Christ" was indeed the appointed location. For a long moment, he considered hitting the key in the ignition and coming up with some kind of explanation of why he couldn't make it, but eventually he instead removed it from the console and, with a heavy sigh, swung the door open. He walked toward the front of the venue, catching sight of signs declaring today to be claimed for the wedding he had been invited to. He was just beginning to squirm awkwardly in his not-too-well-fitting rented suit when a voice barged its way across the parking lot toward him, "Allan! Hold up brother." He turned around to meet the forceful greeting head on, his gaze lighting on the shape of a face that would look familiar if not for the layer of beard fur that clung smartly around the contours of its mouth. "Michael?" he offered up a query in place of a greeting. The broad-grinning bear of a man removed the hat that hadn't changed since high-school from his head and--giving Allan a short, performative bow--placed it over his heart. "The one and only," he confirmed his identity. Allan couldn't help but grin, the familiar antics of high school serving to abate his nerves somewhat, "I'm pretty sure there's more than one Michael." His friend took on an expression of mock horror, "Where? Point them out to me, and I will beat them up for daring to use my name." Then, the moment of silliness-as-handshake passed, and Michael gathered up a more serious presence. "It's great to see you, Allan; how long has it been?" "Graduation; haven't seen any of you since graduation, except Jenny." "Really? Damn. Well, you look..." he trailed off, and Allan could almost see the working of his brain as he took in his old friend's disheveled appearance, "Good'," he finished, erring on the side of a polite falsehood. "Thanks," Allan accepted the words of kindness and absolving Michael of the white lie, "You're looking fine yourself.” Michael seemed almost poised to say something further when another voice called out to them from the front door, "Oi, what're you two blockheads dawdling out in the parking lot for? The wedding's not gonna wait for you, y'know?" "He's right, let's get inside," Michael said, motioning his arms as if to sweep the two of them toward the entrance. Inside the hall, Allan cast his gaze around the assembled attendees, finding no one that he recognized, save for a pair of men with bright orange hair even after all these years. "Well get over here," the one who had stayed thin after high school called over to Michael and Allan. "We’re coming, we're coming; keep your tits on Charlie," Michael called back as he led their way over to the fiery-haired pair. Upon closing the distance to a more socially acceptable speaking range, he declared, “Good to see you too, Sam," and the other man received the greeting with a polite tug or the corner of his glasses’ frames for want of a hat to tip. Allan was amazed at how different the "twins" now looked; Charlie looked almost the same as ever, the only evidence that he hadn't simply teleported to the current date from graduation being the presence of a moustache that ought disqualify him from ever setting foot on an elementary school campus, while Samuel looked almost middle-aged already, his clean shaven-ness doing little to counter-act the effect of carrying around an extra fifty or so pounds. "0l' bookworm here was just telling me about the research he's been doing for his master's thesis," Charlie pointed to Samuel while miming a yawn. "Oh, how's that going?" Michael asked with polite curiosity. The man with the academic's physique responded with a good-humored snort, "Fine, I guess," he swilled his drink in front of them as if to say the liquor was the source of his claim, "Can I get you two a Drink?" "Sure, I'd take some liquid courage, " Michael responded. Allan stared at Samuel’s drink for a moment. "No, I really shouldn't.” His reply drew worried stares from the rest of the group for a moment, until Samuel simply nodded. "Okay, one wet one dry, then," he said as left the huddled friends. Michael quietly drew Allan toward the nearby corner, taking on the fatherly affect he had sometimes worn back when they were in high school, and Charlie politely turned his attention onto a program on the nearby table. "What's wrong?" Michael thrust the question directly at Allan once they were sequestered away from everything else, "You care to talk about it?" Allan held the question at arm’s length first, an emotional dagger threatening his heart, but Michael's piercing, care worn stare eventually won cut, and the corners of his eyes let a subtle stream of tears slip out, "It's just... seeing how well you've all done for yourselves these past few years, and all I've managed to do since high school has been dropping out of college and pissing away my health..." he trailed off into a fit of quiet sobbing. Michael put his hands on Allan's shoulders in lieu of a hug. "Hey now, easy does it," he cooed in reassurance. When Allan had managed to calm down, he asked "Okay, now, how have you really been?" Allan took a deep breath to gather himself up. "After mom passed, I... I fell apart. Took to drinking and didn't stop, not until a few months ago," he finally confessed. Michael looked into his friend for a moment before turning away, his brow furrowed with guilt. When Allan's single mother had passed away, Michael and all of the others had been busy studying or traveling, so Allan had been left attending bis mother’s funeral alone. "We really have been shitty friends, haven't we?" Allan reluctantly nodded. "I'm going to do better, WE’RE going to do better by you going forward, but you can't keep keeping your struggles to yourself, okay?" Allan paused for a moment, then nodded again, more assuredly this time. "Right. Now, today belongs to our friend Jenny; you ready to get back in there?" Allan nodded once more, finally with a sense of confident forcefulness. With Allan's emotional state seemingly stitched together well enough to proceed with the evening, Michael pulled them away from the corner and led the way back to where they had left their friends. "You know, I always though Jenny was gay, but turns out she was a girl,” Charlie mused to Samuel. Samuel took a sip from his drink, "I won't lie, I was kinda shocked when she transitioned, but you gotta admit, she sure looks a lot happier now then she ever did as a guy." He idly looked around and caught sight of the pair returning from their emotional sidebar, causing him to give Charlie a quick nudge in the ribs. "Is everything good, you two?" he asked, directing the question more at Michael. "Yeah," Allan interceded in answer, "good to go." Samuel accepted Allan's answer with a firm, almost congratulatory nod, then handed the second drink he was holding over to Michael. Michael accepted the drink but--glancing over at Allan--refrained from taking a sip. Instead, he cast his gaze down at the picture on the table announcing the marriage of Jenny and Frederick Condran. "When we promised to be the best men at each other’s weddings, I guess we didn't consider that the first of us to get married would be doing so in a dress." Charlie had a sheepish grin creep across his lace, "Well, Jenny's technically not the first of us to get married." When the other three looked at him with simultaneous expressions of incredulous inquisition, he began, "So are you guys familiar with the annulment process, by chance?" * * * The ceremony went off without much fuss, the proceedings being relatively stripped down in accordance with Jenny and Frederick’s more pragmatic sensibilities. The "I do's" were declared, the cake was cut, and eventually the festivities progressed to dancing, freeing the attendees to spread out less formally, leading Allan to work his way to the edge of the party, hoping to slink off without causing any grief to Jenny or their friends. He had almost made it to the door when Jenny came trotting over, her dress heels making a conspicuous clopping sound as she went. “Going so soon?” she asked once she was close enough to not have to shout. Allan turned halfway around, a bit too ashamed to meet her face on. “Uh, yeah. I think I better go.” They stood there together, a pregnant pause enveloping them in awkward tension. “Okay,” she finally accepted, “but could you maybe stay for just a few more minutes? I really wanted to get a picture with my bros.” Jenny had playfully allowed her voice to dip into a masculine register for ‘with my bros,’ forcing Allan to hold back a short burst of laughter. Turned around fully, meeting his old friend in the mascara-burdened eyes. “Alright; I can do that.” She pulled him into an embrace before he had a chance to protest. “Thank you,” she whispered into the crook of his shoulder as she held their bodies together. After a long moment, Allan relaxed and committed to reciprocating the hug; shortly thereafter, the embrace ended. “And thank you for coming; I really appreciate it.” “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he replied with a confidence that would have surprised the man he had been of that morning, for now he knew he was truly glad to be there, with and for his friends. Jenny smiled, then took him by the hand, leading the two of them back into the party in search of their friends and a photographer.


She was always my friend, and I always hers. I sat out on the pale yellow sand, watching her dance. She delivered to me everything: leather boots, seaweed, shells, unmoving fish. These acts of kindness were unbeknownst to me outside of her shore, and I returned them to her in full with other exotic gifts. Her water was beautiful, teeming with grey and blue and white, and she sang a song of lulling waves. The sun glistened off her rolling surface and when the sun left, moonlight flooded in. She would try to climb up the beach towards me, then retreat backwards, too afraid to venture far from her abode. Every day she would invite me to swim in her infinite depths, to travel out far where the waves were mountains and the froth was snow, and every day I would swim farther and farther out before she worried about my despairing limbs and pushed me back to shore, and then we laughed about it for hours upon hours. Home was not where I belonged, the academy was not where I belonged. In fact, the whole town was infested with a looming sense of despair. Its buildings were uneven and their bricks were stained black. The windows formed hollow eyes, observing passers-by. Following the dark smoke of the chimneys upwards, the eye would reach the foreboding Manor that towered over the crooked rooftops. It sat atop a hill that forms a cliff face over the ocean as if part of the hill had been chopped off and sunk beneath the waves. The academy was an unhappy place crammed into the town’s centre. The ceilings loomed far above and teemed with cobwebs and the stained glass windows refused to let all but the most awful of light in. As I walked the dark passages of the old and horrible school, I questioned how one could ever be happy there. I observed everybody’s smiling faces, but nobody ever saw mine. I nodded to every person I walked past, and they turned their heads from me, not seeing me, I was too short, too skinny, too ghost-like in comparison to the brutes whose bodies attracted the most beautiful forms. My hand was thrown upwards all the time in classes, but I may as well have been throwing up spider silk, never seen by the professors. My home was empty, my mother had died giving birth to me and my father had been sent far away for cracking open the skull of my sister, leaving me all alone at the top of a hill in a birch forest just beyond the town, in a crooked, squalid and mouldy hut. When my loneliness overwhelmed me, I would run to my Ocean and weep. Once, I asked her to speak of her own creation. She told me the Sky was her mother and Death her father. It came as no surprise to me that such a wondrous being was made from the addition of two magnificent others. I stopped with the school nonsense and spent my time with my Ocean, where I was doing something worthwhile, bringing happiness to something so grand and beautiful. On a cold afternoon with wind biting at flesh and wave, she surprised me by visiting in her mortal form. I saw her standing on the pier, and immediately recognised her as my Ocean. Blue eyes, hair as golden as the sand, that familiar scent of salt that she radiated. Every word she spoke reverberated around my head, every step she took glided with the grace of a dolphin yet felt like a whale on my chest, every smile would summon light into the room, banishing all forces of misery and anguish. Each night, she would head to the beach and walk along the shore, staring at the sparkling water under the moonlight, and each night I would sit in the sand dunes and watch her from afar, observing her elegance. Of course, happiness never lasts. She, just as everyone else, had seemed to forget me. She became infatuated with others at school and as the days grew on she became more and more empty. Leaving her sandy home, she had become shallow. I lost her, and she was losing herself. One night, I left the safety of the sand dunes and I approached her, armed with a rope and a syringe filled with seawater, so that I could reintroduce the sea back into her body. She was staring at the sea as she walked, her lips curled into a wistful smile and her white dress billowing in the wind. As my feet crunched the sand beneath, her head snapped from the ocean to me. My eyes locked onto hers and the world seemed stationary for a brief eternity. “I have to take you back,” I told her. “Do I know you?” She stammered. “Once, I suppose.” I could see her jaw twitching. She turned and began quickly walking the other way. I followed, feet crunching the shells beneath me. She broke into a run. Her human form was weak and her legs moved frantically, slowly, ridiculously. I had caught her in an instant, knocking her to the ground. She began kicking, so I picked up a handful of sand and cast it down her throat and into her eyes. Her scream cracked out as a dry cough, sending up dust into the air. She writhed under me, but I had pinned her down. I brought the vial of seawater to her neck and penetrated her with the needle. Her body contorted, twisting and turning like an eddying whirlpool. She stopped moving. I dragged her body to the water and let the waves take her out. I followed, feet kicking at the rocky and dark surface. Now was the time that I should join my beautiful ocean. I had no means of living with her while still in my own fleshy husk. Maybe, instead, her creators could turn me into an immortal being so that I could spend an eternity with her. The Sky was far too high up to hear me and Death was too abstract to convene with. But maybe he wasn’t... No, in fact, he was right here in front of me. I cast myself into the ocean, knowing she would no longer push me back, not while she was recovering. The water filled my throat, nostrils, eyes, seeping through my body as I sunk further and further. Never had I been this deep. I felt my lungs tighten, like tentacles had wrapped around me and contracted. No light penetrated this place. Gone I would be soon. And gone I was; blood stopped visiting my brain, my eyes closed their doors and my heart quit its job. The dark night was filled with the putrid stench of rotting fish. I hated it. Death had ignored my plea to join him and I had washed up on the shore, my heart resuming its morbid task. I went back to my hut, my rotten abode that sat upon that godforsaken hill. The morning came and I was greeted with gloved fists pounding on my door that shook the windows in their sills, yells calling for me to quit my place and admit my guilt. “Even death ignores me” I thought to myself as I moaned on my bed. How rude of Death, to bar entry to those who wish to meet him yet take in those who do not. ... My bones were frail, my form shrunk, my skin stretched thin, I wept in my gloomy cage over the roaring ocean. A perpetual storm lashed at my beautiful ocean, which fought back with white nails of froth. Tears rolled down my grey cheeks as they joined their salty brethren below. Through the teary haze, I spotted a white dress on the ocean surface, encasing a whiter-still body. It was disgusting. A tremendous wave crushed the thing and it was gone. The Ocean was silent. It was just me. Only me.


The wine makes my head spin, cheap stuff, cleanskins. I can feel it roiling in my stomach, the TV makes my mind curl onto itself, sleep an impossibility. The voices from around the room collide into a sea of noise that hurls itself against me as if to knock me off balance. Chas sit next to me, a warm anchor. She chats to someone, and they chat back. I nod along whenever they talk to me. I finish my drink, the warm white-wine tasting like feral grapes, gone bad in the sun. But I don’t say anything, the wine was Jono’s shout, and he’s unemployed. So am I, I guess. Drifting from job to job, retail and other bullshit. ‘Adam, you okay?’ Chas leans round to look at me, her eyebrows knitting together. I smile dreamily at her and say, ‘yeah, just a little fuzzy headed.’ She smiles, as if that’s an acceptable answer. ‘I’ll go fetch you another, okay? Hold tight.’ I nod and grasp the couch. She laughs. In her absence, the girl left next to me keeps talking to me. She asks me how my degree is going. I inwardly cringe and say, “yeah, it’s alright, I guess. Haven’t failed yet”. At least, that’s what I think I say. Sometimes words get jumbled and don’t come out as I intend. At any rate, she laughs, almost as if to say it’s some kind of grand joke that every twenty-something and under in the room is in on. They all know my struggle. At least, I think they do. At least, they think they do. ‘Just have the second when you’ve finished that one, right?’ Chas smiles, places two cups on the coffee table in front of the couch. The first one is black and bubbly, coke and something. Probably, I know how Chas thinks. Normally it comes down to a narcotic, with her. I think the other one’s water. Isn’t it? The conversation continues, I drink and drink and half-listen as I stare around at the people passing. Chas still sitting between the other girl and me. She’s holding my arm now, keeping me afloat. We’re in the garden now, cold spring air stopping me from feeling my toes. I don’t know how we got here. There’re a few other couples out her, swaying to music. I can’t really tell what it is. My mind stops me from comprehending. Or is that the grog? ‘Smoke?’ Chas pulls out a Mentos tin and flips open the top. Inside are home-rolled cigarettes. Irregular lumps running up and down the white-sticks, which in a perfect world would be utterly smooth. ‘I...uh,’ she shakes the tin at me and I fumble thoughts and words out of my mouth. I can’t make heads or tails. Some small part of my brain, drowned in fermented liquid screams at me not to. To not partake in it. ‘Yeah, that’d be good,’ I say. Then, she lights us up. The acrid smell of smoke hits me. I cough and splutter at the first drag and Chas snickers at me. ‘You’ll get there eventually, love.’ She turns around and leans her back against my chest. I put my arm against her midriff and sway back and forth. Whether to the music, or to something else, I can’t really tell. I watch he bring the cigarette to her lips and pull in a breath of smoky air. I do the same. ‘How we getting home?’ I ask. ‘Dunno, she says.’ She cranes her head backwards at stairs up at me, then scratches at my stubble. ‘Thought you knew.’ I shrug, and look at the moon. ‘We’ll get there. Eventually.’ We’re in her share house now, the transition from the garden to her, is even blurrier. I think it involved half a bottle of Jack that Chas got from someone or other. The smoke still tickles the top of my esophagus, and swirls around my molars. Its long since passed, but I can still feel it there. Lingering, grasping at my tonsils. ‘You got a condom?’ ‘Yeah,’ I say. I can almost hear her house-mates groan. Her room’s still a mess, but I don’t really give a shit. Was like that at her parents as well, before she moved out. Never really stopped us then, either. ‘Come on, Adam, time to close it out, yeah?’ ‘Yeah,’ I mumble. Clothes fall off, then we fall into bed. Then, as half of our nights seem, we fuck like animals. Short, quick and messy. Nothing really fun about it, if I’m honest with myself. It’s just what we do. She falls asleep first, softly snoring. Then I stare at the ceiling for half an hour before following. When I wake in the morning, my head hurts, my throat hurts, and for some reason that I can’t quite piece together, my toe feels like it’s gone through a wood chipper. Chas is still asleep. I get dressed, find my keys after then minutes of searching and stop by the kitchen. I nod downwardly at Chas’s house-mate. He nods back, but doesn’t say anything. Pound a glass of water, check my phone for battery, find it’s still on twenty percent, and fumble my way out the door. On the six kilometer walk to my car, however many streets over, I tell myself that I won’t do it all over again the next weekend. Then I try to figure out what I did that was worse for my health. Then, I put it out of my mind, because I have a six kilometer walk. I also swear at some nearby magpies because I don’t have my fucking headphones, because I told myself that I’d bring them this time. In short, I’m a fucking idiot.


Logike was a deeply unsettling boy to look at. At only 16, he was 6’ 7” tall, and he loomed over most people. But at 140 pounds, he was dangerously underweight. His skin was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and a constantly displeased grumble to his voice. He wore nothing of note. A plain white T shirt, plain blue jeans. No tattoos, no piercings, no decor of any kind. His head was buzzed fairly short. It was clear he cut his own hair, as it was uneven, and too long in the back. He exuded an aura of aggression and disinterest. He sat on the red leather therapy couch, but didn’t rest lying down. Instead he sat forward, hunched over, his neck craned forward awkwardly. His long fingernails absentmindedly raked across a patch of psoriasis on his forehead until it bled into his eye. He didn’t blink, and let the blood drip into his open eye. "The hardest thing about being a sociopath, is the lack of guilt." Logike monologued. "It's not hard for me, per se, but it's frustrating for the people around me. They can't stand it. If I do a "bad" thing, they glare at me. They're waiting for me to show remorse for whatever I did. Big or small, they want me to act like I feel bad for what I did. But I don't. I can't feel bad. And that's out of my control. Did I intentionally skip the event you invited me to? Yes. Baptism? Not coming. Wedding? Not a chance. Birthday? What are you, five? Do I care that I skipped the event? No. If I wanted to go, I'd've gone. Do I care that I hurt your feelings? No, literally can't. Do I understand how it made you feel? No. I have no idea. But if you were really my friend, you would've known me well enough not to invite me in the first place. Did I do something careless, and it resulted in someone getting hurt? Maybe. Do I care? No. I can't. And shaming me will only annoy me. No amount of scolding will make me show guilt. See, the thing is, everyone thinks I'm an apathetic asshole. Maybe I am. But I'd honestly rather not be. If I could just fake emotion, it would make my life easier. That's what makes it a condition. This is literally out of my control. And I'm not just saying this to get you to feel bad for me. Fuck your pity. And don't you dare call it empathy. And even if it's genuine empathy, don't tell me. I don't understand how that feels, and I don't care. All I'm really trying to say, is leave me the hell alone. And if you don't, I won't feel bad about anything I do in retribution." Doctor Infigo was a short, fit, studious man, wearing a contoured white suit. His white rimmed glasses were the same shade as his suit. At 4’ 11” tall, he was nearly a dwarf, but with none of the telltale signs of a disproportionate body. His shoulder length dreads, only a single shade of black darker than his skin, were kept tied into a ponytail with a single dreadlock. He paced from side to side, actively scribbling in his notebook. "You're in therapy to better improve your own behavior." Dr Infigo said. "But it sounds like you'd rather manipulate everyone else's behavior instead." "I'm perfectly fine with my mentality, other people are the problem." "Well I can't teach you how to manipulate people." "Then this was a waste of my time. Good day." Logike stood up, and headed for the door. "This is court mandated therapy, Logike. Sit down." "Nah." Logike said, opening the door. "I will call the police, and they will send you back to prison. I don’t care if your a minor, and neither do the courts. You don’t get to assault your teacher with a scissors and get away without consequences. So, what's less inconvenient? Therapy, or prison?" Logike stood in the middle of the doorway for a long time, weighing his options. "Do they have internet access in prison?" Logike asked. "Yes." Dr Infigo said. “But it is highly limited, and strictly supervised.” Logike still hovered in the doorway. "And the food is terrible." Dr Infigo added. Logike turned around and shut the door. "That sounds too inconvenient." Logike said. "Prison usually is.” Dr Infigo said. “That's kinda the whole point." "Why do you care if I go to prison?" "I don't. But I get paid to help assholes like you, and I like to eat and pay rent." "Makes sense." Logike said, taking a seat. "Well then, therapist. Therapy away." "I want you to look sad." "I want you to jump off a bridge. But we can't all get what we want." "I'm serious, this has a purpose. Try to look sad." "But I don't feel sad. I'm not an actor." "Put your face in your hands." Logike put his hands over his face, and looked through the gaps in his fingers. "Don't be an idiot, you've seen sad people before.” Dr Infigo growled. “Weep you uncooperative bastard!" Logike hunched over, his face buried in his hands. He moaned like he was dying. There was a knock on the door. "Come in." Infigo said just slightly quieter than a shout. A police officer in a stab-resistant vest came in, his baton at the ready. He looked nervous. He saw Logike appearing to sob, and lowered his guard. "Holy shit.” the officer said, a surprised expression on his face. “Did you actually get through to that creep?" "It's my job." Dr Infigo said. "Holy shit." "Could you give us a moment, we're having a breakthrough." "Take all the time you need." The officer left with pep in his step. As soon as the officer was out of earshot, Dr Infigo’s eyes narrowed. "Alright you little shit, I'm gonna teach you how to act." Dr Infigo said. "I'm not an actor." Logike complained. "Acting is just lying with body language, and you're a very good liar." “Lying is easy when you don’t give a fuck what the truth is.” “Then acting should be just as easy for you.” “Why are you teaching me how to act?” “People are more likely to respond positively if they think you can empathize with them. So we are going to fake it ‘till you make it. You’re going to pretend to give a shit, even though you don’t.” “Why teach me how to lie? Doesn’t that go against your job description?” “If you act like a reformed criminal, it’ll make me look good.” “See, there’s the ulterior motive. Now you’re speaking logically.” “I don’t think you’d listen to me if I didn’t have a selfish motive.” Logike’s eyebrows narrowed in suspicion “Are you pretending to be selfish to help me?” Logike asked in an accusatory tone. “That would imply I’m trying to help you out of the goodness of my heart. Do you believe anyone is really capable of altruism?” “Of course not.” “Then you’ve answered your own question.” Logike mulled the situation over in his mind, chewing over the details. “Alright.” Logike said, holding out his hand for a shake. “I’ll let you teach me how to lie.” “Only if you make me look good.” Dr Infigo said, accepting the handshake.


I'm an attractive woman but want nothing to do with the guys that I work with. They brag about women that they have scored with and I find this behavior to be juvenile and more like a frat party environment than a work place. This one guy Mark bet his friends that he would score with me and I thought to myself, wait till he meets my great uncle Charles who is a retired marine. He will not think about it after meeting him. We agreed to meet at Orlando Springs which is the local swimming hole and have lunch. He has no idea that 30 family members are showing up to meet him. They will position themselves, so he can't easily leave or quietly slip away. Right as we are sitting down to eat lunch, the family arrives. Mark puts his hand on my arm and my Uncle Charles taps him on the shoulder and says, "Don't even think about it." Mark turns around rather surprised. I introduce him to my Uncle who says laughs and says he's kidding. "Nice to meet you. When Maxine goes on a date, it's a tradition in our family for everyone to meet her date and to see if he's a suitable partner for marriage. " Uncle Charles rings a bell and yells, "Come meet Maxine's date." I know that Mark wants to escape, to leave, get out but he can't because family is everywhere. I introduce him to my 3 older brothers, one of whom is a professional wrestler and the other two are built like football players. We have lunch that my Aunt Clara made. She hugs him and says, "Welcome to the family." I see him cringe when she hugs him and I laugh. There were several picnic tables that the family sat at and Mark well, he's trying to figure out a way to leave but he can't. He's basically stuck with 30 of my family members. This wasn't his idea of a date. He basically has no interest in what they are saying. It's all I can do not to laugh. After lunch, several family members follow us down to the swimming area and watched as I got into the water and swam around. Mark had no interest in swimming, especially with everyone around watching his every move. He wanted to make his moves on me in the swimming area earlier but now I can see that he has wasn't a happy camper. Oh well. He didn't go into the water. After 2 hours, he may up some excuse and when he left, my brothers followed him back to his car chattering away. He wasn't listening to them as he was ticked. What was he going to tell his buddies at work. He forgot that he had put the phone on recording, so all his buddies saw that he didn't get lucky. When he left, my family burst into laughter. I had friended one of the girlfriends of one of the guys that I worked with. I also recorded the event. I could hear Mark saying some choice words to his friends and co-workers who were laughing about the date. He was so angry that he started yelling and cursing at them. I just laughed. It was so funny. This happened on a Saturday. It was a joke in our family that if you wanted to get rid of a date, sent the family to go on the date and have them show up later. They saved me this time. This was the only time that I did this. I went back to work and Mark barely talked to me after that. None of the guys talked to me after that unless it was worked related. That how I want it. I've written short stories but haven't written a humorous story. Any feedback would be welcomed.


Bits of wrappers hidden under the store shelves crinkled as the fleshy tendrils of the mop moved back and forth across the cheap tiled floor. “What’s this?” Ryan looked up from the register. Inez continued to mop. A twisted smile crossed Ryan’s face, his voice grew louder “Stealing money from the till, are we?” The mop froze. Inez looked up, “What are you talking about?” “Looks like we are $50 short tonight.” Ryan held up a fist-full of cash. “And *you* were on register today. I just got here.” It was Inez’s first week on the job. She had been tempted by the lumps of cash every time she rang someone out. Who wouldn’t be? Especially when your belly’s empty and you’re not sure the lights will be on when you come home. But, she had resisted that temptation. She needed this job, and there weren’t many others around that would hire a 17-year-old dropout. “I didn’t take anything, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” She stared at him. “I don’t know.” He fanned his face with the bills. “Numbers don’t lie.” Ryan sauntered over toward the hot Cheetos and meat sticks. He placed his elbow up on the shelf and leaned in toward Inez. “You know... Bob would be pretty upset about this. He really, really, *really* hates when people steal from him.” Inez thought back to the rest of her day. Had she accidentally rung someone out? No, it couldn’t be. She had been careful, very careful. She used to get straight A’s in math, and nearly every other subject. She was meticulous, studious, someone with a lot of promise. And then... her mother got sick. Then everything seemed to fall apart. “I didn’t steal anything.” She spat out the words. “Well,” Ryan leaned in a little closer, “Seeing how this is your first week, and I’m a nice guy, I’d be willing to cut you a deal.” A shiver moved down her spine as his eyes moved up and down her face, almost searching for something. “What kind of... deal?” She said as her eyes narrowed. “You see, I could use a favor.” Thin lips stretched across his face. “How about you take my shift tonight?” “Your.. shift?” “Yeah. AND you can pay me for it, too.” The shit-eating grin grew bigger. “Wait... no.” She held her hands up and stepped back. “That’s bullshit.” “Well, hey.” He turned to walk back to the register, shouting over his shoulder. “I’m just trying to be a nice guy. I’m really putting myself at risk to try and cover you. But, if you want, have it your way.” “This is blackmail.” Inez stomped toward the register. “There is no way I took that money, and there’s no way I’m giving you anything.” “Look.” He leaned over the counter. “Either you lose a little bit of money, or you lose your job. It’s up to you.” “You... you...” She pointed her finger harshly. She could barely control the heated breath that rushed in and out of her lungs. Barely keep back the words that she wanted to say to him. She needed that money more than he could ever know. Taking an extra shift was one thing, she would always say yes. She could always use the money. But, *this*? “What’ll it be, darlin’?” Inez stood in silence for what felt like forever, trying to quell her rage. The breaths came in and out in giant rolls of hot air, like steam was billowing out of her nostrils. After a few deep breaths, she was able to fight back the urge to strangle him. Then, finally, she was able to calm down enough to talk. “... Fine.” Her glare was like an icy dagger. “Great!” Ryan grabbed his coat and trotted off to the door. “I really appreciate the favor.” Inez stood in silence, staring at the register. Her mind a constant buzz of memories from earlier in the day. Her head aching with a terrible pressure as she analyzed each passing thought. “Oh, and Inez.” Ryan turned around as the automatic doors opened in front of him. The shit-eating grin grew large enough to swallow a whole pig. “I really think I’m going to enjoy working with you.” She waited for the familiar ding of the doors to let her know he was actually gone. Then she rushed behind the counter and furiously counted all of the cash, dutifully noting the record of every purchase made during the day. It was short. Exactly $50 short. She counted it again. Still short. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out how it had happened. Unless... Ryan had snuck it out when she wasn’t looking as soon as he got into work. The CCTV cameras would show it for sure. But, she didn’t have access to them. And Bob wouldn’t be in until morning. Which, is when her shift would now end. It was only 11 PM. This was going to be a long, long night. The thought of her mother being alone that long, and not knowing where she was if she woke up... it was almost too much. She would call, but she didn’t have a phone. And Bob didn’t like personal calls being made on the store’s phone. Inez slumped against the back of the counter and collapsed into a heap, just out of view of the CCTV. There was no way out of this situation. She was trapped. *Ding*. The doors opened again. An icy blast flew in. It was 100 degrees when she came into work earlier. It wasn’t unusual to get too many customers on a weeknight this late. For some reason, this time she had a very uneasy feeling. Inez crept up, her eyes just glancing over the counter. Something moved past the edge of the aisle, and then seemed to disappear. She stood up and looked around. Then, near the fridges in the back, she saw it again. She crept over toward the aisles, trying to look nonchalant. Then she peeked behind them. A gangly mass of hair was draped around cheap leather. The pockets brimmed with the colorful coverings of chocolate bars, lollipops, and beef sticks. One hand stuffed a bearded face while the other clasped an oversized container of cheesy puffs. The figure grabbed a beer from the fridge. Then it turned and walked calmly, confidently toward the back door. The one that only employees use. “Hey.” Inez’s voice cracked into a tiny whisper as she tried to speak. She was almost right in front of him. The figure did not turn back. Didn’t even acknowledge her existence. He pressed onward, pushing his body through the swinging doors. Inez’s knees buckled. Her body started to shake. First Ryan, now this. Bob would have her head on a plate if he knew she let this guy get away. “Hey... HEY.” Inez stammered as she broke into a run. Her hands pressed against the swinging doors just as the man in the large coat disappeared behind them. “You can’t go back there!” Her body pushed through the opening. But, instead of the dingy back room that smelled of bleach and weed, there was a sudden drop. Before she knew it, she was falling. Air pushed past her face as she screamed into the empty nothingness. It was pitch black. She fell for what felt like forever. But it was probably only a few feet. Her body hit the ground with a large thump. The cold, hard, uneven ground scraped her nose and the side of her face like a cheese grater. Head bounced against the surface, the elbow of her sleeve tore open, a painful groan exited her lungs as the wind rushed out of them. She lay on the ground for a moment. In pain, trying to understand exactly what just happened. Then she looked up. The cruddy old chair of the back room was gone. The walls were dark slate and bare, no emergency exit signs, no labor rules. No buzzing, twitching fluorescent lights hung above her. There was only the light of a dozen moons hovering high above her head like a pack of scattered marbles. She tried to push herself up, but a stinging pain in her knee kept her pasted onto the ground. Painfully, she turned her neck to look behind her. The swinging doors were no longer there. The storeroom was gone. Everything was gone. In its place was a dark, cold world. Like the cliffs beside the ocean after midnight. But there were no lapping waves, and no shore to retreat to. Nothing but an endless sea of chiseled, dangerously tall blocks of stone stretching upward toward the haunting moonlight. As the fog danced slowly over the landscape, they revealed the endless winding of stone walls. Twisting and contorting around as if they were a maze. “You there.” A voice came from out of the darkness. Inez painfully forced herself up a little more, frantically, trying to find its host. Trying to be ready to defend herself. “What in the devil are you doing here?” A figure with a scruffy beard, slightly dotted with bright orange flecks stepped out of the shadows. The empty cheese puff container hung under the pit of his arm. Inez’s lips moved, but no words came out. A million thoughts swam through her mind as she tried to make sense of him. She must be dreaming. Maybe she fell and hit her head. That would explain the pain. There was so... much... pain. She had never had a dream this real before. The feel of the wet stone beneath her palms. The acrid taste of blood pooling out of her split lip and into her gaping mouth. “Well, out with it.” The bearded man stepped closer. “H... he.... Help me.” She whispered. “Me?” The man’s face turned down into a frown. “Help *YOU*?” Inez sat there with a pleading look on her face. “Oh, well isn’t that RICH.” He turned to the walls and shouted at no one in particular. “She wants *me* to bloody help *her*.” He stooped down to her, the wrappers in his pockets crinkling as he bent down. “Am I to be your rescuer then, eh?” His voice was low and unforgiving. “Am I supposed to scrape you up off the ground and lead you out of here like a god damn fucking savior? Could you be so unbelievably daft to be in this place and think that I would fall for something like that? Anyone you can get in here must find their own way out.” Inez’s eyes grew wide. The bearded man practically spat as he spoke every word. “Do you not know where you are, you dolt? Do you think I don’t know? I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’ll be damned if I spend one half of one percent of my energy helping a mindless idiot that dares to ask for anything HERE.” With a jolt, the man was on his feet again. Tattered brown leather swished into Inez’s tear-streamed face as he turned and walked away, back into the darkness. “WAIT!” Inez screamed, head searing, body aching. She looked up once more toward the sky and the jagged, endless row of dark stone. “Wait...” She whispered into the cold air as she sobbed. Just as the sleeve of her shirt was becoming soaked with tears and blood, she heard a noise. The clip-clopping of shoes. She braced herself for whatever might come out of the darkness. The bearded man appeared from the misty shadows again. He took a deep breath. “I had a moment to think.” Inez pushed herself up. “Please... help me...what is this...” “I was a bit harsh earlier.” He interrupted. “It was unbecoming of me, and I would not normally act like that. It’s just... this place. You have to be on your toes. I wanted to come back and apologize. I have a most urgent job to do and it almost made me forget my manners.” Inez smiled through her tears. “Then you’ll...” “Here.” He grabbed her hand. At first, Inez thought that he would grasp her hand and lift her up. But, instead, he pried her fingers open. Into her open palm, he placed a chocolate bar. “I can’t just leave you empty-handed. Here, think of this as a ‘good luck’ and ‘farewell’ gift from me.” A sad smile stretched across the dirty face before he turned around. Inez watched with horror as the bearded man disappeared for the last time.


Greetings, fellow writers. There are to be a few things introduced to this subreddit over the coming months. The first such thing is a "theme". This month's theme? Space Travel. If you've written something that involves space travel in the past, respond to this post with a link to it. If you write something new for the theme, respond to this post with that link as well. At the end of the month, this thread will be archived in the community wiki (an encyclopedia for the subreddit) for all future readers to digest. This will make it easier for them to find something for the mood they are in. Here is a sneak peak at what a few months will hold: - November 2013: Space Travel - December 2013: Winter - January 2013: Resolutions - February 2013: Time Travel As stated, however, only respond with links to space travel related short stories or serials you have begun. After February 2013, there will be no advanced warning on what the theme for the next month will be.


Grief Navigation 2020 GPS System Grieving is a process; a journey. This journeys length is different for every single person who experiences it, and is not equal to the amount of time it takes to "heal". It's a fucked up journey I wouldn't call into a radio show to win free tickets for. I'm gonna describe the journey to you like this, in a way you might understand if you've had your head up your ass: it's driving the struggle bus, guided by the Grief Navigation 2020 gps system. The struggle bus itself is a rusted, rickety old pile of shit. Something from the 60s and NOT well taken care of. Most of the windows are cracked, AC nor heat works and it's obvious at minimum one tire is a doughnut that was never replaced. The Grief Navigation 2020 gps system... never has and never will navigate you correctly to any destination. The voice that speaks directions out loud can not be muted and sounds like a failed Siri prototype speaking in Hooked-On-Phonics. The journey. It's indescribable in so many ways, and the worst thing anyone will ever go through. Like I said before it's different for everyone, cause I bet you already tuned me out. Pay attention. The devastation happens and just like that. Poof. Your vehicle is replaced with the struggle bus. You're upset from the devastation but the struggle bus? That is not real...? For some days, there is a true denial to accept that the rickety pile of shit is here to escort you on this journey. When clearly, it is indeed parked exactly where your vehicle was and has not budged. After these some odd days there is a moment, a realization or an understanding that happens. I won't call it acceptance of the devastation, because it's not. But you just know that it is time to board the rickety pile of shit, the struggle bus. There only appears to be one seat for you, the driver's seat. You turn the key and the struggle bus coughs and sputters to life as something you hear, but can't see boots up. In all it's odd, robotic, Hooked-On-Phonics glory it loudly announces it is the Grief Navigation 2020 gps system. It almost doesn't make sense. It asks where you'd like to go. Nowhere? Onward with every day life? Into a hole? The casino? The bottom of a bottle? Alcohol or prescription, there is no judgement here. Your answer doesn't matter to Grief Navigation anyway. From here you will drive the guided struggle bus to places like: Numb Creek, St. Furious, Gloomsville, Lonely Oaks, Rage Valley, Heartbreak Rapids, Regret Prairie, Depression Grove, Anxiety Park and Guilt Heights. That is only a handful of map examples the Grief Navigation system is equipped with. It will take you to visit these places in no particular order, over and over again. Even if you want to stay awhile in one place. If you want to stop and rest. If you want to leave. If you want to choose your next stop. And you will even find that you can somehow be in more than one of these places at the same exact time. No, believe me. I have no idea how one can be in Regret Prairie and Rage Valley at the same damn time either. You know, I have zero clue about when this journey ends, if it does. Or if you ever stop visiting these places in the struggle bus. I'm only describing the journey as far as I've travelled it. Because it needs to be described, spoken about more. Did you pull your head out of your ass? Did you pay attention? Cause someday your own vehicle just might go poof.


I had always thought a space walk would be an adventure, but now faced with that very task it only seemed terrifying. The computer had handled all of the leg work. It’s mechanical arms extended from the wall helping me click the helmet securely into place. I stared at the clunky metal airlock both unnerved and thankful that it could be my saving grace. “Computer, are you sure this suit will hold up?” I had been urging the computer to move faster as it helped me put everything on, but now I was wondering just how old the suit actually was. There were some things on the platform that were too old for comfort and doing a space walk would be useless if I didn’t come back. “I have done all the necessary tests, Aerie. There are no leaks. Proceed to the airlock” *** “Airlock’s secure Dimmer. Do you have sight on the target?” My eyes were twitching over the screen and my keyboard clacked as I moved my character down the corridor. There was a whole wall filled with monitors that lit up the entire room. “Not yet. Keep your eyes peeled.” “You’re the one with two sets of them.” Dimmer along with myself were two of the dwindling population of people who hadn’t moved on to VR. I had never liked the idea of plugging myself into a computer. Virtual Reality would pull me too far out of the real world. I already spent most of my days playing games. That was why I took this job in the middle of nowhere on an empty mining platform orbiting an uninhabitable planet on the farthest edge of a galaxy. Oddly enough my gaming skills actually were an asset on my resume. It turns out the defense system of the platform had some similarities to gaming controls. My mother hated it. She also didn’t like the idea of me being alone in space, but it was only for a year while the planet replenished itself. No one was going to come anywhere near the platform. Surrounding it was thousands of miles of empty space. *** Empty space lay just beyond the window. The computer had sealed the door behind me as it depressurized the airlock. My tether was hooked just beside the door, and I tried to take deep breaths. I had done training for this. It was needed to take the job, but I thought I would never use it. I jumped as the computer came through the com in my helmet. It’s voice was too chipper for how tense I felt. “Depressurization complete. Deactivating simulated gravity.” My stomach churned and I was sure I could feel all of my organs shifting. I took one more deep breath as I slowly reached for the door release framed with black and yellow stripes. I pulled it down feeling it click and the red light turned green. My nerves were yelling at me to move quickly, but the rules of zero gravity made that a very bad idea. The doors opened without a sound and despite there being no chance of me falling I felt a sense of vertigo as I looked out into the vacuum of space. “Reminder to check your tether as you move. Ensure that it is locked into place before moving forward.” “Thank you.” “Remember I am here for your support.” I wasn’t sure how much support the computer could give me outside the ship. It wasn’t much use in the way of emotional support, but at the very least the words made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I slowly shifted out of the airlock attaching my tether outside and cringing as the doors shut without a sound. Now there was only the vastness of space and the thin tether holding me to the platform. *** The platform was not as boring a place to live as someone might think. It helped that I did most of my socializing through gaming, but I also had the computer which could do almost anything for me. The communication signal was one of the best you could get. I needed the boost, but if I were in any real danger it would take hours for anyone to get to the platform, hence the defense system. “Dimmer, the targets in the north eastern section of the building. It looks like my two eyes are better than your four.” I teased. He cursed at me in his mother tongue and I just laughed. “Aerie, I am in need of external input.” I sighed. “Duty calls Dimmer. Take them out for me will ya.” I stretched as I got up. A lot of the external input meant a mechanical issue somewhere that I had to fix or a minor decision that needed to be made by a person rather than a computer. Everything that had to do with operating the platform was in the control room and that’s where I headed. “What’s the issue?” I collapsed into a seat waiting to be told which buttons to push. “It seems that ships have been detected nearby.” “How close?” I sat up straight looking out the window. There were windows on all sides to give a full view of the platform. I had only one other time that ships had come by. They were pirates and thankfully a show of the platforms defense system had been enough to get them to back off. After I stopped being terrified I felt pretty powerful showing off the big guns. “They will be in visual range within ten minutes.” “Can you tell who they are?” “They do not fit into any registered vessels in my database.” That was strange. “Can you make a conjecture about make and model?” “I cannot.” I looked out the window searching for the ships in the darkness but saw nothing. I sat down in the defense controls and started trying to convince myself that this was just a video game. When the pirates had showed up I hadn’t even needed to send off a shot. I hoped it was the same this time. “The ships should be in visual range.” I squinted out the windows looking out all directions of the tower until I saw it. My blood went cold. Holy shit. *** “Holy shit.” It wasn’t until I came around the side of the platform that I had a full view of ships. It was a whole fleet. I could only make out a few from the tower. If an entire fleet of ships hovering close by wasn’t worrisome enough, the fact that they had the Klarian symbol emblazoned on their hulls was. The Klarians were a race of people who were hell bent on spreading their ideals and conquering whatever planets they could. They hadn’t dared to come to this galaxy, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. I wondered if they could see me on the outside of the platform. I had zero defense. This whole space walk would be useless if they could. “Computer record video.” “Recording.” I wanted proof of what was happening to send to the company. I barely could believe it myself, they would probably think I had just gotten bored and wanted to play a joke. I couldn’t expect them to take my word, and I kept my helmet towards the ships. I couldn’t see the small ship until it was nearly at the platform. My heart clenched as it landed and I knew the Klarian’s would be searching for any sign of a life. Any sign that someone could send an early warning. I concentrated on getting a full video of the fleet just to have a task to keep me grounded. “They have shut off the emergency broadcast. It seems that they are leaving.” The emergency broadcast had been a long shot anyway without a message to go with it, but that thought didn’t make me feel any better. A few minutes later the ship took off again and I breathed easier, but I wasn’t out of this yet. I had something to do. *** I had to do something, but I had no idea what. My training hadn’t covered how to combat an alien race bent on dominating galaxies. Not to mention one person couldn’t stand against an entire fleet. “Computer, do they know that I am here?” “Unclear. The platform is running on minimal power. The chances of detection are low.” I nodded and I kept nodding until I realized I had been nodding for too long. “Alright, send an automated message stating that they are entering protected space. If they continue forward there will be repercussions.” “This platform does not have enough power to take on an entire fleet.” “I didn’t say we would be the repercussions.” I snapped. The computer stating the obvious was not helpful at the moment. “Message sent.” “Alright. That will probably do absolutely nothing. Plan B needed.” I scanned over the controls searching for some kind of answer. I pressed the emergency signal, but that would only go to the company. I started pacing. The company had no chance against the Klarians, but what else could I do? I had to get a message to them. If they came because of just the emergency signal they would be annihilated quickly. “Aerie, it seems that they have launched a small ship and it’s trajectory is this platform.” My heart seized in my chest. I could take out a single ship, but chances are a bigger ship would take out the entire platform. If they found me there was no way that I would be able to warn anyone. “Aerie, it seems that your gaming friend is wondering where you are.” “Shit.” I ran out of the control room and back to my desk. I cut Dimmer off before he could speak. “Hi, yeah, there is a whole fleet of Klarian ships floating next to the platform.” “What?” All four of Dimmer’s eyes were wide and if the fate of the galaxy weren’t hanging in the balance I might have laughed. “Yeah me to, and apparently they are sending a ship here to check things out and well I would rather they not find me.” “Go outside.” “What?” My brain froze. “Go outside. Do a spacewalk. That way they won’t find you on the platform.” “Okay. Okay. That could work.” “Go, Aerie. Be safe.” Dimmer logged off. I felt like all of my muscles were vibrating. “Computer, shut down all nonessential power. Make it look like no one has been here.” I headed to the airlock. *** I headed to the airlock relieved to be back inside. I stripped off my suit and quickly made my way back to the control room. I halted as soon as I was through the door. The controls had been blown to bits, melted metal curling outward from the blaster’s heat. “Computer, is it still possible to contact the company.” “Negative. Due to security reasons this is the only terminal that can contact the company directly.” I dug my hands into my hair before looking out the window at the fleet. I had to send a message somehow. My eyes widened and I moved quickly towards my desk. “Computer boot up my personal terminal.” I had no idea who I could contact, but I had to be able to get a message out to someone who could do something? The screens were shining bright as I fell into the chair and logged back on, connecting with Dimmer. “Oh stars, you're alive.” Dimmer was clutching his chest. In any other situation I would have called him dramatic. I had seen more emotion from Dimmer that day than I had in all the years I had known him. “Yes, I’m alive, but I have a problem. The Klarians took out my direct link to the company. This is all that I have left, but I don’t even know who to contact let alone how.” “How long do we have until they reach an inhabited planet?” Dimmer asked. I smiled despite myself as Dimmer’s tone shifted. Dimmer had always been a tactical gamer and I was thankful for that more than ever. “It took me about six hours to get here from the nearest inhabited planet, but that was on a transportation craft. Who knows how fast the Klarian’s ships are?” I tried digging through my brain, but fear had made it completely blank. “What if you did a live video? If you reach enough people surely you’ll reach the right people.” “Do you think that’s the best idea?” “Do you have any other ideas?” I pursed my lips. I didn’t and I had to do something. I took a deep breath. “Computer, open a live feed to all my available channels and pull up the footage from my helmet.” “I’ll send your video to as many places as I can think of. Aerie, get out as soon as you can.” Dimmer’s eyes shined with concern. “I will. You better get all the snacks I want when I visit you.” My chest ached at my attempted bravado. I’d send the message then get to an escape pod, but I didn’t let myself think past that. “I will buy you the whole store.” I laughed. “I’ll deserve it.” “Your video is streaming and recording.” The computer said. I looked at the screen, my pale face lit only by the light of the monitors. A human gamer alone in the middle of nowhere. I took a deep breath. Here’s to saving the galaxy.


"Finish your dinner son, it's almost time" came his father's voice from the hallway. Andromeda hurried and finished his steak and salmon dinner, washing it down with some sweet red wine. He set down his glass and bolted from the dining room, knowing that the servants would quickly clean up after him. He caught up to his father and followed him down the hallway and out the back door. The evening mountain breeze was cool and brought the smell of the flower gardens to Andromeda's nose. His father stopped and looked at him for a moment. "Today is possibly the most important day of your life, certainly the day that you will remember the most". Without waiting for a reply his father took off and headed towards the wooded path. Andromeda gulped and followed, anxiety building with each step. Andromeda followed his father down the dark tree-covered path and into the next clearing. The tall iron gates of the family cemetery stood before him. In the 18 years he had been alive, today was to be the first time he was ever allowed into the graveyard. They both stood and admired the ancient metalwork for a while in silence. The gates held the family crest in its center with depictions of armies on each side with a gigantic tree in the background. Finally, Andromeda found his voice " Dad, what is going to happen when we pass through these gates? What will I see?". His father smiled slightly and turn to him. "Past these gates, you will see the end, the beginning, horror, and wonders." He hesitated a moment as if to reflect on what he just said, nodding slowly he continued. " You will see the power of the collective human consciousness at work." As soon as he finished speaking the gates shuddered and opened up. Past the gates laid a stone path lined with torches and hooded figures. They began to slowly walk forward, Andromeda looking all around him at the shrouded people and the ancient tombstones behind them. They continued on the path until they reached a large mausoleum at the base of the mountain. The stone crypt was guarded by several large men in dark armor that Andromeda didn't recognize. The doors to the tomb looked to be hand-carved from some sort of expensive hardwood. The carvings showed wolves and giants in battle. The doors groaned and opened up revealing a dark chamber beyond. "Past these doors son...you will learn that our family has a dark history and a darker secret. Our ancestors have had to do some terrible things to maintain the power we have and unfortunately for us. We have to continue or everything will be destroyed." Andromeda felt a slight twinge of sickness in his stomach. "What kind of terrible thing?" He asked his father, scared of the answer. His father sighed and suddenly looked 10 years older. "Murder, genocide, war, the birth and death of religions, manipulation of currency and the media, and even the destruction of nations". Came his reply. " In truth" continued his father. "Our family deserves the worst of punishments, but we can't allow that to happen...we must continue this dark fight and here shortly you'll see why." Andromeda nodded, trusting his father even as the feeling of dread filled his heart. They walked side by side through the chamber and down a long, dark staircase. After what seemed like an hour Andromeda could see light flickering ahead. Sweat trickled down his back regardless of the damp coolness of the subterranean stairs. Arriving at the final landing he took stock of his surroundings. Ahead of him stood a company of soldiers in the strange armor the men outside had been wearing. Behind them stood two massive wooden doors with intricate carvings and heavy black chains. A strange vibration radiated from the wood. A soldier walked over to him and his father and handed them strange helmets. "Wear these helmets, it's the only way to protect yourself from the chaos on the other side of these doors." His father thanked the soldier and slid the helmet over his head. Andromeda asked, "what exactly do we need to be protected from?" His father's muffled reply came from the helmet in Andromeda's hands "have you ever heard the scream of an angel or the cries of a demon? Without these helmets, our minds and souls will shatter". Andromeda pulled on his helmet and felt his heart skip a beat. The heavy black chains began to shake as they pulled back into the walls. The doors slowly creaked open and Andromeda felt his father push him forward and they both passed over the threshold. The doors slammed behind them. Andromeda gawked in confused amazement. The ceiling of the massive cave he now stood in was hidden by a swirling cluster of stars and planets, lightning flashed in clouds and thunder tore through the massive space. The floor of the chamber was a mix of broken pathways and pillars, the flow of a hellish fire illuminated the room. Directly ahead of him a man was chained to a pillar. He wore armor that was rusted and dented, behind him was two massive white wings. The wings were broken and tired together. The man had nails stuck in his eyes. Behind his pillar was a massive giant of a man with a red beard. He was chained in a similar fashion. Slowly Andromeda realized that there were countless beings chained to pillars and walls. All of them in terrible and broken conditions. Andromeda looked desperately to his father for an answer. " Religion" "What?" His father placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. "Religion, you're looking at religion. That winged man is the Archangel Michael and behind him is the Norse God Thor. Our secret is that we have imprisoned the Gods. We keep them here until they completely fade away from memory. Unfortunately, though, the Gods gain and lose power as humans lose faith or start believing in these powerful entities." A terrible scream tore through the air and pushed Andromeda to his knees. His father continued calmly. "Humans create gods through the power of belief. The more people who believe in the Gods, the more powerful they become. Our great ancestors knew this and began a war on religion. They were shown a technology that allowed them to find and subdue these all-powerful creatures. A technology that the men outside of this prison use currently to hunt down and capture them. It's a constant fight and one we are starting to lose." Andromeda was having difficulty comprehending what he was seeing and hearing. "Who...who gave us the tech?" "A powerful being from another world, yes you could say that a god gave us the tech so we would remove all of the other gods for it's the inevitable occupation of our Earth. Not only do we use its technology, but we have also worked ever so hard to discredit all religions. Our efforts have backfired greatly though. We created the Abrahamic religions in an attempt to control the population. All we have gotten though are countless versions of God, Satan, and endless war. We now have a resurgence of Norse Paganism and that terrifies me. The last thing I want is Fenrir to break free." Andromeda's mind was numb, he was on the verge of a panic attack and his mind couldn't absorb any more of the truth he was seeing. "Welcome to the endless war, to the family power, to the service of our Lord who you will learn about starting tomorrow, and ultimately...our guaranteed doom.


One night I Maria went upstairs to read a book but suddenly I heard noises down stairs I went to wake up my daughter Paula we both went to check what was going on suddenly the lights were turning on and off we both got scared that we went running upstairs to my room then we heard a loud noise it sounded like they drop some dishes on the floor then suddenly we heard footsteps coming upstairs I had the Bible in my hands and also a cross from God in my hands my daughter was so scared that she couldn't wait until the night went over then it was morning then somebody nock on the door I look threw the window it was my friend omar he came to visit us we told him what happened at night he couldn't believe the house was hunted he told us to bring a] padre to the house to put Holly water so spirits can go away from the house so I decide to call a padre to do his work in the house the next night there we're no noises in the house me and my daughter were so happy that we slept good at night and we ate breakfast in the morning then suddenly the house seem normal no more noises at night then we decided to throw a big party in the house invite my friends and my daughter friends we decide not to tell anybody of our friends that the house was hunted my daughter went the next day to school she came from school went upstairs to do her homework suddenly she heard a noise outside she saw a men standing outside spying on her she was so scared that she call the police the guy disappeared when my mom came from work I told her about the man being outside I told my daughter when she came from school to lock all doors and windows the next day I decided to buy a house alarm for the protection of my daughter from that stranger guy that was outside when I went to work I leave my daughter some dinner for her to eat she comes from school eats dinner and does her homework and goes to bed only the days she stays up late when she doesn't goes to school me and my daughter wash movies and get some popcorn to wash the movie we wash scarry movies or action movies sometimes cartoon movies we enjoy the night together or sometimes we make fresh homemade cookies to wash the movie and relax we even play monopoly to have some fun together on my day off I take my daughter to the movies we buy a big soda to share with some popcorn then we go home to relax then the next day I go to work and my daughter goes to school one day the school call me cause my daughter had a fight with a student from class the reason she fight her is because that girl was making fun of my daughter she was telling my daughter didn't match with her clothes so my daughter got mad and fight her she got suspended from school for a whole week one of her best friend brought her homework to the house then when her week suspension went over she tried to ignore that girl that she fight with so she wouldn't get in trouble from school so my mother would be proud of me from not getting in trouble no more I had good grades in school all A's in my classes my mother was proud of me when I was walking from school back to my house I suddenly look at a house that freaks me out the lights turn on and off by itself and nobody leaves in that hunted house I always end up running cause I was so scared of that house its every day I go to school I see that hunted house I get really scared it reminds me of my hunted house that I leave in thanks to the padre he took the ghost out of my house it was coming prom night my mother took me shopping for a beautiful dress the color of my prom night dress was royal blue dress very long my friends at school love my dress my partner for the dance was my best friend omar we dance all night enjoy the food and had a fun night at the prom he took me home on his black convertible car then before I got out of the car he gave me a kiss and told me if I wanted to be his girlfriend I said yes right away cause I always felt butterflies in my stomach when I see him at school he is so cute that I fail in love with him then it was graduation night my mom bought me another beautiful dress this time it was red dress kind of short to my knees when graduation was over my mother made me a big party at the house I invite all my friends from school we had champagne to celebrate our graduation party we had Mexican food to celebrate our graduation party we all had so mush fun we put music to dance I dance all night with my boyfriend omar he told me I look so pretty with my red dress I told him thank you and I told him he look cute with his black tuxedo so we end up kissing again at my party my mother was serving the food to my friends at the party we had Mexican tacos enchiladas a delicious cake that my mother made some margaritas that my mother put little bit of alcohol and some salad also all the food was so delicious that I got really fool me and my boyfriend got fool from eating a lot that me and my boyfriend went for a little walk before it got dark then came back to the house the next morning me and my mom did some cleaning from the party then me and my mom went to the mall to eat Chinese food then she bought me some cute black boots that cost like 50 dollars at the mall we had fun at the mall.