TW: Swearing and gore. Danielle had fought monsters before. Compared to the giant beast before her the rest were harmless flies.             “I guess this is how I’ll die,” the knight said to herself. She inhaled deeply.             Blood rained from the red sky. The breeze from the monster’s mighty wings flapping chilled her bones. Scorpion legs that could carry a castle scuttled towards her.             “Prove me wrong again, little knight,” said the herald of a hateful god. “Kill this beast and I will tell you my name.” His melodic voice had lost the hints of scorn. She wondered if he was only saying it because he expected her to die.             “This is a greater chatter-jaw?” Sir Danielle Longbow asked. Her voice rose in pitch and volume. Her heart thundered a drumroll in fear.             Four snapping jaws mounted on tentacles snapped at her. Little black eyes ringed each jaw. Being anywhere near the mouths was suicide. Tentacles uncoiled from behind the snapping jaws. Teeth unfolded along the length of each tentacle. Each one was a saw the size of a tree. Every tooth was the length of Danielle’s sword.             “Yeah. I’m fucked.” She darted her head around to look at the devil who’d challenged her to fight monsters. He hovered in a throne of carved wood behind her. His silver eyes reflected her and the looming doom of the beast. His bone-white skin gave no hint of age. “Any tips?” Danielle asked him.             “None of my people has ever defeated a greater chatter-jaw before,” he said as she turned back. A clawing tentacle lunged at her. Danielle danced back from it.             “Then why the fuck do I have to fight one? It looks like my worst nightmares had children with fly-covered leftovers at a fish market.” She struck a tentacle lined on one side with the deadly spines. Her sword left a gash in the tentacle that would be a mortal wound for anything smaller than a bear. The creature made a horrible hissing noise and rushed forwards. Two jaws snapped at her as muscular tendrils encircled her.             “You must fight it because you overcame your last three challenges,” said the deadly god’s herald. Danielle ran through the tentacles as her guide through hell spoke. “I never expected you to come this far.” Her sword pressed along the thick hide of the monster’s belly. The blade she had sharpened to a razor’s edge that morning barely left a mark. “I am bound by the deal we made and my duty to my god,” said the pale herald.             “I must give you a challenge you could not reasonably be expected to survive. Three times I have. Three times you have triumphed.” His voice was undiminished by Danielle’s cry of pain as a spine from one tentacle punched through a gap in her armour. Burning pain blossomed in her left armpit. “You have earned my respect, Sir Longbow.”             Tails tipped with spikes a spear would envy stabbed at her. She cut at one. Her sword damaged the limb that was as thick as her mighty arms. The tail withdrew. The beast turned with her beneath. Still the herald spoke with a voice that was a balm to her mind, “with my respect comes greater challenge. Slay five monsters to save Crann Kingdom from my god’s wrath for a millennium. That was the deal.”             Sir Danielle could barely move her left arm. Clutching her shield close to her chest, she tested a leg of the beast. The sword clanged against the black articulated chitin as though it was rock. She looked for a weakness in the join. As the leg bent to trample her Danielle thrust her sword into a gap. The leg lurched out of the way. The monster tried to shake her free. Her sword was stuck fast in the joint. She could hear moist cutting sounds as the monster’s own movements severed muscles. At last, hanging from the sword, it came free.             Ignoring everything but those same joints on the other legs, Danielle ran to each. One after the other she hobbled the greater chatter-jaw. Twelve legs winced as her sword slipped between its armour.             The spike which had pierced her underarm had not reached her heart. It had damaged nerves. Blood was dribbling from the wound. Adrenaline could not cover the agony.             Tentacles came for her. Most had a slash through the rings of black eyes that circled the claws at the tip. Danielle was knocked flat by a slashing line of teeth hitting her in the chest. Knowing she’d have bruises if she survived, she slammed into the ground.             Then the beast came down on whatever passed for its knees. Sir Longbow leapt for empty space, not wanting to be stuck beneath it. Her shield fell away during the dive. The mouths of the thing faced her.             There was no escaping them. She heard the wooden clapping sound that gave the beast its name. She jumped into the maw of the horrid thing. Acrid odours of stomach acid made her want to gag. She dragged her sword along the inside of its throat. She scored a deep line through pulsing flesh in the dark.             The tube rose vertically, trying to drop her down into its stomach. Danielle threw her weight behind a stab. She held onto the handle of the slick blade. Roaring shook every fibre of her body. She was dizzy from the smell. The long neck slammed down, trying to shake lose the splinter that was cutting it up from within.             Danielle’s sword slipped from her fingers. Thrown flat against the wet walls of the throat, she looked around for the sword. A pale glimmer in the dark as the chatter-jaw’s mouth opened was all she needed. She dived for the sword. Both slid down the throat as the neck rose again.             Covered in drool and bile she slid down at breakneck speed. Her sword punched through flesh as she tried to anchor herself. Nothing stuck as she plunged from darkness towards death. Danielle seemed to double in weight. Bobbing in the air, she realised the beast was flying. Air rushed in through the open jaw. A fresh breeze was welcome. The long fall was not.             The chatter-jaw rolled in the air. Sir Longbow’s gloved hands could not grip the handle of her sword. She hit the top of the throat and slid back to the bottom as the roll slowed. Other beasts flapped through the air. She saw them through the open maw. Predators come to finish her work picked at the greater chatter jaw. She knew that if they killed it her fight would be for nothing. Only she was allowed to stop the beast’s heart if she wanted to go home.             Pulling the sword free Danielle let herself slip further down the throat. The muscles contracted. Vomit hit her in a wave. Closing her eyes didn’t save her from the gunk filling her helmet. It soaked through everything she wore.             Another beast the size of a dog flew in through the open mouth. Barely injured, the thing which had batlike wings attacked her. She cut it in half with a swipe before losing her feet. Gripping the sword for all she was worth she slid down and down. Seeing light from three other tubes, Danielle and the halves of the little monster fell into a chamber. A glowing eye watched her from above a sphincter of teeth. The eye was an orb big enough to fit her inside.             The lost knight leapt for the eye. Eyelids thick as old leather closed. Danielle snuck her left hand between and held on as gravity betrayed her. The pain from her armpit told her she did not have long to live.             “Please. Please. Just die.” The tip of her blade pierced the gelatinous surface which wept acid. Blood poured out. The glowing ooze slowly burnt her skin.             Pushing the sword in and twisting it, she let go and grabbed the eyelid with her right hand. Both lids tried to crush her. It wept gore as she pushed inside. Light everywhere was useless to her except to outline her sword as a silhouette.             The lids closed behind her, leaving her in the monster’s head. Slipping around inside, she gasped for oxygen. Her sword swung through the heavy gelatinous mass of the eye until the socket was leftovers. Everything else had been blinked away. A nerve hung in the socket. Danielle sheathed her sword and clambered up the optic nerve.             Dizzy without enough air to survive she felt her muscles weaken.             Danielle lifted her sword to the hole the width of her arm where the nerves went from the eye socket to the brain.             Her world flipped as the beast fell through the sky. Upside down, her sword slipped from her hand. The blade dived into the mind of the monster. Hot knives cut butter well. A sword flung by gravity from the sky to the ground cuts a greater chatter-jaw’s brain almost as well.             They hit the ground together.             Danielle was cushioned in the mess of the monster’s inner eye and its brain. Knocked out by her own helmet, she was lost to black unconsciousness. Bleeding internally, the two raced each other towards death. The greater chatter jaw won the race by moments.             With the duel done, the god’s herald split the beast in half with a blink. Lifting Sir Longbow from the mess he healed her wounds. “Well done, little knight. You win again.” His lily-white skin stroked her hand. The gore which had soaked her every garment vanished.             With a snap of his fingers, he created a tower of granite. The granite like that of Crann, would keep the knight safe. In the tower’s bed he lay her down to rest.             “My name is Obag Sleagh. It means magic spear.” She was fast asleep, so he sat with her and waited. It would be a day or two before she awoke. “Next, you’ll have to fight a dragon, little knight. It’s all I have left to throw at you.”


“Amber! Amber! You have to come see this!” Fredrick was paralyzed as he peered into his telescope, unable to decipher what it was that he saw. He had hoped that when he opened his present that he would see extraordinary things, but nothing prepared him for this.

“Fredrick, you just set it up! Did you really find something?” Amber yelled as she came running through the back door, her strawberry blonde hair already in a bun ready to see what her little brother had found. “Mom said it’s time for cake, so we have to be fast!”

Amber bent down to see, but with disappointment in her eyes she responded, “Freddy, there’s nothing here…” Frederick was in disbelief! How could she not see it? It was right in front of her eyes, clear as day! He pushed his sister to the side, she must not be looking in the right place, he thought.

“How in the…” “FREDRICK! AMBER!” their mom shouted, “if you want a piece of cake you better get in here and blow out these candles!” As much as he wanted to stay and try to find where the mysterious object went, the thought of disappointing his mother who worked tirelessly all day on his special cake made him quickly return inside.

“Find anything champ?” “Well I..” Amber quickly cut him off, “No grandpa, Freddie had me all excited to see something but when I looked there was nothing! Not even a star!” Fredrick rolled his eyes, he knew he saw something, he just wasn’t sure what it was, or how to explain it.

“Mom, when I’m done with my cake, may I please go to the west hill?” He knew that asking would probably cause a big fight, but he had to try. His mom hasn't let him do very much after what had happened to their father. “Oh honey, you know I don’t like you going there. What if you get lost or hurt yourself? Or even worse, fall?” “Yeah but I’m 16 now. When will I be able to have a little freedom? Amber will come with me!” he pleaded, “Please, I just want to check out my new telescope, and I think all the city lights are making it hard to see things.” He hoped that somehow this would convince his mom. “Fine. But you need to be home by 11. And be careful!” their mom said anxiously.

Fredrick grabbed his telescope while Amber got her keys. Her beat up pickup truck whined as they made their way up the west hill. The same hill that their dad had driven up the night he disappeared. Although it was over a year ago Fredrick remembered every part of that night.

The phone rang, Mrs. Hinderson wiped her hands from making dinner. “Hello, yes, this is Mrs. Hinderson speaking… you’re sure of it? Oh my… NO!” the phone slipped through her hands as she let out a scream. Frederick rushed away from his homework to grab his mother off the floor.

“Mom. What is it? What happened?” he begged for an answer, but through all the tears his mother was only able to mutter to get in the car. He rushed to find Amber but in the panic of it all he had forgotten that she was at the movies with her new boyfriend. By the time he got his shoes on his mom was already in the car waiting. They sped through town headed towards the hill, not stopping at any of the stop lights and flying through stop signs. “Mom, you’re scaring me… is it dad?” She nodded. Tears started to stream down Fred’s face. He didn't know what happened but he expected the worst. They finally started up the hill when they saw the lights, flashing like fireworks on the 4th of July. He grabbed his mom’s hand. “Whatever happens mom, I’ll be here for you, always.” Once they got to the top they were able to park and see what was going on. “He was standing here,” the officer pointed to where you could still see the impression of shoe prints on the ground. “That couple over there said he was standing in this spot for nearly an hour, just staring at the sky. They um… they said it looked like something pulled him over the edge… we have a crew down there looking for him.”

Fredrick’s mom didn’t speak. She just stared at his dad's empty shoe prints. So he started asking all the questions he could, “What do you mean pulled him? Don’t you mean jumped? Why was he here for an hour? Did they see anything in the sky?” “Are you thinking about him?” Amber asked, already knowing the answer. This was the first time Fredrick had permission to come up here. Even though she knew he would sneak up here when their mom went to bed.  The warm New Mexico air pushed his red hair out of his face as he held his head out the window. “Mhmm…” he responded, knowing he was going to be lectured once again about investigating his fathers disappearance. “Freddy… you know there was nothing in the sky, dad just had problems. You have to understand that by now. I know you are desperate for answers but what are you even going to look for with that telescope? All you're going to find is–” “Look,” Frederick interrupted, “You and mom have your way of coping and that's great. But I want answers.” Before his sister could say anything else he quickly got out of the truck and carried his telescope over to where the officer showed him his father last stood. Amber followed behind, worried about her brother. “You shouldn't let this consume you. I know you miss him, we all do! I hate to see you like this!” Fredrick didn't listen to his sister's words. He knew one thing was for sure, he saw something, and he was about to prove it.

“Here, now look,” he whispered as if it could hear him. “I told you I saw something.”  Once again, Amber bent down to see what it was her brother saw, or what he thought he was seeing. Except this time she saw it, and she couldn’t believe she was seeing it. “How is this even possible?” “We have to do something! We need to find help! Come on!” Frederick was yelling as he was running towards the truck leaving his sister and new present behind. “Freddy stop! We don’t even know what it is!” Amber looked one more time, trying to figure out what it was she was looking at, “Are those? Are those panels?” she questioned, unable to believe the words were even coming out of her mouth. They both stared at the sky trying to figure out what it was that they were seeing. Amber slowly walked up to the edge of the hill, reaching her arm out.

“Amber, don’t touch-” before Fredrick could even get his next word out, his sister was gone. Then it clicked. This is what happened to his dad. His dad, and whoever else has gotten close to this thing. He realized they were being kept inside this wall… or dome… whatever it was, the more he looked around the more it made sense. The stars were a pattern, repeated over and over all around him, the clouds never changing. How do I explain this? How do I tell mom? OH NO, MOM! How am I supposed to tell mom about Amber? First dad now her? He knew somehow, some way, he had to figure out how to get his sister and father back. He wasn't going to stop searching until he figured it out. Although he had driven around town with his mom, his sister's old rust bucket wasn’t the easiest to maneuver. As best as he could, he sped home, trying to figure out the right words to tell his mom, “hey mom, good news and bad news. The good news is, I know what happened to dad. Bad news, it happened to Amber, so she's gone now too. And we live in a giant hamster ball, that has sucked who knows how many people out to god knows where.” he frantically said to himself. Stupid, he thought, I sound so stupid. No matter how many times he practiced he knew he sounded crazy, and there was no way his mom was going to believe him. He pulled into his sister's normal parking spot, tears filling up his eyes, Amber. It really hadn’t hit him that his sister was gone, really gone, until now. He wiped his tears and was about to open the door when it suddenly opened. His mother was standing there with an eerie grin, “Fredrick, you’re home early,” she said. “Mom, you’re not going to believe what I have to… tell… you…?” his voice trailed off. “Uh mom? What’s going on?” He walked into his living room to see an overdressed man sitting on their couch with four uniformed men sitting around him. “Who are you?” “Hey Fred,” his grandpa said sternly, “Why don’t you go up to your room.” Frederick couldn't believe what he was hearing. It’s like they didn’t even notice that Amber wasn’t with him. The men in uniforms quickly stood, blocking whatever was on the table so he couldn’t see as he walked by. He stomped around upstairs, trying to sound as if he was in his room. Quickly and as quietly as he could, he tiptoed down a couple stairs and sat. “I thought you said this wouldn’t happen again.” the man whispered, “First your husband, now your daughter? Your family can't help but to put their noses where they don't belong! Care to explain why there’s only supposed to be one door to go in and out of, and for some reason now there's two? You're working against us.” “Excuse me, General. But we have a deal.” Fredrick had never heard his mother speak with such authority. “It’s you and your officer's job to make sure no one gets close enough to the wall to get pulled out. I haven’t Figured out how to fix that weak spot with the resources I have. And until I get it fixed it's your responsibility to keep these people in here! Now that Amber is gone I’m going to have to figure out what my next steps are for this experiment.” “Don’t act like you're out of options!” “That’s enough!” Fredricks grandpa bellowed, tired of the back and forth. He tilted his head towards the stairs. The men quickly stood and headed Fredricks way. Oh crap, he thought as he saw them getting closer and closer. He jumped up and ran to his room, piling up anything he could to block the door. He grabbed his book bag and started throwing whatever he could fit in there. She knew, all this time she knew what happened to dad, what we were living inside of. What did she need with Amber? What kind of experiment was this?

“Freddy dear, why don’t you come out so we can talk about what you heard.” Mrs. Hinderson said sweetly. And even though all he wanted was a hug after everything that happened, Fredrick knew just where he needed to go and how he was getting there.

Amber’s old truck screamed as Fredrick hit the gas, trying to get up the hill as fast as he could. He saw lights starting to flash behind him. He finally reached the top, his telescope still standing at the last place he saw his sister. He wasn't sure if this was going to work but he had to try, he had to get out if he was going to be able to reunite with his sister and stop his mother. He put his foot on the pedal and slammed it to the floor, the tires squealed as they spun on the pavement. He closed his eyes as the truck lept from the hill into the air, a flash of light and he was gone. The officers' cars skidded to a stop, their lights still flashing lighting up the trees around them. Mrs. Hinderson got out of one of one of the cars, dropping to her knees.

“Dammit.” she sobbed.


“Are you coming tonight?”

“Sarah…” “No. I will not take no for an answer. Enough is enough, okay? I gave you a few days to cry and stay in bed in sweatpants and eat pizza, and now it’s over. Get up!” “That was harsh,” I say as I drag my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. Sarah has her arms crossed at this point, and I stare daggers at her fingers tapping against her upper arm. “I’m going.”

“Go faster,” she says as she grabs my arm and pulls me off the bed. “We are going to have a great time tonight!” I feel like she’s staring into my soul, trying to spread some sunshine in there.

“How am I supposed to have a good time? Seriously, Sarah, it’s only been a few days, and I’m still really upset about how everything went down.” I think back to the horrible drunk break up text I got on Wednesday night from Ryan and involuntarily shudder.

I see her eyes soften as she pulls me into a hug. “I know, I’m sorry, Rach.” I blink to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks. I haven’t cried yet today, and I want to keep it that way, especially if Sarah is dragging me out tonight. She pulls back to look at me again. “But we are going to have fun tonight! And no one we know will even be there; it’s just all my boss’s friends.”

I walk over to my closet. “So I shouldn’t wear my bright orange dress with the plunging neckline?”

Sarah laughs and just says, “Please don’t. We have to leave at 6 on the dot, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll be ready at 6:30,” I wink at her.

“Not funny!” she calls over her shoulder as she shuts my door behind her.

*** “I’m ready! 5:55 FYI!” I smirk.

“I’m just glad you seem to be in a better mood now,” I link my arm with Sarah’s.

“Fake it ‘till you make it, right?” I ask. Sarah nods, and we’re out the door.

Of course her boss sent a huge limo for us to go to the party in. Sarah has been working for some talent agency in downtown LA basically the entire time we’ve been in school, and this year she got to start going to parties. When she agreed to go to her first one though, she didn’t know it also involved getting to ride in a limo every single time. Rachel usually went with her so she would have someone to talk to while her boss networked with everyone. Honestly, there didn’t seem much point for Sarah to be there, but neither of them were complaining, especially not when the driver informed them there was chilled champagne waiting for them in the back.

“Cheers!” “To what?” I ask.

“Who cares?” She downs her first glass in one. I shrug and follow suit.

We’re each three glasses in by the time we pull up to the party. We get out and follow the horde of people toward the giant white mansion ahead. “Does President Snow live here?” Sarah asks and then nearly falls over laughing. “You’re such a light weight,” I playfully shove her, but then have to grab her arm when she almost falls over again. “Shit, sorry.” We’re both laughing like idiots so loudly that people are starting to stare at us. “Shhh. We have to get it together in case we run into your boss in here.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine by the time we get inside.”

It takes forever for us to get inside. Even when we’re through the gate, there’s a long line, and we have to give our names at the door before we can cross the threshold. Shockingly, Sarah holds it together until we get inside and she says, “Let’s go to the bar.” I just roll my eyes and follow her; I’m not here to impress anyone.

“Can I get two margaritas, please?” Sarah asks. I see the bartender frantically nod. These parties are always crazy. Sarah turns to me. “So, let’s get to it. We need to find you someone to hook up with.”

My eyeballs nearly pop out of my head. “What? No.” She just keeps looking at me. “No, I’m not hooking up with anybody. Not yet, anyway. Will you stop looking at me like that?!”

“I’m just saying. We’re here. There are a bunch of hot celebrities…”

“Did you just wiggle your eyebrows at me? Maybe I should drink both of these margaritas,” I say as the bartender puts them in front of us.

“Don’t you dare touch mine!” She laughs as she grabs hers and takes a big drink, but it gets stuck to the napkin. Mine does the same, so I pull it off and put it back on the bar. “Oh. My. God.”

I put my drink down. “What?”

She smirks. “What’s that on your napkin?” I look down.

“Did you do this?” I ask it like I’m joking, but I’m kind of annoyed. “Does that look like my number?”

“You could’ve put the bartender up to it,” I whisper since he’s only a few feet away from us.

“When would I have done that? Just look around the bar; try and see who it is.”

“Fine.” I scan the row of people around the bar, and sure enough, some guy across from us raises his glass at me. I quickly turn back around to Sarah, “That must be him.” I take a giant sip of my drink.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Can you please stop saying that?”

“Sorry, but do you know who that is?” I can’t even count how many times Sarah asks me that during these parties.

“No…”

She rolls her eyes and then says, “It’s Gavin Raye!” I must still have a blank look on my face because she elaborates. “The new singer my boss is representing? He just had a huge single come out! Oh my God you have to go over to him.”

Sarah starts to grab her drink like she’s going to walk over there, so I grab her wrist so she can’t pick it up. “No. No way. I’m not talking to anyone. I’m not ready! So stop asking!” I don’t mean to get so mad, especially since I know Sarah is only being pushy because she’s drunk.

“Sorry,” she stares down at the bar and starts picking at the nail polish on her thumb.

“No, I’m sorry. Look, let’s just forget about it, okay? Let’s go have a great time.” She smiles at me and holds out her arm. I link mine with hers, and we leave the bar without a second glance.

*** It’s almost 4 a.m. by the time we get home. I certainly caught up with Sarah in terms of drinks as the night went on, so it takes me a couple of tries to get my key in the door. I cringe as I slam the door knob into the wall. Hopefully I didn’t just wake up our roommates. I don’t handle Jen well when I’m drunk.

Once we make it in I lock the door again and half carry Sarah over to the couch where we sit down. We both bend over to take our shoes off at the same time and laugh as we struggle for way too long with the buckles. “Why do they make these things so damn complicated?” Sarah asks. It sets me off, and I can’t stop laughing, but I stop immediately when I see Sarah waving a napkin in front of my face.

“When did you take that?” I ask. I’m only partially annoyed with her persistence at this point.

“When you weren’t looking,” she laughs. “Come on, humor me, please!”

“I am not texting him. You can take that napkin and throw it right in the trash.”

“I dare you.”

“Are you five?” I can’t help but laugh at her face; she looks so mischievous right now. “I’m not drunk texting some celebrity represented by your boss.”

“Well you’re not going to text him sober either,” she says. We stare at each other for a solid ten seconds without saying anything. Finally, I cave.

“Fine,” I pull out my phone. “What should I say?” Sarah gives me a huge smile and hands me the napkin.


Hey! I'm Harry Matthews, I'm a student writer from the UK. This is a story I wrote recently. I wanted to create a subtle sense of the supernatural without being too blatant and to try and write with a better balance between dialogue (which I often struggle with) and description (which comes more naturally). I hope you enjoy it! I'm not sure it's worth marking this story as "NSFW", although there is some violence/gore. ***SOOTHSLAYER*** “This is the place where I was killed”. His brow furrowed, dark eyes piercing the arid gloom of midnight. Strong, tan hands gripped a leather-bound scimitar at his waist. He gave the ancient soothsayer a grimace. “Finally, you decide to speak. Finally, and it is babble. Whatever value you possess to my Lord is beyond me.” She gave no reply. The creaking, decrepit woman gently toyed with a necklace of dyed beads, bones, and charms. She muttered almost silently, chapped lips barely moving. Zu’kuma sighed, broad shoulders slumping. He moved his gaze away from the deranged hag, out over the barren landscape before him. A few small dunes, dotted with gnarled bushes and great rocks worn smooth by wind-cast sand, sheltered Zu’kuma and the woman from the open desert. Luna’s facsimile half-light cast an exposing glare over the long expanses, but in the shadow of the dunes, Zu’kuma and his whispering partner sat, and took rest. The moon passed mutely above them. Nothing moved within Zu’kuma’s sight. He began to fidget. He stood, taking gentle steps in a wide circle around the woman. As his rested muscles started moving comfortably, his pace quickened to a brisk walk. He looked at the hag again. She hadn’t moved, but for her fiddling hands. “You are an intolerable presence; I must inform you.” Zu’kuma stopped walking, turning to face the woman as he spoke. “How is it that someone so silent, so still, can cause me such irritation? You make no sense, Oracle. I suspect many of the tales I was told of you are fantasy. Stealing you was little effort. Killing your guards was a pleasure.” He knelt, looking her in the eye. She did not return his gaze, still staring at the necklace that snaked between her fingers. “I cannot insult my master’s intelligence, but I believe you are a charlatan. The people of your country are maddened by hashish, yet somehow their fervor has spread into my Lord’s kingdom. I have seen the look in my master’s eye when he considers how he would use you.” The warrior’s head dropped slightly. His voice was flat. “I fear. I fear for him. I wonder what this madness you bring will inspire. He has such vision, and such damning ambitions.” He looked up at her. Her hair was a wild mess of thick braids and matted locks. Lice crawled visibly over her head, like ticks on a rancid dog. She was unbelievably frail. Zu’kuma had seen men starved to death who looked healthier than the Oracle. Zu’kuma sat down, legs folded in front of him, his sword laid flat on his lap. “How did you get to be this? What makes a woman into an Oracle? Was it the fumes? Were you struck as a child? Kicked by a horse? Are you simply insane?” Zu’kuma picked a small piece of wood from the sand by his feet. He eyed the finger-length piece of withered root. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the root towards the Oracle. It crossed the empty space between them and bounced silently off the soothsayers’ forehead. She did not flinch. She gave no reaction, and the imperceptible whispers that snuck between her lips did not stutter. Zu’kuma frowned. Then, aloud, the Oracle spoke again. “It won’t hurt.” Zu’kuma shuffled and got to his feet. “It *didn’t* hurt, you senseless witch. How should any master seek to find reason in the fetid babble of your mewling tongue?” The warrior fastened his sword to his waist and took several heavy steps away from the woman. “You enrage me.” The words seethed like boiling mist running through teeth set as row of spears. “I shall count myself lucky if you do not survive our journey, though I am sure to be – “ Zu’kuma froze for a moment, his hunter’s eyes seeking movement in the dark. A flicker of shadow, a displacement of sand with no wind. Zu’kuma dropped, his legs bent beneath him. He curled his head into his chest as an arrow passed above him. He extended his legs fast and threw himself forwards, rolling over one shoulder, trailing the arrow’s path back to its archer. As Zu’kuma came to his feet, he drew his scimitar in a long sweep. Moonlight struck the blade and it flared bright. A grunt of displeasure trembled behind a nest of frail bushes atop one of the dunes. Zu’kuma threw himself forwards, covering the distance in moments. As he crested the peak, he dove over his right shoulder, narrowly avoiding a second arrow. As he rose, Zu’kuma laid eyes on the first of his attackers. The man was taller than Zu’kuma, though not as broad. He was garbed in the same rough array of skins and fabrics that covered the Oracle’s rotting husk. Zu’kuma took two long strides, closing the distance between himself and the archer. The other man fumbled for a knife at his waist, but Zu’kuma was faster. He sliced open the archer’s belly in a single strike, already moving through him. The Oracle’s archer hit the ground and the stretched flesh holding his body together split. Gurgling cries were all that escaped his lips as his two halves tumbled bloodily down the dune. Zu’kuma moved on instinct, every muscle in his body attuned in perfect balance. Two men appeared from the rocks, long, wicked knives clasped in malnourished hands. They died fast. The striding warrior lunged into the first man, dropping his weight low in a deep crouch, his scimitar passing clean through the man’s knee. The fanatic hit the ground; his left leg separated completely. Zu’kuma rose and stepped over him, driving his sword into the wounded madman’s belly as he passed. He swore in his native tongue, blood rushing from his open mouth. The second threw himself towards Zu’kuma, his knife held high above him, carving down towards the warrior in a broad arc. Zu’kuma avoided the blow easily, moving behind his opponent and bringing his sword down directly onto the man’s head. Zu’kuma withdrew his sword as the man dropped. The warrior ran quickly back to the base of the dune, his sword still grasped in his fist. The Oracle had not moved. She still sat, murmuring silently. Zu’kuma marched towards her, coming to stand a few feet in front of the haggard seer. He spat at her. It hit her cheek, but she did not react. “You are beyond description. I cannot tell you of the hate that is stoked in my heart. Those men – “, he gestured towards the ravaged bodies, “ – were starved, and deranged. They stank of hashish. How can you inspire such madness?” Zu’kuma swelled before the woman. “You must not be allowed to infect my homeland. I care not what punishment awaits me. My master deserves better than you.” Zu’kuma brought his scimitar high. The gleaming blade cut back down through the air, passing without sound through the Oracle’s crooked neck. Zu’kuma watched her head fall to the ground, bounce once, and roll over. Her eyes were open, looking directly into his. She laughed, and then she spoke. “This is the place where I was killed.” Zu’kuma dropped his sword. The Oracle closed her eyes, and the future fell silent.


From a distance, I watched them making jokes, laughing at each other. I felt nothing but an ever-increasing emptiness. In the past, I tried to save them, each one. I really did my best, but it was never enough. In the end they all died, it was just a matter of time. All my efforts, all my struggles were not enough to keep them alive, to keep them from dying. This timeline will not be different, the outsider will come, there will be no war. There just needs to be no war. It will be a massacre. I'm just a single person who is completely powerless against them, and what's worse, the people from this world - who I'm desperately trying to protect - don't even take my concerns seriously. They laugh like it's a joke or act like I'm crazy. There really are days when I doubt my own sanity, but it would be strange if that weren't the case, wouldn't it? How many times have I died? How many times have I tried to convince them to get ready? How many times have I just begged for it all to end? I stopped counting. Countless times I tried to save them, put myself in danger, used my own body as a shield to protect them. The end was always the same. I feel like I hit a wall. Whatever I did, it was in vain. I couldn't save even one person, let alone the whole world. The chance is gone for me. I just wanted to die, and I did. And woke up again. Even if I wanted to die, I couldn't. It felt like a curse. It didn't matter what I wanted, I had no choice but to live, and I hated every second of it. Over the course of the different timelines, I found that I had changed. I used to be desperate, there were times when I literally begged them to hear me out. Sometimes they felt sorry for me, pretended to believe me, but when the disaster came, they were shocked. What I said was true. They didn't believe me for a second, in the end they wasted all my time. They gave me hope even though there was none. That's why I don't try to talk to them. It's all pointless anyway. And that's why I'm choosing a different path, one I've never considered before. I will rise above each and every one of them, like a star I will descend into heaven, but instead of an angel I will take the form of a demon. Straight out of hell. I will not beg them to trust me, to believe my words - it is too late for that. I will show them how powerless they really are, I will show them fear and force them to prepare - even if it means that I will be their enemy. I will kill innocent people. It's too late to regret it now, to back down just because I'm afraid of the blood that will be on my hands very soon. Perhaps it is my fate to be hated by the very people I have always tried to protect - what a truly cruel fate. But I don't have the power to go against fate itself, even if I wanted to. I am just a human being forced to relive the end of our world again and again - unable to change it, unable to prevent it. I'm tired, exhausted by it all, and frankly I don't have the will to go on anymore. I have died countless times, each time in such a cruel way that I want to die. To put an end to it all. A person should not experience death more than once. There are reasons why they die, and they never come back - at least that's what I believe. Death is not something that can be glossed over to make it more attractive - it destroys the lives of countless people, but it is necessary. There is no one who knows better, it is better to die than to go on living. Repeat the same life over and over again. Trust me, because once a certain point is passed, a person begins to change. They become twisted, question their own sanity, and feel themselves slowly losing control - unable to die, they are forced to stay, forced to endure. I'm not saying they are weak because they are collapsing under the pressure - it's just a matter of time. The burden will not disappear even for a second, will remind them every time to give everything, not to give up - because if they do, they don't know if they can get up again. They won't. Please believe me, you keep forgetting that they are human too. Mortals. So are their bodies and minds - they can't last forever. They will fall. They will break. It's just a matter of time. That's not an insult, I'm not trying to downplay their efforts - it's the harsh reality. Even the hardest metal can be bent if you put enough pressure on it, and it will break if it refuses to do so. That is the law. The unwritten law of this world. You can shake your head all you want, it doesn't change anything. My words have changed nothing, neither my honesty nor my warnings - about what will happen. They denied the truth until the very last second, shaking their heads in complete disbelief when their time was up. It was the same as always. They died, one by one. As always, there were some who blamed me for not warning them sooner, they yelled at me to save them, to do something - I couldn't help but laugh. I should save them? What do they think I've been doing all this time? Why do they think I was begging them, desperately hoping they would understand - do they think I'm doing it because it's fun? Being laughed at? Looked down upon? Swallowing your pride, asking for help, for their trust? Who do they think I am? I had an urgent need to yell at them, to grab them, to shake them - to force them to understand. But I was interrupted. They were killed literally seconds before I could do anything. They were cut in half. I felt like the world was laughing at me, mocking my tireless efforts. I heard the sound of something crumbling, but before I could look for the source, I was killed. Like an innocent bystander, I watched my torso rise until it was swallowed by it. In one piece. I couldn't run away, couldn't even turn my head away - because that's all I have left. Wasn't I supposed to be dead by now? As if my wish had come true, I too was eaten. Devoured by the nameless enemy. I called them the Outsiders, which in my humble opinion was a pretty good title for these invaders. But here I am again, at the very beginning of my "journey." Here I am in this depraved place. Unpleasant memories flashed through my mind, reminding me of the person I once was. Of the person I once used to be. Why does nothing change? Why is all my struggle in vain? Why don't they understand that I am as powerless as they are? As helpless as they are? Or maybe I'm even more desperate than they are, they at least have someone to back them up, someone to believe them, maybe even money or people on their side - I'm alone. There is not a single person who will miss me, who will even notice that I am gone. That is the hard truth. I am all alone - yet I am forced to stay in this cursed world. Since I cannot die, they force me to relive it's very last moments. They demand that I save the world, empty-handed. So here I am, shaking my head in disbelief. I will save them; I will save every one of these fools - by killing them. I will force them - as this world forced me - to be strong, to persevere in the face of crisis. There will be no doubt, they will not have the time. They will rise from the ashes and try to beat me, their enemy - maybe they will win, but I personally don't care - what matters is what happens afterwards. Will they finally be able to defend themselves? To prevent their downfall - but I will never know. My life has lost any meaning ages ago, here I am just barely hanging on a single thread. Dangeling above an endless darkness, but I have yet to give up this last hope. Desperately I am clinging onto it, refusing to let go - hoping 'wanting' something is enough to archieve it. I should have known better, should have faced reality sooner. Maybe it wouldn't be so harsh if I did it, braised myself, instead of running away. It's too late. Even if I have the 'power' to change the past, have the 'power' to overcome death itself - it doesn't save me from myself. I can feel it, how I am slowly losing the grip, slowly losing my sanity...


Before the story starts, I just wanted to say that this is my first attempt at writing something and I'm not too sure what to tag this as but I think this is the best tag. I guess I should also say that the tone in this bit of writing is dark throughout the story. Any feedback would be well appreciated as I am just starting out. The Ridge As he stood there on the ridge of the mountain, he looked out on the world beneath him. In the far-off distance, he could see people getting on with there day, but from up here they were just specs that looked like everything else. The place that he was staying, he couldn’t remember the name of it, he just knew that it was the place that would help him decide. As he stood up there on the ridge, he looked out and he could see everything. He saw the beauty that was the natural landscape, not man-made massive skyscrapers, it was the beautiful mountain ridges and trails. The long forests that anyone could get lost in, the inland loch with the sun shimmering off its surface and creating the perfect reflection. He breathed out and decided that he had had enough. He sat down in quiet contemplation and thought about his decision. He knew it was the right one but he couldn’t not think about what he’d leave behind. He’d leave behind his loving wife, his family, his friends. People that had got him through hell and back before, but this time he had to do this on his own. He thought about the other things he’d miss, the small things. Such as the wisdom he could learn from reading books from the present and the ancient past, music that influenced him all through his life and helped him in his worst moments and finally, but the weirdest one he thought, he’d miss just getting to laze about doing nothing, knowing he could and probably should be doing something. He decided that tomorrow was the day, the day he would disappear forever. He hadn’t done anything of note, nothing to get him in the annals of history. He hadn’t given great political speeches like Cicero, he hadn’t given the world one of the greatest live performances like Queen, he had just existed. He had a few regrets but that was his biggest. All of the media he had watched and consumed and loved, had shown people, ordinary people, coming from nothing to rise up and become something greater. A beacon of whatever they stood for, love or hope were the usual tropes. So, he descended down the mountain, and went back to the small bed and breakfast he had booked. As he lay, for the last time, on the soft bed, that wasn’t even his, he couldn’t sleep. He knew what he was doing tomorrow and the worst part was, he was excited. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to do it right that second. But eventually, sleep took him and he had the best rest he had ever had. Just before he slipped into this rest, he was only thinking of one thing. Earlier his mind had been racing but by just laying there staring up at the wooden ceiling, his mind calmed, his heart slowed and he knew what to think of. He could only think of that view from up on the ridge. It was about midday when he was finally ready, he had spent the morning preparing for it to happen, and he was on the verge of making it happen. So, he set off up the mountain trail again, for the last time. When he finally reached the summit, he put his bag down and kneeled at the edge of the ridge. He firmly planted his hands down on the ground and knew this was it. He looked out at the beautiful landscape for one last time, before getting up. He grabbed his bag and turned around. He saw some people were getting close to the ridge, so he scurried down the opposite side of the ridge. Finally, not on any trail or path he was told to go on, he was free. He was free from it all and he was finally at peace and he smiled. As he descended into the wilderness, he came upon one of the forests. With a smile and a feeling inside him that he had never felt, he took his first step into the forest. Never to be seen from again, never to be heard from again but he would always be there.


There is a package sitting on my bed. I find it when I drop my bag on the floor after work, ready to go to the kitchen and wash my hands. Initially, I am a little annoyed. I don’t want a parcel from outside touching my quilt. Barb must have put it there, and I consider talking to her about it, but after the bath towel incident, I don’t want to bother her. On closer inspection the package does not have a shipping label, so maybe Barb wrapped it herself, in which case I don’t mind it being on my bed. Oh. My name is written on the brown paper, printed with black ink in a familiar hand, neat when it tries, and clearly it tried. Not Barb, then. Since it does not appear to have been through the postal system, I leave the package there and go to wash my hands. The sink needs wiping down, and I think maybe I’ll do that over the weekend unless I’m pulled into something else. My apartment is the first place I’ve lived without adult supervision. It’s two bedrooms and a small kitchen on the third floor of a building near campus, with ugly pink walls that, as renters, we can’t paint over.

Barb and I moved in together out of convenience and stayed out of friendship, after the first few weeks of getting to know each other’s routines. She’ll be back from biology class in maybe an hour, and then we’ll chat while she makes dinner. I go back to my room and sit down carefully on the edge of the bed. Maybe I should unpack my bag and tidy up before I open the package. But I’m too curious now, so I pick it up and slip a finger under the carefully-taped paper, not tearing it even a bit as I unwrap. It’s my book.

Mine, the one I wrote. Inside the front cover, I can see it’s not one of my signed copies, but there is a note.

I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t someone you could tell, when this came out. I loved your book, Lydia. There is no signature, and I don’t need one. For the hell of it, I flip to a random page, and almost laugh. There are notes jotted in all the margins, gel pen smears and smiley faces and underlined passages. I put the book aside, gently laying it on my patchwork quilt. I can’t do this right now. She wrote my name twice, on the wrapping and in the note. Lydia. Ly-di-a, three syllables. Ly-di-a. Lea-der-ship. Trust-wor-thy. Ob-sess-ive. Ob-sess-ive. Ob-sess-ive. Yeah, I get it. I wasn’t perfect. I am so far from perfect it makes me laugh sometimes, and mostly I don’t mind. I’m the only one I’m never good enough for. Except for her, maybe, or maybe it wasn’t her at all, but it still hurt. It’s still been two years.

I’m still not mad. I think I should be, and for a while I was. But not anymore. I’m drifting too much to hold onto anything, especially a grudge against someone I love that much. At first, she was everywhere. Birthday cards tacked to my corkboard, t-shirts folded in my dresser, scarf hanging by the door. I think her love language was gifts, and maybe that’s part of why we didn’t work. I didn’t give my friend, in the material sense, anywhere near as much as she gave me. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it wasn’t really about the gifts. It was about communication, and when did we ever do that? Still, things she gave me were all over my room, and it stung. Now most of those things are gone or packed away. I thought they’d stay that way. I stand up and unpack my bag. I fold my laundry and vacuum the rug and wash my hands again and put a burrito in the microwave for a snack. Then I wash the dishes I found at a department store downtown. While I’m doing that, Barb comes in through the door, the sound making me flinch, since it came so suddenly out of the quiet. “Hey, Lydia,” she says. “You lovely human!” She adds, noticing the mostly clean laminate countertop.

I just smile, and she gets it, that I don’t have anything to say. She sets down her textbooks on the counter and sits on one of the bar stools. “Did you see what I left on your bed?” she asks. “Yeah,” I say.

She waits to see if I’ll say anything else. “She asked me if you’d be mad,” she says. “I think she found me online, ‘cause I’d never seen her before. Is she an ex?” “Not like that,” I say. “Ex-best friend, I guess. We aren’t really on speaking terms right now.” Barb nods. “What was inside?” “My book,” I tell her. “She wrote a note inside.” It’s clear in her eyes that she doesn’t really know how to talk to me about this. I wish I could tell her, but I don’t know what I would say. That it’s a touchy subject but she doesn’t need to worry about it? How is she supposed to take that? Living without adults – we’re eighteen, but that doesn’t mean anything because neither of us considers ourselves grown-up – has been an interesting experience for all the wrong reasons. When we split up chores, we decided that I would do most of the cleaning and Barb would cook. What that has meant so far is that our apartment always smells faintly of vinegar and Clorox; and for dinner tonight we are eating cornbread, carrot sticks, and what is probably supposed to be rice pudding, but which I have decided not to ask about, in case it comes off as rude. It tastes pretty good, regardless of what it’s meant to be. “Do you want to talk about it?” Barb asks. She is halfway through her cornbread, which is slightly burnt on the bottom and slightly gooey in the center, but not enough of either to complain about unless you are Paul Hollywood or under the age of six. She said the oven was the wrong temperature. “The cornbread?” I say, taking a large sip of water. She raises an eyebrow, and I look back, pretending I don’t know what she means even though I very well do. “The note,” she explains. “Some girl came up to me after work, asked if I was Barb Haufmann, handed me a package with your name on it, and told me she missed you. You don’t owe me an explanation, but if you don’t mind too much, I’d like some backstory.” “She misses me?” “Are you sure she’s not an ex?” I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.” I bite the end off a carrot stick and chew it all the way. “We were friends as little kids. A couple years ago she decided we shouldn’t be. Said I didn’t care about her interests, I think. I don’t know if it was really about me, though.” Barb winces. As understanding as she is, sometimes she takes it a little too seriously when someone gets mad at me for a little social thing I forget to do – in this case, talk about things other than whatever I’m buried in at the time. “She doesn’t sound very nice.” “She was, though. She was the kindest person I knew. She was just in the middle of a complicated relationship with someone else, and it got… a little manipulative. I think.” I don’t actually know the details, and it frustrates me. I try not to theorize. “Sounds like one of those situations you need to stay out of for your own health,” Barb says. “Maybe,” I say. I chew another carrot to mush. “I’m going to make her something.” Barb sighs. “I won’t stop you. Just be careful, Lydia.” “She’s my best friend,” I say firmly, present tense because I told her I needed time, not that we shouldn’t be friends again.

I wash the dishes while Barb dries, then curl up in bed with my sketchbook and laptop. I don’t draw very much, but I don’t think that’s really the point, in this case.

There was a cartoon show, that we watched when we were younger. I remember emailing back and forth past midnight, looking at the fan art she drew and telling her how much I liked it, even if that was before I’d seen the show when I didn’t know the characters. I remember feeling high on conversation and the sort of jokes pre-teens think are scandalous. I sketch out the two main characters from her show. Underneath, in a gel pen from middle school that I think she complimented once, I write: I miss you. It’s small, and the edge of the paper rips when I try to tear it out along the perforated edge. It’s nothing compared to how long it must have taken her to mark up my book. But maybe it’ll be enough. I know her address, the same one she had two years ago. I can tell – same wallpaper stains in the background of her Instagram posts, same fake marble countertop under pictures of meals she’s made. I don’t have Instagram, but I check her page sometimes, to convince myself she is real and alive and okay. The drawing goes in an envelope, sealed with a donut sticker like we’re still thirteen and addressed to just her first name, like she wrote on mine. I call to Barb that I’m going on a walk and step out into the damp, chilly October night. Should I check her posts now, I wonder if they would be filled with Halloween decorations. The mailbox at the drugstore makes me pause, partly because I’ve seen people touch that handle right after clumsily scooping up dog poop, and partly because what if this is a terrible idea, what if it’s not enough, what if she thinks the drawing means more than ‘I want to stop pretending we don’t care.’ I stare at the chipping blue paint, the box casting an eerie shadow in the dusk. The sticky air is somewhere between comforting and suffocating, and I’d better do this quick and get home before someone asks what a random girl is doing loitering in front of a mailbox. Still, I stand there for what is probably another five minutes before doing anything. Finally, I open the mailbox with two fingers and slip the letter inside, listening to it thunk down onto metal. As I run back home, I try to convince myself that the little ache in my stomach is just the urge to wash my hands.


(TW … mention of assassination, hanging) (Note, can be read on its own or as a continuation of previous story “Essy 37 Head of State” submitted in contest #224) The assassination went off without a hitch, shocking the world and those closest to him who did not see it coming. After years of oppression and cruelty, the freed citizens fled in droves, leaving Washington DC abandoned by all. All except Jane.

Jane wandered the empty halls fighting the urge to continue her job which was null and void. The offices sat silently, the phones not ringing, the keyboards not clicking. The only sound was Jane’s soft footsteps as she walked the halls alone. The staff was long gone in pursuit of better lives. All except Jane. For Jane was not part of the general staff, she was not the run of the mill employee. She was, in fact, the personal assistant to the dictator. *** Waking past the desks he had his usual men surrounding him, their clacking shoes making that awful announcement of their approach, instilling fear into the environment. Jane worked quietly, keeping her head down, entering the data with both speed and accuracy, saying a silent prayer for no errors. Punishment for errors came quickly.

She kept her eyes glued to the forms on her desk, her face expressionless. “You.” The footsteps stopped at her desk. “Follow me.” It took a moment to register. He had routinely made similar demands, picking out girls to summon into his office. The beautiful girls, they went in hesitantly, came out broken. Jane, with her scars from long ago, had a shield keeping her safe from his desires. “Yes, sir.” She stood and followed him into his office, his surrounding men now surrounding her. “What is your name?” “Francesca, sir.”  “Have her name changed to Jane,” he instructed the man on his left. “Yes, sir.” Turning his attention to the next man in his entourage, he commanded, “Arrange her office and uniform.” “Yes, sir.” Turning on his heel, he barked, “Follow me.” Once again, she followed silently into the unknown. Looking around the office she had been led into, she asked, “What is happening?” “Your new position, Jane. You are now his personal assistant.” *** How many years ago was that? Too many to count. Before that, life with a cruel father and spineless mother was what she called her childhood. Unknown at the time, that cruelty saved her from the wicked world she found herself thrown into, prepared her for life with the dictator. The scars she carried both internally and on her face became a barrier no one would cross, not even him. She entered the clerical room, her soft footsteps in stark contrast to theirs, the memory tightening her chest in fear. Walking through the deserted aisles she stopped at her desk from years ago, reliving the sheer terror of the moment she was commanded to follow him, receiving her assignment. Looking at the papers strewn about, she wondered where her replacement admin had gone. The new government had appeared overnight in perfect coordination with the assassination. Fifty Heads of State, unknown before the takeover, took charge of the country, each needing a staff of their own. The girls fled to their new positions, free to choose from the many opportunities, finding their freedom. Months later Jane still wandered the empty halls, slept in her tiny room in the basement of the White House and prepared her meals in the massive commercial kitchen. Free to leave had left her frozen in place. Feeling a sudden chill flow through the massive and abandoned room she was startled. How long had it been since she ventured outside? Swept along with the mob to watch the public hanging had been brutal, seeing the lithe body swinging was both unbearable and awe inspiring. Such an act of courage setting the country free while giving up her own life. For he had made the rule an eye for an eye, and she had knowingly agreed when pulling the trigger. Having seen enough of the macabre celebration she had raced back inside, quickly seeking solace in her office, knowing that without her boss she reported there based solely on the familiarity of routine. Lost in thought, she walked down the marble staircase to the lobby. Opening the grand double doors, she gasped to see the snow falling on the empty lawn. The bleak scene of destruction became secondary to the beauty of the white blanket. Although temporary, it was long enough to give Jane some relief. Images floated through her mind. Were they something she had read or saw online before the signal was blocked? Perhaps memories from those few fleeting years when her father had left her and her mother penniless and abandoned in their dilapidated home? All these years later, as fate would have its twisted way with her, she once again stood penniless and abandoned, this time on the steps of what had been the grandest home in the country.

Pulling the black woolen coat tighter around herself she took a step out, tilting her head back, an unnatural position for her. The cool flakes fell on her, soothing her, not discriminating one side of her face from the other.

Following that long ago whisp of a memory she stepped onto the lawn and lay down.

“That’s it, Francesca, there you go! See your angel, sweetheart?” Mama had said after they swept the snow with their arms and legs. Her mother had come back to life in their abandonment. A short burst of light had shone in the time between her abusive father leaving and the president turned dictator bringing darkness over the country. She stood, looking back at the angel in the snow in front of the White House, null and void. What was to become of her? *** Tiptoeing into his office she looked around, went to his desk, and sat down. Quickly nauseated she stood and ran out. Fleeing past the rows of desks she recalled her early days while she still had her own thoughts, her own voice. Finding the hollow space under her desk she had taped a folder there, imitating the silent action of her coworkers. Her papers. Did he ever find them? Surely not, for the punishment would have been swift and severe, displayed for all to see.

Falling to the floor she placed her hand under the cold metal desk. Her heart racing, she pulled down the folder, tape stuck to all four edges. Startled to discover unfamiliar pages in a handwriting not her own, she sat and read the detailed instructions left behind for her to find. *** “Who shall I say is calling?” “Jane.” A pause. “No. Francesca.” Jane was null and void. *** Searching the supply room, she organized a pile of uniforms in her size to take with her. Pulling on warm black boots and layers of clothing including a woolen coat and scarf she felt prepared for the journey.

S37 had offered to send her a car but the roads of the abandoned capital had not been plowed and the snow was thick and heavy. Preferring to walk out on her own, she agreed to meet on the road traveling north to State 37. After an extensive and comforting conversation with the closest Head of State, she looked forward to meeting her new boss. She silently thanked whoever had left those instructions for her in the hiding spot known only by the clerical staff, for she had saved her life. One last look around. One deep breath. She walked through the double doors and closed them tightly behind her. The angel from earlier was snowed over, no trace to be seen, but Francesca saw it perfectly in her mind’s eye as she walked across the great lawn to her new life.


She shouldn’t have answered the call from an unfamiliar number, or, at the very least, should’ve hung up when the caller revealed her identity. Alexina had worn out her welcome five years ago, when she’d used the “skills” she’d practiced throughout childhood—often at Hannah’s expense—to lure the man Hannah loved into her arms. Since then, they’d shared no phone calls, no texts, no emails, no visits, no information whatsoever. She should have resumed the boycott. Instead, the couch beneath her groaning as she leaned forward, she’d blurted, “I have nothing to talk to you about.”            “You didn’t see the news?” her sister questioned, as if this made her a dolt.            “I don’t care about the news. I thought I made myself clear when I—“            “My house’s gone. Parker’s gone. Everything ’s gone.” Her voice broke on the last syllable, pinching Hannah’s heart just enough to keep her on the line. She opened her laptop on the coffee table and typed Alexina’s location into Google.            Her stomach plunged.            Despite everything, she’d never wished this on her sister, or Parker. She pictured them huddled in a basement, wondering whether they would see the next hour. She imagined them screaming as the house tumbled down around them, weeping as they contemplated the destruction this would wreak on their lives for months, if not years, to come.            “Oh, Alexina, I’m sorry.”            “Yeah. Me, too.”            She tightened her grip on the phone, not knowing what else to say, to do.            At last, Alexina said, “I wouldn’t be asking you this if there was anybody else, or if I could afford a hotel, but Parker’s business never really took off, and we’ve been struggling with the bills, and I’ve got nobody with room for me at their place…”            Hannah’s jaw clenched. Though she hated herself for it, the thought of having Alexina in her house, drinking her coffee, showering in her bathtub, sleeping beneath her sheets, drove knives into her gut.            “There’s gotta be somebody,” she said, heartbeat a fireworks finale.            “There’s not. I’ll be out in the streets if you don’t help.”            She wanted nothing to do with her. And, yet, she did have something to do with her: the blood pulsing through her veins, the very blood freezing at the thought of honoring it.            She had no choice. *         *         *            She didn’t know why, as she paced, she straightened the curtains, the throw pillows, the roses in the vase on the coffee table—she’d stopped caring what her sister thought of her half a decade ago, and she still didn’t. She didn’t know why it had come to this, why the universe couldn’t accept their separation and move on. She didn’t know why she peeked out the window, because she had no idea what kind of car Alexina drove—whether she’d kept her blue Toyota Yaris or replaced it because that vehicle had broken down, or been totaled, or fallen out of her fickle fancy. She didn’t know why she bothered wondering at all.            A car—it was the Toyota—slowed and pulled into the driveway beside her Honda. She took a breath, steeled her shoulders, and opened the door as Alexina came up the steps, suitcase in hand, looking just as she remembered. She even recognized her blouse and jeans. “Thanks again, Hannah,” she said, brushing past her into the living room without an invitation. Clenching her jaw, Hannah shut the door.            “I was hoping we could talk,” Alexina said. “It’s a shame how things ended.”            Hannah stiffened.            Alexina sighed like a teacher with a naughty student. “Come on, Han. You can’t tell me you don’t wanna work it out.”            No, she couldn’t tell her that—not because it wasn’t true, which it was, but because that would make for an even more awkward few weeks. Better to approach this diplomatically, for now. “Let’s get you settled in, and then we’ll think about that.”            Alexina frowned but didn’t argue.            She followed her to the guestroom. As her eyes swept the place, the creases beside her lips darkened. Apparently, she’d expected the Ritz.

Unsure how much longer she could retain composure, she told Alexina to tell her if she needed anything and walked away to start a dinner she had a feeling neither of them would eat. *         *         *            Their forks clinked, pushing food around their plates but not bringing it to their mouths. Hannah sculpted her mashed potatoes into a mountain and nudged a pea up its slope; it rolled back down.            “I missed you all these years,” Alexina said.            Hogwash. She’d called her because she needed her, and only because she needed her.            “You remember we were always at each other’s throats.”            “That was then. We’re more mature now.”            Not true. People didn’t change—not in five years, not in ten, not in twenty. They may learn a few lessons along the way, but personality was etched in stone since the day one came screaming into the world. The only question: Why did Alexina care so much about mending fences? She’d gotten what she wanted. Since when did anything else matter to her?

Because she doesn’t know if this is all she’ll want from you. Her jaw stiffened, a fist curling in her gut.            “I think it’s better if we keep our distance.”            “Why?”            “Because we’re cats and dogs, Lexi.” She sighed, feeling as if explaining simple addition for the fortieth time. “Look. I’m not saying anything bad about you. I’m sure there’s lots of people you can gel with. But I’m not one of them.”            Alexina flicked a pea off her plate; it plunged off the table and onto the floor. “So you just wanna give up on your only sister.”            “There’s a point where it’s just wasting time.”            Alexina’s face flushed, and she shot Hannah a glare that could’ve punched straight to a volcano’s core. “Grow up, Hannah.” She jumped to her feet and stalked out. The guestroom door slammed. Hannah remained there, staring at her food, Alexina’s words echoing in her head. Perhaps she was acting immature. Perhaps the twister, or marriage, or life in general had changed Alexina. Perhaps she did deserve another chance, if not because of that, then simply because of the genes and history they shared. She contemplated it all night, tossing and turning, the chirping of the crickets outside her window maddening. When the sun’s tangerine tendrils peeked over the horizon, she rose with only a sweaty pillow and blanket pretzel to show for those hours.            As Alexina showered, she dropped onto the couch and switched on the TV. She’d had it tuned to the news; an anchor was droning on about a sculptural exhibit in a nearby city’s museum. The camera flashed to a white-walled, white-floored room filled with busts sporting hideous features—gigantic hooked noses, broken teeth, ram-like horns protruding from their foreheads. A waste of the marble from which their “artist” had carved them. A buzz sounded from the table between the sofas. She grabbed the phone and woke it up. The text had come from “Kaila”—a name she didn’t recognize. Thus, she realized her mistake: She and Alexina both had the newest iPhone. She’d forgotten that she’d left hers in the bedroom.            Before she could replace the device, however, the message in question caught her eye.

Hey. Just wanted to see how you’re doing and let you know if things don’t work out with your sister my offer to stay with me still stands.            Her jaw dropped, mouth going as dry as sandpaper.            She should’ve known. Or perhaps she had known, but, once again, she’d ignored the facts, ignored common sense, ignored anything she didn’t want to accept.            But she’d have plenty of time to excoriate herself later.            Heat expanding in her chest, she jumped to her feet and marched to the guestroom. She gathered the clothes Alexina had hung and the suitcase containing those she hadn’t; stalked down the hall, through the living room, out the door; and hurled the contents of her arms onto the lawn.            They looked better there than they ever had on their owner.


You know that strange feeling when you see the name **Al Pacino** in a sentence and without your consent, you just start adjusting your reading? It’s kinda like you are leaning back on the front seat of your car when you are waiting for someone or something. It’s not that you read it in his voice. It is just… different… Ahh… Nevermind. ### So anyway. I took the subway the other day and saw an ad for **KingNugets**. Just a nice, big, tasty and very juicy bucket of nuggets. I don’t even know if it is chicken but it was looking mighty tasty. Since my bank was closed and I don’t trust those God damn machines that create money out of plastic, I just went home and forgot about it. **You should know that I am at that age where time is just a linear path towards your death bed, so I was firmly asleep by 10.** My mornings usually start at 6 because I feel like I would be missing out on something even though every morning is exactly the same. It’s like life is pulling a cheap FOMO prank on me. **_It’s a tragedy when you think about it._** My next morning would also start at the usual time if that friendly-looking Chinese guy didn’t convince me that those batteries are super-durable. He was very specific about it. _See? It says super-durable on the package. Very good price._ You don’t have to be Albert Einstein to figure out that the alarm clock didn’t go off and my morning was ruined. At least that’s how I felt when I woke up at 9. ### Boy, do I hate false advertisement… It wasn’t anger, it was just that I am missing out on that thing that I like and I honestly don’t know how many more chances I will be getting. A logical chain of events occurred after that realization. My fear of missing out signaled my brain that we should do something about it and my brain took a while but it eventually signaled me that we should do something about it. **And so we did.** I went straight to the bank with the batteries in my pocket. I also have the receipt because old people anticipate these things. It is pointless trying to explain why. You are just not ready for that information yet. My trip to the bank was refreshing. The air felt different at 9 o'clock. I forgot about that... The bank door opens, I am greeted and served as a gentleman and no one is asking for plastic. **_You should try it sometimes, it is a rather pleasant experience._** On my way out I see another **KingNugets** ad. This time it was bigger and I could smell the taste because I was hungry like a wolf. I felt like running after that bus but my logic reassured me that there is no prize at the end of that marathon. Only a stroke after an exhausting 15-meter dash. Luckily, a window of opportunity for a detour has just opened up. Time to get that bucket and to hell with my cholesterol. I go for the drive-through at **MrKingNugget** and a kid stops me to ask for the time. I look at my watch, pass on the information to this unsupervised minor and continue my journey. **My mood was getting better and I was seconds away from picking up my order.** After I am done with that bucket I will have more energy to fight for my consumer rights than those batteries had in mint state. Who will stand up for the people if not me? “**It all starts with an idea**”, that’s what they always told me. ### **But a strange turn of events would soon unfold that will baffle me to this day.** I hear a knock on my window, I turn my head to the right and it’s that Chinese guy from the store. He recognized me and before I could say anything he started apologizing for giving me the wrong batteries. **I didn’t know how to react.** I was pleased because someone recognizes me and I was also pleasantly surprised by his honesty. Not many sales people posses that ability. I had all of those complaints lined up in my mind and rehearsed at least 20 times. Am I just going to let it slide? **Eh… I guess we can use it another time.** Waking up at 9 didn’t turn out so bad after all. The only thing that is missing is that bucket of **KingNugets** and a pissed off kid that just threw a rock at my windshield. > Where did he even find a rock that big? At this point, you just have to ask yourself, what the fuck is going on here? The kid was screaming at the top of his lungs. He was properly pissed like someone stole his lunch or something. For some reason, I was labeled as a liar and the noise was becoming a bit irritating. > What are we doing here? This is not the school, I’m not the nerd and you broke my damn windshield kid! I was thinking about getting out of the car and punting him across the parking lot but there was his mother running in the distance like this was some dramatic Hollywood scene. **I couldn’t hear her, obviously, because her triggered offspring had no plans of shutting up. ** A lot of screaming and shouting followed. She shouted at me, I shouted at her, the kid shouted at the Chinese guy and I had another reason to shout back at him… It took a while but a civilized level of conversation was eventually established. As it turns out, the kid has “**anger management issues**” (whatever that may be) and he doesn’t like to be lied to. Since the watch I was wearing came from the same shop that I visited yesterday, the kid somehow figured out that I didn’t give him the correct answer. How come he didn’t figure out that I was limited by this piece of technology that was made who knows where and doesn’t perform the task it is made for in the first place? And why would he even think that I lied to him? What’s with the fact-checking kid? >It says “marketing expert” on your car sir. He has anger management issues, not brain damage. That’s what his mother said right before all three of them took off leaving me with a lot of questions about my ego and a broken windshield. **It was an awkward moment…** This whole mess lasted for about 5 minutes. Maybe less. How can I know? That thing still doesn’t work... After a brief pause, I handed over the money, took that bucket and put it on my lap. > I was never more disappointed in my life… Did you know they photoshop those ads to make the nuggets look bigger? The things these kids can do with technology… My day was officially ruined once more, my breakfast was way below my lowest expectations and there was no one left to pay for that windshield. I think I read once in a very old book that there are these tiny moments of honesty every once in a while. They are time-limited but they are strong enough to get the best out of you and make you do the thing you really want to do. If you ever saw the movie **Scent of a Woman** and got all the way to the scene where they are all arguing at the table, you would know that I am having the same look on my face as **Al Pacino** did in that scene. I think I even went blind for a second or two. **So… I did the the only logical thing I could think of.


It was just a joke. Everything was a big fucking joke back then. Have messy locker. Heh. Deliberately throw all your trash in the locker. What a hoot. Leave lock off so that your friends can get in on that shit. Fucking hilarious Take all of our school photos, the preview ones that were clouded with a water mark, and hang them up on the door of the locker. God damn comedy gold. You see 11th grade is probably the biggest you'll ever feel in your entire life. You focus way too much on how the world views you and not so much on anything that actually mattered. So no, being a pig on it's own isn't funny, but getting that look. The unsuprised, slightly apathetic, accusitory look that said "You dumb fuck." Priceless. I was sitting in homeroom, which is the second class of the day for some reason. I remember the vice principal walking in. "Ben" He was holding a small caddy that contained gloves, a roll of paper towel, and an unknown chemical in a spray bottle. "Is your locker number 2007?" "Yeah." It wasn't. It was Danny's, but it's a retarded question anyways. There's no way I could confirm that, I mean who actually ever looks at that shit? "You and Daniel need to go clean that up right now, this is ridiculous." I could feel my face getting hot and heard a couple of shushed giggles scattered around me as I got out of my chair and walked to the door. I tried to remember what walking normal actually looked like and tried my best to emulate it. Nice walk dumbass. I hated being put on the spot when I was alone. Vulnerable. I found my way to my locker though silent hallways besides the occasional chatter coming from open classroom doors. Grabbing one of the hallway's trash bins, I pulled off a rotting apple core from the coat hook it was impaled on. I didn't bother with the gloves. It was mostly just stray homework that never got done and wrappers of those breakfast pastries you could buy outside the cafeteria as long as your mom never asked "what the fuck happened to the 40 dollars I paid last week?!" I'm a big boy. I was so focused on ignoring the smell that I didn't even notice Emma and Hailey walk up. Must have been skipping homeroom. Emma looking over the smug smiles of 6 proud owners taped to the door broke the silent awe first. "Why would you guys do this" That's a good question. I shrugged "I don't know, it's funny" "No it's not" blurted out Haley "it's disgusting" I guess I looked helpless enough standing there that Haley started to put a pair of gloves on "you want some help?" "That'd be great" Emma grabbed a pair as well, and the three of us got to work. And by the three of us, I mean I drifted further away from the work at hand whilst Emma and Hailey went into girl gossip flow mode. I stood back and just let them do their thing, picking up little details about who's dating who, etc. Just then Danny, sole proprietor of the locker, walked in from the parking lot with Bacon, bottom left photo in door of said locker right next to "Deaf Boy". Talking loudly and laughing about last night's GTA sesh, Danny sipped off a McDonald's orange juice. Danny wore a huge smile as they approached us. "We got caught huh" He said through a contained, bellowey, kind of laughter as he immediately sucked the last bit of OJ down, then casually tossed his cup into the locker, splatting specks of juice not only on the freshly wiped locker walls but also onto Hailey's face. We all laughed minus Haley, clearly annoyed that she was interrupted in her talk about prom with Emma. "What the fuck?!" She said through a bitter smile Ignoring it, and still laughing I said. "Yeah! Emma and Haley are helping us clean up" "Well it looks like they're doing a pretty good job" Danny said with an impressed look. Bacon put his arm around my shoulder. "Yeah It looks like they have it under control" That bellowey laugh infected Danny's voice once again as he choked out "You know what that means right?" Bacon's face went stone cold. "No consequences for our actions." My eyes widened "You wanna do it again?" I pointed at Danny, "Maybe we should do it again." He retortored before I even finished talking. Bacon chimed in "I'll do it again" "Let's fucking do it again" "We're gonna fucking do it again" A calm authoritarian voice interrupted from behind us. "No. You wont." Danny let out a huge dramatic gasp as he whipped around with bug eyes and a Shakey core to look the vice principal in the face. He always did that immediately following an aural plan of fucking up when vp was nearby. "Drop the theatrics Daniel. Why are Emma and Haley cleaning your locker?" "We tried to stop them but they overpowered us." Haley giggled at this "Girls where are you supposed to be?" Emma started to studder out "Mrs. -" "Get there now. You both have an hour of detention" Emma and Haley pulled their gloves off and grabbed their books from the floor. As they turned around to leave, Haley looked at me like she was waiting for me to say something. I really wanted to, and I would of, had it not been for the knot growing in my stomach. I had to keep my cool and I knew the illusion would be ruined as soon as I opened my mouth. The two girls walked away silently, probably until they were in safe bitching distance. I wondered if my name would be brought up in that conversation. Danny was unfazed by this and I don't think Bacon was even paying attention. "Finish cleaning this up then get back to class. You all get one hour." "C'mon man we just got here" Danny rebuttled "Well then that's 3 hours for you and Bacon" Danny scoughed and spit in the trash can as the vice principal walked away. I know Danny didn't actually care that he got detention. If you missed class, you got detention and Danny was always missing class. Hell, the fucker was in school every Saturday anyways making up all the homework he never did. We all periodically found ourselves making up homework and chipping away at our detention during Saturday school. It wasnt that bad. Sometimes, I'd even tag along when I had nothing better to do. As soon as Danny got his license was when we started to regularly skip class. We'd skip English and go get taco Bell. Next day, get called into the office. "Where were you 3rd block?" Sandy would ask I'd studder out a dumb excuse she was completely apathetic of. "That's one hour of detention" At one point I stopped making excuses and just told Sandy the truth. Didn't change anything. Just streamlined the process. It really was better for both parties. At one point though Bacon told me he "two-streamed" and pissed all over the front of his khaki shorts so he just left. When Sandy asked him why he missed 4 classes, he said the same thing verbatim. He didn't get detention. Anyways it was during one of these skipped periods that the 6 of us would take a joke too far and fuck up beyond redemption.