What follows is a short story I wrote for a school assignment. My family said this was extremely good, so I'm posting it here to see if all of you like it. I hope you enjoy. Also, I apologize if I'm using the wrong tag, as I wasn't sure which was more fitting. Please let me know if one works better. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was a rather pleasant day at the mountain. Sure, the sky was filled with clouds, but what could've been rain was instead a light drizzle. A calm breeze was blowing throughout the range, and golden beams of light peeked from the plentiful masses of water vapor, creating a beautiful, serene atmosphere that was completely ignored by a robed woman scaling the towering mountain. The person's name was Malice, an agent and co-conspirator for an empire as mysterious as it is deadly. Malice's glorious, 100%-perfect boss had personally assigned her to take care of the matters regarding a certain scientist known for her unorthodox, yet extremely effective machines, specifically of the robot kind. Malice had the task of working with the scientist on a special project, one that would solve her empire's very agile problem. After about an hour, the woman had finally arrived near the top of the mountain, where a giant metal door awaited her. Upon stepping near the door, the sound of microphone feedback rung throughout the area, just as ear-piercing as you would expect. Some speakers, though not visible, began broadcasting a voice. A child-like voice filled with an aggravating amount of sass played. "Step closer to the door, you forgetful fool. How many times do I have to tell you this?" the voice said. Malice simply sighed. She stepped so close to the door that if the door were a window, there'd be quite the foggy spot. Grids of synced lasers popped from unknown areas, scanning Malice's person. "Ok, you don't have anything on you, you're good", the voice said, right before the metal doors screeched open, revealing a rather dimly lit lab area....one where a girl who was rather short and child-shaped stood. "Greetings, Malice", the little girl said, squinting. "Hello, Agatha", Malice returned. Agatha motioned for Malice to enter, but started walking before she even knew Malice accepted. "I assume you're here to check on Project Copy?", she said lowly. Malice scowled. "Mistress is getting very impatient. It's been a month already, and the thorn in our side grows more powerful the longer you hesitate." Agatha didn't like that statement very much. She spun around **anomalously** quickly, and snapped at Malice. "You think genius just happens? You think it's easy to program something complicated like this? You think it's fun having all of you breathing down my neck, rushing the only thing saving you from that nuisance?! Just....just.....," the girl caught herself, and calmed down. "Just, follow me and observe my progress." As they walked through the halls, surrounded by metallic clangs and the beep-booping of countless computers, Agatha went on her usual rant filled with technological jargon. Malice never understood anything in those, but didn't care about missing anything either. What is a "superhydraulic lythium exportion redactor" anyways? Eventually, they arrived at a huge computer console, large enough to make a jumbo-tron feel jealous. "As you can see, Project Copy is coming along swimmingly. I'm at 80% completion. Would y-," Agatha was cut off by Malice, who seemed to get instantly angry. "You were at 75% last week. What could you possibly be doing?!" she said, speaking slightly above inside-voice. Agatha crossed her arms, turning and giving, "I had to go off the grid for a bit. \*She\* was on the loose, and where would we both be if she had invaded my lab?" Malice glared at the scientist with the intensity of a divorced mother who's been told the buffet ran out of double-chocolate pie. Agatha knew that glare all too well, and didn't even wait two seconds before replying with enough sass to make your hair pull itself out. "If you're done ogling someone a third of your size, would you like to see the model?" Malice begrudgingly accepted. Agatha pressed a button on the keyboard, and with a hiss and a sizzle, a large, red tube emerged from behind the console. Inside it was a rather human-looking android, fixated with wires, pipes, and a big black dress, for decency's sake. The body was obviously incomplete, with an arm and both legs missing, and a big hole in its chest. "'80%' is relative. The code is almost complete. It's just the model that needs work." Malice stared at the creation. She started trembling, clenching her fist with enough grip to crush a small rodent with just her hand. It wasn't long before she snapped, letting out an absolute anger-filled assault of hatred. "What in the world is this? We asked you to build a machine that could level the entirety of Nepturiine..." Agatha tried to get a few words in. "I know what it looks like, but this ca-" "ENOUGH EXCUSES! The mistress wants a DEATH weapon, not a cosplay prop!" Agatha gained an equally loud expression. "Well you never told me any of that! How was I supposed to know?! Your 'boss' is just some clueless, selfish moron that couldn't give competent instructions if she had the creator of the universe on her side!" Agatha clenched her fist, and somehow got even louder. "If you're seriously threatened by a pre-teen, and you felt the need to rush ME for your idiocy, perhaps bathing in fire ants would be a better use of your time! Now leave me ALONE!" the child said as she stomped her feet so hard it caused enough vibration to knock over a nearby vase. Malice looked at Agatha. She gave the child such a hateful, spiteful glare that it would send a military general to tears. She gritted her teeth with such force that they visibly cracked. However, instead of absolutely letting loose on the girl, she turned her back, started walking, and said, "You're fired". Agatha's expression didn't drop. She had enough as well. She wasn't angry. In fact, she was ecstatic. As soon as Malice lept back into the golden mountain range, Agatha gave a wicked smile that would put a kitten on edge. "Finally," she said, " now I can actually get things done." She turned to her left, snapped her fingers, and yelled "METAL!", causing a pair of neon yellow eyes to flash open in the darkness. "How do you feel about stretching your wires for a bit? You know what to do." The eyes did a nodding motion. A blazing jet fire lit up behind and below the eyes, causing the sleek, gray-black body of this 'Metal' to become just barely visible. The figure dashed past the scientist and out the door with such speed that it was merely a blur. Agatha turned to the console and began pressing buttons. "What an opportunity you just threw away, my dear Malice....your world view, just like your world itself, is primitive and unrefined." Agatha brought up a mysterious window on the console screen. "You know what they say..." Agatha flipped a lever. "Out with the old..." A small pillar rose out of a hole on the console. On it held a small diamond-cut gem, cracked and radiating an ominous, black glow. Agatha grinned at the crystal. "...and in with the new.


So I really wasn't supposed to tell you this, and you have to keep this a secret. Because if she finds out she will hang both of us... but you deserve to know. It's about you too. The story is about me and my girl. And it starts with a phone call. "Come on please" she giggles loudly, "I'll literally do anything". "Anything huh?" I tease. "Okay I change my mind don't come" she teases back. "I'll be there tomorrow babe don't worry" I say suppressing a giggle of my own. "And at 1 we can go on our study date?" She asks. "Yes sweetie don't worry".

That was basically the dumbest decision of my life. Because that day, I lost her, and I'll never forgive myself for it.

The day starts off mundane with me driving 3 hours to go to where my girl lives. Long distance relationships aren't hard... when you're so in love you drive 6 hours every weekend. They were the best days of my life truly. It's a shame that I threw it all away.

I pick her up and we go get coffee. I'll be honest I've never liked her town. Everyone knew everyone and the small life wasn't for me. But she can't drive so I dealt with it. We take our coffee and drink it on our way to the library. We never study there, but she insisted we do. Why I ever agreed is beyond me. But she looked so keen I decided no harm could come. Again, I was wrong.

We go into the library and it's beautiful. The walls and walls of bookshelves look surreal. And I am instantly mesmerized by the sheer beauty of it all. "Wow" I let out with the breath I was holding in.

And a very very very loud "shhhhhhhhh" comes from 4 different directions. Thing is, the library was empty. No horror movie marathon would have warned me of what's to come. Oh wait, every single horror movie did. But we still went to the nearest table and sat side by side. I glanced at her and noticed she was just staring at the wall. And she was fiddling with her rings. That surprised me. She was nervous... Very nervous. Again RED FLAG. But anyways, I trusted her with my life, so I ignored my anxious thoughts. My third mistake.

It's 3 pm already and I get up to get a book. The history section was the target. Me, being a history major, I was always at peace there. Knowing I had no idea what I was taking in college was honestly an amazing feeling. No sarcasm ofcourse... While I was there I noticed that really no one was in the library. And it didn't give me that "oooo we're alone" vibe. More of a "shit were alone" vibe. But I made my way to the history section in silence and searched for a book. Then I made my 4th mistake. I did not see a single book I recognized, so instead of being suspicious, I took a random one. Why that was a mistake is quite obvious, or so it became.

I go back to my table and hold her hand. She smiles at me and rests her head on my shoulder. "Are you okay?" I ask. "SHHHHHHHHH" I hear from multiple directions once more. This time much louder. And I'm freaked out alot more now. Because honestly what was happening? I stand up and I shout "who's there?" "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" they say louder. My girl looks terrified. "I'm sorry" she mouths to me, "it's the only way". And she sprints out the door.

And that's all I can remember for God knows how many hours. I wake in a very dark room. No idea where I am. I decide not to speak because that seems to be what angered the library gods, or whoever is in charge here. Suddenly, a man walks in. He's wearing a black suit and tie, very expensive shoes and watch, and the ugliest mask I have ever seen. It's as if those kids from Doctor Who and those horror masks had a deformed child. "You or the one you love?". Huh? What do you mean? "You or the one you love?" He repeats. Well obviously me, she just left me here to die, I say in my head as one does when they're in a library trap. "Your choice has been made, you have chosen yourself over her. Reason being: revenge."

What the fu- how did he even hear me? "We hear it all" he whispers. Honestly why'd he whisper it, that was creepy. "Bring me your loved one within 48 hours or you shall die" he says much louder.

Then I find myself outside the library door. I make my way to my car and drive over to her house. She's obviously surprised to see me. "Dude how did you get here?" she asks. "What are you talking about you left me there and I just looked around then came here." I reply "quite strange really but you've always been wack in the head". "No no no it didn't work I'm going to die" she cries out. "Baby I think you might actually be wack in the head" I laugh. What she did next did not make any sense to me, but she literally took a knife and stabbed herself in the chest. What the fuck man, you betrayed me because of some library dope and now you're risking us both? Selfish.

After trying my best to deal with her wound. I go to the library with her limp body and dump it on the floor. "Hey dude can you please take her as my sacrifice, I'd really like to leave" I shout. And then, the weirdest shit happened. I wake up in my car, with the most beautiful girl next to me. "Who are you?" I ask. "I'm your new girlfriend" she replies "let's go home".

And so we do. Maybe that was the best day of my life, I can never really tell. But kids, your mother sure is beautiful.


The man looked out the window at the nightly parade of celestial bodies. Living outside the city saved him from much of the light pollution. And the sky was especially clear tonight. He felt like he could reach out and touch the distant pins of light. He always loved the stars; he could lose himself while considering their timeless beauty. He was an amateur stargazer, but even he could recognize a change as drastic as this. There seemed to be an extra star in the belt of Orion! Orion is a prominent constellation and visible throughout the world. It is one of the most conspicuous and recognizable constellations in the night sky with three bright stars forming the belt of the mythical hunter. But tonight, there were four! The man blinked and rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. Then his phone beeped making him aware of a news alert. As he read, it confirmed what his eyes had just seen. "Scientists and astronomers worldwide are baffled by the appearance of a new star in the night sky." It was just a matter of time before it would be all over the news. The man wanted to be sure this was real. You can't believe everything you hear. He scrambled to his desk to get his binoculars. But by the time he returned, the star was gone! He searched frantically from right to left and still nothing. Orion again only had three stars in his belt again. His phone beeped with another news alert…the star was gone ***** Traveling through hyperspace always relaxed her. She reclined in her captain’s chair and felt the slight vibration that was caused by the ship’s artificial gravity. Her job was fulfilling and prestigious. Planet Assessment and First-contact Analysis, PAFA, the acronym didn’t sound so glamourous. She was shaken out of her revelry by a frantic navigator. “Captain, our cloaking system malfunctioned for just a moment,” he began. “We’re back online now. But we were probably visible for a brief time.” He finished looking ashamed. The captain bore down on him recognizing the seriousness of their situation. She asked him straightforwardly, “How long is a brief time?” The navigator answered like a timid Mula-cat, frightened and slinking away, “Maybe two seconds. From this distance, we probably just looked like a bright star flash and then blinked out.” He tried to sound casual. She knew this was not something to take lightly. “This third planet from the sun is an advanced race. Their instruments no doubt detected us. At this distance, any stargazer who knew what he was looking at could probably see us!” She was frustrated, this was a rookie mistake. They had planned to land and explore this rock anyway. But now it was going to be damage control. PAFA routinely visited plants and determined when and if contact was feasible. A civilization needed to be at a certain level in order avoid interfering with their natural development. Now she and her team would have to cover their tracks due to this faulty cloaking device. ****** The man read the news, more than that, he wrote the news. His job as senior journalist for the online newspaper always kept him busy. There was always something interesting and his tenure allowed him to pick his stories. But now, everyone was writing about the same thing. He loved the way people ate up the news like candy. To him, news was just that- consumable goods to keep his paycheck coming in. He never took anything personally because it was always changing. The man had no close relatives and his friends were mainly information contacts and guys he would join to watch sports. His job was his life and he liked it that way. Around the office, they called him the Lone Wolf “Don’t get too close to the story or you lose your objectivity.” That was what he taught his investigative team. And this story certainly called for objectivity. There were conspiracy theories, that the government was hiding something. But this was too big to categorize as a fluke. Everyone had seen “the star” appear and disappear, so there was no denying it. The man was extremely busy with “the Disappearing Star” story. If anyone was going to break the latest news, he wanted it to be him. He scoured all his usual sources but got nothing, he was getting frustrated. He was getting frustrated until he met her… ***** From high orbit, she had monitored all the newsfeeds. This was worse than she had imagined. Everyone was talking about the sky phenomenon. This primitive civilization was more advanced than the record showed. Once they returned from cleaning up this mess, she would have to update the registry. Cleaning up the mess, what an interesting phrase. It usually involved simple memory wipes. Other times it called for coordinating with a natural event. It's surprising how easily a dramatic solar flare or a fantastic aurora borealis display can destroy electronic records. Sometimes, she would have to get creative. This was one of those times. Since her cloaking device was working again, they were able to land undetected. The technology was alarmingly complex, but its purpose was clear. It shielded them not only from radar but rendered them invisible. Her ship was hidden in a nearby lake. Her home planet was covered with a large ocean so having it submerged was a natural choice. She modified her pressure suit so that resembled a human female. Passing as an earthling was not part of the original mission. But as captain, she had the authority to take the necessary steps to ensure success. Her crew envied her because interacting with native species was always a treat. **** It had been 15 days since he'd met the beautiful stranger. The man had to admit that he was intrigued by the fact that the first girl he was ever truly “head over heels” in love with was not a girl at all! When she told him that she was an alien and had to leave, he thought she was talking about immigration troubles. When she told him the real truth, he hadn't believed her. They had been working together for a few days when he had to admit he was smitten with her. He'd worked with beautiful women before, but there was something different about her. She could look at him and see right through him. He felt no need put to keep up his natural defenses. The old idea of not getting too close to the story didn't seem to apply. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Now he knew why. She joined his team as a foreign correspondent investigating the sky phenomenon. He had no idea how foreign she really was! Her insight was compelling. She seemed to understand that this was incredible news. Some of the initial excitement about the "Disappearing Star" was starting to wear off. His boss had actually resigned him to another story. Then the pictures from the Hubble Telescope hit the news. This was no "star," it was a spaceship! All in high-resolution video that was there one minute then disappeared. The next day, this beautiful stranger showed up. **** She had to tell him. The mission had been simple: find a human who was part of the primitive communication networks. Explain who she was, and how she wanted to broadcast this to the world, but instead use her advanced technology to erase any evidence of their presence. Then simply wipe his memory clean. In PAFA, they call this a "Bait and Wipe." The idea is to entice the local with this special knowledge, like dangling nourishment in front of a Beta-fish, and then to erase it. No muss, no fuss, get in and out with no troubles. Now there was trouble. How could this happen to her? This sort of thing does happen, in fact, there’s an entire section on it in the academy. This sort of thing happens to first-year cadets, not decorated officers on the fast track to the admiralty! Working so closely with this earthman had affected her more than she expected. Before the mission, she had laughed when her crew teased her about her freedom and lack of accountability except to the ship. Who’s laughing now? On her planet, individuals were selected at birth for reproduction or designated as explorers. It was considered a kindness not to bond those who would spend their lives among the stars away from their mates. Captains were usually unmated so that command decisions could be made without emotion. **** " So, you're not frightened of me?" The woman asked him after he was silent for too long. "How can I be?" He responded looking deep into her eyes. "You chose me to tell the world of the existence of life beyond our solar system! I've always known we weren't alone in the universe. I just never expected them to be like you!" He hadn't intended to share his feelings for her at this time. But after her revelation, his didn't seem too extraordinary. And it didn't help when she told him she already knew. "That mind-reading thing you see in your movies," she began, "it's all true." She finished with a smile. That smile is what had captured his heart the very first day they met. She'd only told him half her secret. Not only did she know that he loved her. She also knew that she loved him. What had happened to her? Perhaps it was the long space voyages, the endless hyperspace jumps, the lonely cryo-sleeps, or all the paperwork! Or maybe it was the returning home to no one there waiting for her that finally made the difference… And it was this love for him that made erasing his memory impossible. She didn't want him to forget her. His warm and tender feelings for her felt good and it was a feeling she wanted to nurture and help grow...grow into what? She made up her mind that she would tell him the whole truth. They would perform the "Bait and Wipe" together, on everyone but him. How they did it and what happens next is a tale for another time...


My friend wrote some of this i added to it hence the name We head down the bridge together and for once I felt happiness. It was all over. We had won. I grip Roman’s hand tightly as we head down the bridge. We have been through so much together and finally, we get to enjoy the time together. We laugh about all that’s happened. We sit in the middle of the bridge watching the sunrise. The sunshine always made me feel warm and bright. I look into Roman’s eyes as his sea-green eyes twinkle in the light like the water below us. “So Maya, it’s finally finished,” He says his voice as deep and soft as always. “Yes we can finally rest now and watch the sunshine,” I say giggling with excitement. His face is happy but sad at the same time. I am perplexed and ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing just finally happy I get to spend my time with you,” He says his face going colder and colder. I put his hand on his cheek to see if he’s just not feeling right. He chuckles and holds it. “Your hands were always cold weren’t they” He laughs softly. “Yeah sorry about that but now you’re cursed with them” I giggle. He holds my hand tighter. “You know Maya I always loved you,” He tells me when I try to speak he puts his hands on my lips stopping me. “I know you didn’t love me and that’s fine I just, well just wanted you to know,” He says stammering and shaking. It’s almost as if this is goodbye. At that moment I see a bullet whoosh past me. But it wasn’t aiming for me I realise as Roman slowly becomes soaked in blood. I start to scream telling him to hold on. “It’s too late Maya” He stutters in pain. I refuse to believe it but the reality starts to become true as my hands drenched in blood. “What do I do!”I howl in panic. “You can only do one thing, Maya,” He says his voice remaining as soft “Sing” As the tears roll down my face I do the one thing Roman always wanted me to do: sing. ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy’ I start, the lump in my throat making it difficult to get the words out ‘When skies are grey’ he finishes with a small smile, wiping my tears away weakly with one hand as the other clutches the gaping bullet wound in his stomach. ‘You’ll never know dear’ ‘How much I love you’ I brush the hairs back from his forehead and gently stroke the curls as Romans breath hitches and he begins to tremble lightly, his once, vibrant sea-green eyes dull with fear and pain. Tears flowing freely from both of us now. I stutter the last line of the song, my heart dropping with every word. ‘Please don’t take ... my sunshine ... away’ I take one last look into Romans eyes before the light within them fades and his body goes limp. I gently close his eyes and lightly press a kiss to his forehead, he’s cold as stone already. Just like that, quick as falling asleep; my best friend is gone. Exhausted and sobbing, I lay down beside him pulling his cold body close to my chest and we lay side by side, together, from dusk till dawn. 2 weeks later The sun is beginning to set as I walk down the cobbled streets to the cemetery, every stone and cracked pavement threatening to trip me up. I stumble towards the headstone, not yet cracked or greying, under the willow tree surrounded by nature, exactly how he would have wanted it. I sit beside the headstone leaning against it as I start to sing: ‘You were my sunshine My only sunshine You made me happy When skies were grey You never knew dear How much I loved you Why did you take my sunshine away?’ My eyes burned and my lip trembled as I fought to keep the tears at bay, but sure enough, 16 years worth of memories started to roll down my face and drop to the soil beneath me. I lay my head on top of the stone and doze off, and there I stay ...


When I saw her my heart stopped beating. The very blood in my veins slowed to an icy halt and I felt a lurch in my chest that was all but equal to death, yet as invigorating as that moment you realize you are alive. My mouth was dry and my throat clicked once with a heavy swallow. My own body betrayed me and went rigid. My arms and fingers felt numb. My lips were pin cushions that sent streaks of searing pain through my face as if they were sleeping for years and just now became awakened with life. My brain raced to understand and create a level-headed coolness but only succeeded in blushing my sedated cheeks. I wanted nothing more than to say one tiny, simple word to her but she never acknowledged my existence nor did she even raise her angelic visage in my direction. I rejoiced though, however ironic and fleeting, that she did not glance upon me - for my heart was on its last beat and my breath was captured. And for that very moment of serenity, if she had raised one glorious, perfectly shaped brown eye toward me and it had locked in time with mine own, my heart would have burst and I would have ceased to exist all together. For I know, the very curve of the corner of her supple lips would have arced upwards in a feline smirk and I would have never breathed again, nor would I have wanted to, for I would wish to encapsulate that moment in time forever. For all moments after would pale in comparison and only shatter my heart further at its incompetence.


\--True Story-- We moved a lot. My father is a trucker and we never really had a permanent home for more than a year or two. I used to go on the road with him all the time as a kid. Seen a lot of things for such a young mind. I had been to the entire 48 states of the continental United States before I was 12 years old. When I was not on the road with dad, I was the man of the house. Looking over my two younger siblings. My mother was always there of course. She was a fantastic protector and made the most of the long hauls when dad was away. She was very close to us. We were all she had during those long, lonely times. We even all slept together in the living room at each house we ever lived at. This went on until I was probably 15-16 years old and decided I felt comfortable enough to sleep in a room by myself. Part of me always thought that was a bit strange. I think it may have been the fact that we never really had a permanent "home", but I did not mind. I feared the dark. So, I was grateful of the reprieve. After many years of being relocated, never being attached to one home or area, we finally dropped anchor in a small quiet town in WV. Not the most ideal location in my mind as my heart had always been on the West Coast. Regardless, I saw this as a chance at new life once again. At this point I was so used to being the new kid in school, that I actually looked forward to it. I made new friends, even met my future wife. Things didn't fare as well for the rest of my family though. My dad continued over the road. My mother became ill. She was never seriously ill, but she definitely didn't seem to be her usual self anymore. She was sick constantly. As a family we chalked it up to being the change of air, and her not being used the allergens in the area yet. The house was old. Over 100 years old. In fact, we were told it was one of the first houses to be built in the small town. Locals also explained to us some of the home’s strange history. Rumor had it that the original family had all died from disease in the house’s infancy. We even heard of more recent stories where someone had been stabbed right in the doorway of the home. We thought them to be nothing more than ghost stories obviously and didn't give them to much thought. Heck, maybe even the townspeople were getting a kick out of playing a trick on a seemingly single mother and children new to town. My mother was always spiritual. She believed in a lot of things. She was a close descendant of Native Americans. I think her great grandmother was an "Indian Princess" if I recall correctly. Anyways, she believed in the supernatural. She always taught use to trust our instincts, feelings. If they told us something it was likely true. Things started happening in the house. Unexplainable things. Strange noises at night, surreal nightmares, things falling off the wall unprovoked, and a general sense of dread filled us all. One day I ran home from the nearby baseball fields forgetting my glove for practice. I opened the doorway where the supposed stabbing took place. I was greeted by a large ball of white light. For a millisecond. I froze, not sure what to think of it. Grabbed my glove and was off, back down the railroad tracks to play some ball. That should have been a pretty clear warning sign that something about that house was not right, but I was a kid. I honestly thought I had been seeing things. The biggest “event” was the infamous family game night. My future wife was attending that evening, even my father. We still talk about this faithful night until this day. We took game night seriously. We all gathered around the huge redwood table we had custom made and hauled all the way from the West Coast. We happened to get on the subject of the strange happenings around the 100-year-old home. My girlfriend, now wife mentioned that she had heard some strange things while on the phone with me a during time when I had left it upstairs and ran downstairs to do something. After a while, my father was fed up. He did not believe any of it. In frustration, he slammed his fist down on the redwood tabletop, spilling monopoly pieces out of their correct location. **“There’s no such thing as ghosts”** he exclaimed in a loud angry tone! Immediately, every light in the home dimmed. My mother shrieked. The air felt thick.


I poured my husband a cup of coffee, the milk still steaming on the stove.

I’d grated fresh cinnamon and sprinkled brown sugar in the pot.

A special drink for a gloomy day.

The clouds hung low, touching the mountain a bit higher up.

The road was iced over, no matter how much salt we poured.

There was salt on the windows too, and lined along all the doorways.

Many people who visited the area later said they left it superstitious; the mountains could be an eerie place.

I sipped some of the black coffee, and it was so hot it almost singed my tongue.

That’s the only way to drink it here, so hot it almost burns.

We decided to live in the inn year round because we used to love the snow.

I still love it sometimes.

I may need layers and layers of clothes, my hands may never get warm, but it really is beautiful.

Even holding the burning mug, the backs of my hands are icy.

He beckoned me softly from the lobby where he sat by the tall, frosted windows. “One minute, love,”

I stirred the milk and put a drop of extract in. I hadn’t bought the artificial stuff in years.

Only pure vanilla gives it that special touch. The milk covered the coffee like a blanket of snow on the hard, black earth.

We sat by the window, sipping it and tapping away at our laptops, until the sun moved above our heads. We got a lot of traffic that time of year.

Adventurous types, looking for a thrill on the ski slopes nearby or a weekend hiking the area.

Some of them scared us.

They brought rock climbing gear and hunting bows and said they’d reach the top of our mountain if it killed them.

They didn’t come back for days, their rooms unattended.

Of course, most of them knew their limits and came back fine.

Some were unlucky.

Some pushed themselves too hard.

Having to call the police was terrifying, but there were good people working the area. The search team found every lost customer we sent them after, all alive.

Except for one, who I wish I could forget.

He was a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of an old western film.

Covered in grime and bearded to his belly.

His eyes were sunken and the deepest black I’d ever seen on a real person.

He arrived off the ski lodge bus with only a bag; he left to climb with nothing but whatever was in the pockets of his cargo jacket. The day he arrived, I’d been making our morning coffee.

He asked for a cup the moment he stepped through the doors, bringing in a flurry of snow with him.

I poured him one and he downed it like a madman.

I almost thought I saw the steam coming out with his breath while he told me his name and asked for a room.

He’d be staying two weeks, hiking the mountain for most of it.

He wore only one coat; the shirt under it seemed thin.

I voiced my concern, but he only shook his head, “The cold doesn’t scare me.

There’s nothing to be scared of at all on this mountain.”

I thought of the salt that lined my bedroom window and shook my head, “If you respect it, it’ll treat you well.

But fear and respect go hand in hand sometimes,”

I refilled his cup as I spoke, “Many people have died up there.”

He pulled his coffee to himself, almost huddled around it.

His eyes met mine, “Have you ever met one?” I shook my head, “Luckily, no one I know.

You hear all about it in the papers though.

Avalanches, people getting lost and sheltering in caves.” “No, no,” He leaned closer, “Have you ever met one coming back down?”

I shook my head again, not knowing what to make of what he’d said.

My mind had gone to a cold night when we’d first moved in.

The blue sky had dimmed with dusk, and the moon was bright behind misty clouds.

Snow covered the sparsely forested land outside the window.

My husband was asleep when I saw it.

He sipped at his coffee while I marked his name in the registry.

“Ernest Drewitt”

My husband got along well with him.

He seemed to be preparing for the journey over the next couple of days, but I never saw him go out to buy supplies.

The beat up canvas bag seemed to hold all his worldly possessions.

He’d sit with us by the fire in the evenings and tell us everywhere he’d been.

We had a flat screen TV and a console set up there, and we’d spent many hours in front of it when business was slow.

Ernest despised it.

They fought over playing a few games, but I could tell he’d never be interested.

He wouldn’t even pick up the controller.

We went out and bought a VR headset.

We’d been wanting to get one for ages.

When Ernest came down for his morning coffee and saw me waving the controllers at invisible enemies, he doubled over laughing.

Said that it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

It stopped being funny when we tried to get him to put it on.

Ernest went outside while he fumed; I rubbed his shoulders and told him to remember the man’s age.

I was sure new technology would be daunting for someone so old.

The headset sat on the ottoman, its blue light blinking away. I was worried about the day he’d head up the hill.

Maybe he’d be smart enough not to spend the night out there.

We got a lot of day-hikers that would take advantage of every night they paid for.

He seemed set on taking his chances, though.

I’d offered him a thicker coat, warmer gloves, and even, once, a new pair of shoes especially bought for him.

He refused them all.

During the day, while we helped customers coming and going in the lobby, he sat outside.

He seemed to be meditating, or maybe just watching the scenery. I didn’t sleep well that night.

It was colder than it’d been all winter.

I kept waking up, clicking away on my phone, and staring out the window.

Thinking, again, of that strange night.

I called what I’d seen a fairy, a ghost, an apparition of some kind.

I stared hard, through a volley of snow, at the tree about ten yards away, a black hand clawing at the sky.

She had been behind it, at first.

A strange blue glow.

I had pressed my nose into the glass, squinted until I could see my eyelashes, trying to make out what it was.

Then she stepped into the open.

She was there, and not there.

A shadow made of light and static.

It was almost like old TV static, moving through her veins.

She moved in clips and jumps, floating just above the ground.

When she moved too fast, it seemed like the sky behind her morphed to fit her shape that was no longer there.

She had been moving towards the house, and she fell to the ground in a series of snapshots.

I thought I could almost hear her wailing while she threw her arms against the ground.

Suddenly her head was too big, too small, completely flat.

It stabilized and I realized a scream was caught in my throat.

I later described it as grotesque.

She looked at the window.

She looked at me, and I looked at her. Her eyes didn’t look right.

Apparently calmed, she stood up less haltingly and floated back towards the trees.

I felt I could move again and immediately shook the bundle of blankets behind me awake.

He thought I’d had a nightmare at first, but I’d just sent a message to someone a minute before.

I’d been awake.

Eventually, he decided to believe me.

I stood up abruptly, not wanting to think about it any more.

I dumped more salt on the windowsill and turned to the door. In the kitchen, the ice clinked in my cup.

Someone tripped over something in the lobby and cursed quietly.

I stepped out behind the bar and clicked its soft lights on.

“Ernest?”

He tipped his hat.

His pack was slung over one shoulder.

“I’m heading out, little lady.” “No you are not.

Look at that storm, are you insane?”

I set down my cup and stepped towards him, “Have you been drinking?” He shook his head and slipped on his boots.

I looked around wildly for my phone, ready to call the rangers if I couldn’t stop him.

“Oh, the rangers will come looking, I’m sure.

It’s my time though.”

I screamed for my husband, not wanting to leave a clearly unstable man alone.

“Don’t you dare go out in weather like this.”

That was all I could say, “It’s dangerous!” “Dangerous!

Didn’t I tell you, there’s nothing to be scared of here.

There’s nothing on this mountain.

The cold, the snow, the wind, it’s all nothing.”

I ran to the stairwell and screamed for my husband to wake up again.

An annoyed-looking customer peered over the railing on the second story.

“Call the rangers, a man’s about to walk off into the storm!”

The customer stood up straighter and rushed off to their room.

“What’s that?”

My husband finally stumbled down the stairs. “It’s Ernest,” I turned to him, but there was only snow gathering in the open doorway.

I sprinted outside in nothing but my house slippers, screaming his name.

This was the type of weather you died in. He was halfway to the tree.

He turned when he heard us running towards him.

We pleaded with him, and my husband shook his shoulder,

“Listen to reason now, man.”

He shook his head.

Ernest grabbed my hand.

His fingers were like ice,

“You’re a nice young couple.

You, though, I know you’ve seen them.

The fragments of a person, all left to rot.

It scared you, didn’t it?” “I don’t understand.

I saw something, maybe, once.”

He leaned close, “They’ve got static in their eyes.”

He whispered.

I’d always tried to forget her eyes. I nodded. He squeezed my hand, “Haven’t you two noticed?

Aren’t your hands always cold?”

He released me and adjusted his bag. My husband was pacing by then, “Of course!

We’re in the mountains!” “Well, usually, a person’s hands would warm up if you sat them in front of the fire.”

With that, he turned and walked off into the trees.

We tried to restrain him, he grabbed at his arms and I pulled his backpack.

All his traveling must’ve made him strong, or maybe it was his will.

He wrangled himself out of our grip and calmly kept walking.

We kept track of him as far as we could see, but we weren’t even wearing shoes.

We held hands on the way back to the open lobby door.

The rangers took less than fifteen minutes to arrive and less than five to start searching.

You could even still see the footprints, for a while. The search lasted a week, but halfway through he was presumed dead.

We hadn’t taken his ID, and we couldn’t find anyone with his name matching his description.

No grieving relatives came forward.

His last words hung over my head.

I held my husband’s hand every time it was free.

It was always cold. On slow days, I took to sitting outside the lobby like he had.

On the concrete bench under the window.

I watched the tree.

My husband would shuffle me back inside after less than five minutes.

One day, he started to sit beside me, his hand on top of mine. “Tell me about what you saw by the tree again.”

I did.  Spring brought a little green back to the mountain.

Our hands were still cold.

“Did they feel any different when we lived in town?

How many years has it been?” “I couldn’t remember something like that.” The unnamable worries faded over time, but we’d still spend a few minutes in the evenings on the bench.

The inn made good money, and the years passed comfortably.

One night, he decided to make us some hot chocolate.

A special treat for a gloomy night.

He wanted to make it for us. I stayed outside watching the stars blip in and out of view in the clear sky.

I didn’t notice the shadow walking towards me till I saw a strange light and looked down.

It made no sound on the snow.

It curled and lagged in the same way the woman had, but this time I wasn’t filled with revulsion.

Ernest tipped his hat.

I didn’t have time to call for my husband.

He reached out for a handshake, arm wavering.

I took his hand without thinking.

A blue spark arched between us in a brilliant flash and everything went black.

I don’t know how much time passed. I woke up somewhere dark.

There was only a soft blue glow coming from under the door.

I could vaguely make out my husband’s features beside me, reclined in a plush chair.

Like the ones in a movie theater.

Wires hung from him like puppet strings, the two biggest ones trailing from his forehead.

I tried to sit up to reach for him, but I was caught in the same mess.

Blankets were curled around us.

Only our hands stuck out on the arm rests.

I freed my arm and tugged at the suction cups on my forehead.

The right one released painfully, but the wire suddenly lit up red.

There were immediate sounds of movement outside.

A gruff voice called,  “Door five!”

Before I could try to pry more off, the door creaked open almost tentatively.

A young man slipped into the room, “Hello, miss.

I know this all must be very confusing right now, but don’t worry.

I’m here to explain.”

He had the air of dealing with a feral kitten.

I tugged the other suction cup off.

The red light grew brighter.

He took a step back and put his hands up peacefully. “That’s fine, those can come off now if you’d like.

If you want help with the rest, just let us know.”

I pulled one off my arm.

“Alright, my name is Justin Lawrence, I work at this company.

We’re basically an arcade.” I laughed.

He laughed along nervously, “I know, I know, this is all very strange.

I’m sure it’ll come back to you quickly, but you signed up for this!

We call it the ultimate VR experience, Second Life.”

I glanced around the room; there was only one exit.

I pulled off three more wires in one go.

They fell to the floor loudly and I pushed the blanket off with them. “Oh, be careful, that’s sensitive technology.

Take it slow.”

I tore away from the chair, across the room, and to my husband’s side.

“Hey!”

His demeanor changed entirely, “Do not remove those wires.

We don’t know what’ll happen if you do.

Please,” He took half a step towards me, “Let’s go into the other room, the lab guys will explain more.

It could be dangerous.” I white-knuckled the wires attached to his forehead apprehensively. “He could die, miss.”

I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs, and tears burned at the corners of my eyes.

I released the wires and slumped against the chair.

My fingers ran over the familiar curve of his cheek.

His breath came evenly.

He looked so peaceful. “Alright,” I slid to the floor by his side, sticking my face in my knees.

No memories came flooding back except of my life with him at the inn.

“I’m not leaving him.

Bring whoever wants to talk to me here.”

I rubbed my eyes and realized my hands were still cold. I didn’t understand most of what they said, but memories floated to the surface while they talked.

It started as a video game company.

Drewitt Studios.

They wanted to create the most hyper-realistic virtual reality on the market.

We thought we were lucky to get into beta-testing, but the machines were flawed.

Out of the thousand-plus applicants, twenty were chosen.

None left the arcade once they were plugged in.

The stimulus was too real.

Well, all except temperature.

They had to simulate that in the real world.

The two they tried to remove by force died of heart attacks.

Those that died while in the program left something no one could explain.

Glitches left to wander the worlds made just for them.

It was theorized that a glitch might shock the victims out of the program.

Their spheres were combined in hopes they’d meet, but the world generation was too extensive.

The head of the company plugged himself in without notifying anyone, to test his employees’ theory.

Some said he just wanted to experience the project before it got scrapped forever; some said he was overcome with guilt.

He knew that the longer someone was in the game, the less they would remember of their real life.

He searched the world while the victims' faces were still in his memories.

His sacrifice woke me up, but my husband will sleep until they can direct a glitch his way.

They’re working around the clock to create an artificial glitch with the same effect. It’s been a week since I woke up.

I live on site, free of charge.

I’m sure I’ll be paid handsomely my whole life.

I don’t want their money.

I want them to plug me back in, with him.

I pour a cup from the office coffee maker.

I put a drop of vanilla on my spoon and stir it in.

I don’t know if its imitation or not.

They taste the same, anyway.


When I first met my husband, I thought: Him. He is the one that I want. We met at an after-school English program in Asia. It was my first day of my new job and I fell in love as soon as the elevator doors opened. He was nothing much to look at--at 23, he was already balding and his stomach was a bit soft--but as George shook my hand and looked directly into my eyes, I just knew. In the beginning of our relationship, it was his confidence that attracted me to him. Also, it didn't hurt one bit that he had a perfect, neatly-clipped British accent. Her My wife is correct. I don't always understand her. She is American, and Americans always try too hard. Have you ever seen a group of them enter a restaurant? Everything is a bit too much for me. Everything they do is meant to attract attention to themselves. They talk too loudly, and I can hear every grating word that they say, as they slurp up their food with disgusting table manners. They are rude, obnoxious, and boring. Heaven help me; I cannot believe that I fell in love with one. Him It's my birthday today. When I got up this morning, he carefully laid three birthday presents at my feet. This was not an act of worship; he knows that I have neck arthritis and can't do a lot of overhead movement on rainy days. Also, I can't reach out and quickly grab things. The pain radiates up my shoulders, and it's just too much. Anyway, like I said, George was the most self-assured man I had ever met. He could walk into any room and people were instantly drawn to him. It was like he was a refrigerator and they were magnets. Her I don't believe in buying my wife flowers. They wilt. I wish she knew that flowers mean nothing when it comes to real love. Duty is always more important than romantic love, especially in a marriage. My wife and I are opposites in many ways, and I know that Clara thinks that grand gestures mean more than than the things I do for her. Him Once, after surgery, I bought myself flowers. When they were delivered to the house, George asked: "Who was at the door?" "I don't want to tell you," I said. "You wouldn't understand." "I might," said my husband. "Alright," I said, and took a breath. "I ordered sunflowers." "Can I see them?" he said. "No," I said. "I bought these flowers for myself because you don't like to buy them. You don't get to see them because you'll just say something horrible about them." George turned back to his video game. "Okay," he said. "I won't look at them." "Good," I said. I quietly shut the door, and sat down on the bed in the back room. Then I cried. Her "Those flowers are shit," I said. I admit that this was a mean, petty thing to say. I am not a kind man, and I freely admit this fact. The truth can never hurt you, as I always tell Clara. She never remembers how I make time in my day to pop by her office, just to ask how her day is going. I do this to show she is important to me, and I love her. Him My therapist says that I have to be the one to change in my marriage, as my husband does not attend therapy with me. My therapist is a man in his fifties, and I know that he has most likely been conditioned from birth to believe that women must drop whatever they are doing in order to help men understand emotions. The truth is that I am sick and tired of helping George. First, I helped him to build up the courage to ask me on our first date. Then, I helped him to have the confidence to succeed in the workplace. Currently, I am helping him in every way that I can. It's never enough for George. It's like he's a giant tapeworm, and I'm a succulent host. Sometimes it feels like there's nothing of myself left anymore. Like I'm all sinew, gristle, and bone. Her She steals my drinks, she steals my clothes, she steals my pens, she steals the toilet paper before I can use any. She steals snacks from my desk. I can't remember the last time I had a thing that was mine and mine alone. I have given her literally everything that I own, and it's never enough for her. Clara will always want more than I can give. Her expectations are too high. Him The birthday gifts that he gave me were tasteful and expensive. However, the presents he bought were the kind of thing that he would want if he were a woman: a designer lap top bag, imported chocolate, and a heavy geometrical vase. The truth is that that I prefer cheap paperbacks from used bookstores, and the kind of animal knick-knacks that my mother would hate. My favorite figurine is a tiny pig sitting on a tiny toilet, which I purchased for three dollars. George took one look at it and said it was a waste of money. Her My wife has terrible taste. If left to herself, she would eat highly-processed, nutritionally bankrupt foods like Ho-Hos , Twinkies , and Ding-Dongs . I admit all of these snack cakes are delicious, but they lack the nutrients or deliciousness of a good English roast. What would Clara do without me? She would probably starve to death within a matter of weeks, really. I taught her how to eat three balanced meals a day. Him George has terrible taste in movies. He likes action films where testosterone-fueled men make stupid decisions that cause needless problems. These conflicts can only be resolved through loud car races, and even louder explosions. Last week, he moaned about watching Anthony Hopkins in a well-written, excellently directed project. Seriously? Who complains about watching Anthony Hopkins act? What would my husband do without me? Most likely, his brain would turn to Jello pudding within three days. I guarantee it. Her My wife once called me out for mansplaining. Well, she continues to call me out for this. I remember I told her I like to explain things to her, and to no one else. She is the only one in my life--Clara has always been the one--who actually listens to what I say. The people I work with always want me to listen to them, and this is one of many skills I possess. I have no need to hide this fact. However, when Clara listens to me, I feel like the best version of myself. A man of substance and character, if you will. In reality, I know that I am vain and arrogant. I can talk with anyone, knowledgeably, about any subject, but I never talk about anything meaningful or important. I don't want Clara to know this, but I think I would become a hollow shell of a man without her. I tell her, often, that she is my favorite person. Our time is almost finished, and I don't mean to be rude, but my wife and I need to get going now. It's our 23rd anniversary party, and we don't want to be late. You know how it is. What? No, we don't want a divorce. We came in to talk about setting up a private investment fund for retirement. You're the one who insisted on meeting with both of us, separately. I thought you wanted an account of our personal relationship to give us better advice about the kinds of companies we should invest in. Him No, we don't want a divorce. Why would we want a divorce? Did he say he wanted a divorce? Oh, that's a relief. I was worried, but I'm often worried that I'm not enough for him, and that he'll leave me for a 20 year-old woman who is also a nurse. She'll hang on his every word, and will never disagree with anything that he says. Yes, I know I have a wonderful imagination. Okay, I can see that you are laughing. Was what I said funny? Yes, we are running late for our 23rd anniversary party, and I really need to go. George hates to be late, and he acts like a grumpy cat, who's just tasted spoiled milk, if he's not on time. Fine, I will answer one last question...no, I didn't think the questions you were asking were odd. If I were advising married clients on corporations they should invest in, I would want to know the history of their relationship. Okay, fine. If you won't stop laughing, I've got a joke for you...what do you call 50 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? Us Him: What a strange lawyer. Her: I know, right? I told him my best lawyer joke and he didn't laugh. Him: That joke isn't funny. Her: You don't know what joke I'm talking about. Him: I know exactly what joke you are talking about. It's the one that goes: "What do you call 50 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?" The answer is: "Room for more." Her: The way you just said it isn't funny. Him: No, that joke is never funny. I wish you would stop telling it. Her: Fine. Let's just get to the party. You know what you're like when you're late. Him: What am I like when I'm late? Her: You're an asshole when you're late, if you must know. Him: You know I love you, right? Her: Why do you say that? Him: No reason. Her: Really? I wish you would tell me why you love me. Him: I love you because you are smart, funny, and beautiful. Her: Thank you. I love you because of your butt. I hope you don't mind being objectified in this way. Him: I don't mind. Her: Did the lawyer ask you if you were there to get a divorce? Him: Yes, why? Her: He asked me the same thing. Him: What an odd man. Her: I agree. Him: Happy Anniversary, lovely wife. Her: I hate it when you call me wife. It makes me feel like you think I am something that belongs to you. Him: Feelings aren't facts. Her: What does that mean? Him: It means exactly what I said. Her: I am tired of arguing, but you are the only person I enjoy arguing with. Him: I feel the same way. Her: Happy Anniversary, George. Him: Happy Anniversary, Clara. Her: Would you ever leave me for a younger woman? Him: Why would you say that? Her: No reason. Him: Absolutely not. Who else would be able to tolerate me? Would you ever leave me for someone else? Someone with a full head of hair, for example. Her: No, but I may poison you in your sleep one day. From true crime dramas, I've learned that most women kill other people in this way. Him: A couple of nights ago, I had a dream that you stabbed me with an incredibly sharp knife. Her: Really? Just so you know, I would definitely poison you. Him: I know. Her: I love that you get me. Him: I love that you get me. THE END


I woke up to the faintest melody playing outside my bedroom. Peeling off the layers of my duvet, my feet tingled as they pressed against the cold, slick marble floor. The melody grew louder as I approached the door, fully intensifying as I opened it. A sense of melancholy filled the air as the keys of the piano played. I looked over the stairwell and saw him. His furrowed brows demonstrated a deep concentration and attentiveness to the sheet music splayed on the music rest. “Fuck.” A single note out of place disrupted the flow that had saturated the air of the entire house. “What piece is that?” I asked. His eyes flicked up and met mine. The furrowed brows were gone, and a smile cracked across his scruffy face. He hadn’t shaved this morning, which happens to be my favourite kind of mornings. “Just a little something I picked up from the music store,” he replied, “Morning, beautiful”. “Good morning indeed.” I chuckled as I walked down the stairs. “You know how much I love it when you the piano, I was a getting a little down because I haven’t heard you play in a while”. “I guess I needed a bit of inspiration.” He replied with a smirk as he leaned in to kiss me, in all my morning breath-ed glory. That’s what happens in you’re in love for real, right? The morning breath, the annoying little things that get you down - a sock out of place, an empty cup left on the coffee table, it all didn’t matter. Because when you look at that someone, everything else just melts away. “Scoot over.” I say as I take a seat on the bench. The notes on the sheet music just look like squiggly lines to me, and every so often I’m reminded of how they are so much more than that. “Ah yes, a G… and then an A… and then a…” “God, no. That’s completely wrong.” He laughed, as he gently took my hand and placed my fingers on the correct keys. His touch sent electricity through my body and I was reminded of the first time we touched. It was that same feeling all over again, but this time, there was depth, a security that told me that this was for more than a moment, and that this was something I was going to experience every single day for the rest of our lives. He played the melody while I simply held down the keys, changing chords ever so intermittently, and music once again permeated the air. As he played the final note, he leaned over and said “Couldn’t have done it without you.” “We make a pretty good team, huh?” I replied.


“They’re Japanese Maples. You’re Grandfather just planted them for me last week, don’t you love them?” The two small maple trees that were planted on either side of the front walk that no one uses were only about four feet tall and not much thicker than a magic marker at the trunk. “Uh, Yea, they’re great, I love the purple leaves on them”. They’re dwarves so they won’t get that big and take up the whole front yard.” She was proud of her trees, and her yard and her house and she had every right to be. She was a child of the great depression, and she remembered it vividly and often. During the worst of times she and her brother would have to pick stones out of the garden if they wanted to eat dinner. Work was hard to come by for her father when he was sober enough to seek it out. He let her know under no uncertain terms that even though she was only 5 years old there are no free rides in life. Now she had made it. That understanding that was instilled in her so long ago took her far, far from a place where food wasn’t always guaranteed. She had made it and those Japanese Maples were as much evidence of that success as was the house with the front yard to plant them in. He had planted them last weekend, because that is what he did, whatever she needed. He was a devoted husband with a good head on his shoulders. That head of his he kept low as not to draw attention. He was smart enough to move up the latter if he choose to do so, but that was not in his nature. He preferred to stay quiet and aim for enough. Enough to keep her happy, enough to get by comfortably but no more. No reason to be greedy was his philosophy, content was the ultimate goal and he got there and stayed. When he was 18 he went to war. He never spoke about it with me until recent years. I always assumed it was traumatic and it very well may have been, but when he spoke about it now he remembered this time in his life fondly. He worked in communications for the big guns as he called them, the howitzers. He went all over Europe, he liked the French Women in Paris at the Burlesque shows and he got to stay in Hotels and nice houses. I try to keep the lines straight as I mow under the Japanese Maples. He always mowed in straight lines. The war was a long time ago and so was the day that she showed me her new trees. It turns out they weren’t dwarves after all, they now take up the whole front yard and I bob and weave under them as I wrangle the mower. He’s a shell of his former self. He asks me over and over if I’m keeping busy, no less than 20 times this visit. She’s no longer with us. She passed 8 months back. He tells me nobody else if home right now, “They’re all out” he says never referring to her specifically.


“Get on the stone slab, please,” the tired man said. “I won’t go. I won’t do it! Why can’t someone else take my place?” A short woman struggled against the restraints as the man picked her up and forced her to lie back against the cool stone. “I don’t want to accompany the pharaoh into the underworld! I want to see our world first! I never got the chance. I’ll be a terrible conversation partner in the afterlife.” “You’ll be fanning the pharaoh or dropping grapes in his mouth. He isn’t taking you along to talk to you. That’s why his wives will be there.” The woman curled up on the slab, trying to get her feet under her. “I want to dip in the Nile one more time to wash my hair—for the pharaoh! I promise I won’t run away... again. Please let me go. You can’t enjoy doing this.” “I have my orders. You’re to be mummified.” In the corner, the man busied himself with the usual tools—a long hook for nose sticking, a heap of natron. “People usually consider this an honor. I’m sure your family is very proud.” With a grunt, the woman managed to roll off the slab. She tried to crawl toward the door. “I don’t even know the pharaoh! And he wants me standing beside him for all eternity? Could you run this by one of the priests? Honestly, I think there’s been an unfortunate mistake. I’d like to see the papyrus trail on this. I won’t be able to read it, but I’d like to see it anyway.” The executioner lifted her wriggling form back onto the slab. “I’m sympathetic, but you’re the fifth servant today, and I’m getting compensated for the whole batch. It’ll be over quickly. I’m sure the pharaoh will be a terrific person to spend all eternity with. How about this? One of my colleagues is mummifying the pharaoh’s pets. If you’d like, I can make sure you get a spot next to a jackal or an alligator. Would that make you feel better?” Brow furrowed, the woman shivered. “Okay, hold steady, please,” the man said, revealing the knife in his hand. He lifted it above the woman’s torso. “I’ll make you a deal.” “What sort of deal?” Little did the woman know that, of all Pharaoh’s executioners, her mummification had been assigned to the only compulsive gambler. “You could just pretend to embalm me. You know, use the herbs and salt to get the smell right and wrap me up. Then, you could slip in while they’re still setting up the graverobber traps to swap me out with somebody else. Tell them you’d found out I led an unvirtuous life and wasn’t fit to join the pharaoh on his journey into the afterlife.” “Who will the substitute be?” the executioner asked, visibly straining from the weight of the uplifted knife. “I don’t know! People die every day, don’t they? Grab one of them.” “Why should I help you?” His outstretched arm was shaking, and his grip on the knife was loosening. The woman accelerated her sales pitch. “When no one’s looking, I’ll stuff my linen strips with treasure. The pharaoh isn’t going to miss a few scarab brooches. We can start a new life together somewhere they’ll never find us. We can go to Greece! It can’t be far. The pharaoh will be too busy, sailing around the underworld in his tomb boat to care if one of his servant mummies was replaced at the last minute. If anything, we’ll be doing the dead peasant a favor, giving them a spot on the pharaoh’s ship!” “But what if we’re cursed?” “I already am!” the woman shrieked, eyes fixed on the quaking knife. Lowering the surgical dagger, the man said, “I like the odds. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.


As Serial Saturday here on /r/shortstories gets to the halfway point, we are starting to see the first of participants winding down their stories. It’s been such a treat to watch people evolve their flash fiction serials with us and bring arcs to a close that for some have been with us for quite a while. For a good handful of writers on Serial Saturday, their stories are continuations of serials started on /r/writingprompts Theme Thursday weekly threads. One such story comes from /u/Ragnulfr (or, as we know him on the discord server: Wingbeat, or just Wing), who from early on captured our hearts with his story of a young goblin with a gift, and the friends he makes along the way in learning how to use that gift. With twenty five installments all in all it’s a beautiful, cozy story that left us all thinking that these kinds of stories are what we need more in the world. Here’s the *Purespark* synopsis as written by Wing: >*A young goblin boy, scorned by his own kind and hated by the rest of the world, finds his only solace in magic, believing he can change the fate of his race by proving himself. But fate is not often so simple, and cares not for idealism. After purchasing a magic tome with money he had saved up, he fervently pursues a way to prove that goblins are capable of great good, as well. What awaits him at the end of this path - and how will his past shape the future for all of goblinkin?* In this journey we’ve taken with Wing we have enjoyed his readings in the Serial Saturday campfire and also just getting to know him more. In the writing world it can be hard to find good online writing groups that not only provide critique but also really get in tune with each other’s styles. With members like Wing we'd be hardpressed to find a better crop of such quality writers and community members. Wing wrote a beautiful forward about his experience with us that I think is worth a read and I’ll quote here. >*Hello! Thank you so much for reading Purespark! This story means a lot to me - and I'm so grateful for the opportunity to be able to write and share my writing with all of you - both up to this point and perhaps to the future! I'm so grateful for all of your support - and none of this would have been possible without you all. Through the happiest of times and darkest of moments, you all have made me feel welcomed and appreciated. I'm grateful for the opportunity to be able to at least repay and give back but a small portion of everything that you have given to me. And as I go forward, I hope that I will be able to share the oppressive support that you all have given me with others - provided they're okay with constant support!* > >*I mean it when I say this community has changed my life. I've learned to be kinder. More compassionate. I've learned to be more patient with myself, as well as learned how to help others to the best of my ability.* > >*But most of all, I've learned that there is no better feeling than helping another. Through times of happiness and times of sorrow, I've found that just a simple helping hand can go a long ways to bring someone out of their reverie. Just a simple "Hey, are you alright?" can make someone's day. Just a simple "We're all here for you - we're all beside you" can change someone's perspective forever - and for the better.* > >*I've felt these things for a while, but I've truly learned what they mean by being a part of this community.* > >*Purespark started as a simple Theme Thursday post way out of my comfort zone. I remember thinking to myself, "Why don't we try to take this theme and try to fit it into our strengths and ideas?" As I put pen to paper, and words onto the page, I had the thought in my head of a young goblin boy trying to prove himself and help as many people as he could, despite any difficulties that may have been placed in his path.* > >*But after seeing how much people loved it, and after seeing all of the support that everyone gave me, I decided to continue it. Week after week. I initially had started it as a way to improve my writing - a comfortable place to test my skills and experiment with different writing styles.* > >*But as I continued writing, I realized just how much this story had become to me. It had become more than just a simple writing exercise. These characters and these stories became real to me - and had become something that now is very dear and close to my heart.* > >*Purespark became more than just a simple story - it found itself encapsulating all of the emotions and feelings of everything that I had come to love in this community. A message of hope and kindness, which can outshine even the darkest of moments - this is but one of the messages and morals I hope this story can impart. But more importantly, it has become a story in which I can truly say I'm proud of. Not because of my own merit - but because of the support of everyone else to push me to do my best. Their oppressive support gave me the courage to continue to write and put my best foot forward each week - and words can't express just how much it meant to me to have so many people eagerly expecting and awaiting the new installation each week. It means more than I can say - even more than I can express. You all have helped me so much - helped me to improve not only as a writer, but as a person. I feel I've become more confident in who I am, and I have tried my best to be the best support for others as I can be in return.* > >*So to you, the reader - no matter who you are, or where you are from. Thank you for reading my story. Thank you for reading Purespark.* > >*I say this every week after Campfire, but I really, truly want you to know this one fact -* > >*You're amazing. You're all amazing.* > >*Thank you so much for everything - and thank you so much for reading Purespark!* > >*Wingbeat* With *Purespark* at an end there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on /r/shortstories. Let the bragging begin! Wingbeat’s personal sub is and I highly recommend checking out his author notes and other stories written for /r/writingprompts. The *Purespark* story in its entirety is compiled as a collection there, Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty - Chapter Twenty-One - Chapter Twenty-Two - Chapter Twenty-Three - Chapter Twenty-Four - Chapter Twenty-Five - Congrats on finishing your serial, Wing, and we can’t wait to see what you do next. Enjoy your travels while embarking on new experiences in your personal life. <3 from the team at /r/ShortStories, /r/WritingPrompts, and Serial Saturday. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *For more information on the Serial Saturday program feel free to check out our* *.* We have members from all around the world and who have all kinds of schedules, so there’s usually someone awake to talk to. We also have scheduled readings, oration critiques, spur-of-the-moment story time, or even just random hangouts over voice chat.


December 11th, 2022 Today’s the day we find out if Orion’s fancy heat shield works. This is the part of the mission that was so dangerous that NASA didn’t want real people aboard Orion. Now we’ve got five. I’m back to being this quantum function, both alive and dead at the same time, just waiting to be observed to determine my state. I decided to write this entry before we re-enter. You’ll know what’s become of me from the news, and this is the moment to end this diary. The more I think about things, the more I feel I’ve been thinking about life wrong. It doesn’t matter what happens next. Good luck, or shitty luck, however those quantum functions resolve, I’m not some particle with either an up-spin or a down-spin waiting to be observed. The Alex Whelm who had shitty luck and didn’t get accepted to astronaut training is the same Alex Whelm who pulled off an impossible intercept and spoke with the President of the United States. What I’ve done are just the details of some combination of opportunity, luck, and means. They’re not who I am. I’m every thought in my head whether that’s from something I watched, something I read, or something that popped into my head and made me laugh at random. I’m the imprint in an old pair of my shoes. I’m a voice. Maybe that voice goes and does great things, maybe that voice goes and does nothing, but it’s the same voice no matter what. I’m the same Alex who realized he could sneak aboard Artemis I and saved Dragon’s crew, but I’m also the same Alex who skipped a VR gaming session and just kept working his job at NASA. Why didn’t things work out with Jess? Because we weren’t right for each other. There was nothing wrong with me, there was nothing wrong with her, we just didn’t fit. What about Sarah? Who knows. Once we’re down on the ground though, and I’ve had a chance to shave, shower, and brush my teeth, I’ll ask her if she’d like to go mountain biking together some time and get my ass kicked. We probably won’t fit either, and that’s ok. But I know enough about myself to know that I’m a person who asks a girl out even when he thinks it’s hopeless. But her saying yes, or no, isn’t something I need to know the answer to in order to be happy or know who I am. There will be a time to ask, and I will. This just isn’t it. Maybe the heatshield fails, maybe we all burn up on re-entry. Or maybe I land and spend the next two months doing endless interviews as the big damn hero. But I’m still just Alex, the same guy who got rejected for his dream job and dumped by his girlfriend. We spend so much time judging ourselves by what we’ve done and how luck turned out, that we fail to see the person under it all. We see celebrities who are only exceptionally lucky, or have an exceptional talent at one thing, and transmute them into omnipotent beings. They’re not, I’m not. So take it from the quantum entangled versions of a guy who both saved the lives of four people stranded in space, who saved the Orion mission from a critical computer glitch; and at the same time from the guy who snuck aboard a ship he had no business being on, and then changed absolutely nothing because that ship burned up on re-entry. Hero, and loser, at the same time, at the same moment, the outcome to be decided by forces outside of my control. None of that stuff matters. That’s why it’s ok that it be decided by a roll of the dice. What matters isn’t how things turn out, what matters is who we are, what we try to do, and how we try to do it. So fate, chance, god, quantum entanglement, whatever you want to call it: do what you must, I’m good. \* Sad the story’s over? Want more? I’m Nathan H. Green a corporate lawyer who left his firm job of 8 years to write. It has been a hell of a journey for me and in the last two years I’ve put out three full length novels, a novella, and Artemis I Has A Stowaway. Follow me on reddit (u/authornathanhgreen) for updates about what comes next and, buried at the bottom of my posts is a free audio drama time travel story. If you want to get really wild, check out one of my books! Woe to the Victor came out last week and is getting amazing reviews. \*\*\* I’m Nathan H. Green, a science-fiction writer with a degree in aerospace engineering, and I’m going to be doing daily semi-fictional stories tracking the Artemis I mission. You can follow along through my reddit (u/authornathanhgreen). Artemis I Has A Stowaway is a work of semi-fiction. All incidents, events, dialogue and sentiments (which are not part of the mission’s official history), are entirely fictional. Where real historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, sentiments, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events, personality, disposition, or attitudes of the real person, nor to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. Save the above, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2022 Nathan H.


I am a peasant woman, simple and kind, one of few but many am I. I enjoy poetry and will continue this rhyme. My drink the sun and eat the time, boredom is my only burden and no authority other than the seasons. I am free to live according to my needs, sunlight, moonlight, and little bread, and a lot of cheese. Now I find myself on the precipice of disaster. I seem to have drawn attention to myself. Unfortunately. Not that I dislike affection, I dislike the affectionate. Those that make their careers out of it. Ooo, it makes my skin crawl. I’m endangered. Or so they say. Yet I don’t feel like I’m in danger. Well, outside of them. They poke and prod with questions and needles. “Oh, what a wonderful specimen!” they giggle with glee. I swear they’re like the schoolchildren across the stream, always laughing and running and playing, but never at other’s expense like these red-kneed beans. Beans. That’s what they look like to me, long, pale, gangly little beans all pripped and trimmed to look all dainty and proper when all they do is get their hands dirty. When they forget their gloves of course. God forgive they actually get dirty for once, as if I have anything to offer them, oh no perish the thought. Indeed. Indeed, that’s all they think of me, just a bumbling bumbling old coot who can’t take care of herself. Now let me tell you something so that you may tell them that something for me, “I”, now I want you to say this verbatim mind you, I mean it I’ll be listening young man, or young woman, or whatever you lovely dears call yourselves these days, “I can take care of myself thank you very much, but I appreciate your efforts which on occasion are genuine and I truly hope with all that I can provide that you live a healthy and prosperous life my beloved children!” Oh. Oh my. I, I hope that wasn’t too harsh. Oh goodness gracious me it was wasn’t it! Oh, my I simply let my temper get the best of me sometimes I swear there’s a hurricane swarming through my head every minute the ghastly things. I truly am sorry my child, I didn’t mean to snap at you, or them, it’s just…sometimes mother needs a break from all this, and there’s so little space left for me to escape to. I swear to the Lord in heaven there isn’t a place left that isn’t too hot or too cold for me to catch a breath in. Well, at least I have my baths. And my children, whom I love you, all of you, oh so much. Not like that man upstairs. Goodness gracious, I truly am sorry for the poor old man, but gracious me he’s as dense as a stone! Please don’t tell him I said that though love, we’ve been neighbors for a long time and I’d hate for things to get awkward now. You know my dear, I had this entire story planned for you to write out and edit for me, but the strangest thing happened. I simply let the story be. Yes, yes I suppose I did, yes! Hahaha, after all the advice my children have given me over the millennia about sentence structure, and syntax, and narrative consistency you’d think some of it would stick every now and again wouldn’t it. Oh, but it is not so my dear. For, and you’ll never hear me admit this again so if you write it down it’ll be in your words not mine my dear, I’m as dense as our neighbor, (whom I shall not name mind you, he has a terrible eavesdropping habit, the old coot) ((whom I love very much if he’s listening, which of course he is, what else would you be doing this time in the day you old coot)) (((I still love you very much though, see you tonight same time same place as usual I hope!))). Oh, what was I saying my dear? I swear these millennia are catching up to me. I can’t keep up with all my children and everything they’re doing. I can scarcely keep up with myself. I know I don’t look it my child, but I’m old. I’m very old. And I’m tired. I’m oh so tired. You know it’s the funniest thing my dear. I intended this story to be an example of my very special boy William, who’s last-name I always thought was a bit silly mind you but don’t tell him I said that he really is a very special boy whom always made your mother laugh, as do all my children mind you in their own way, but some of you are so silly goodness gracious you take it all so seriously, I’m glad to have birthed all of you, oh, goodness, as silly as that sounds, hahah perhaps the apples don’t fall far from the tree after all! Oh, what was I saying, oh yes! I intended for this to be an allegorical story about a simple peasant woman’s rural way of life being threatened by novelty and how metaphorical it is to my experience when my wayward children’s latest fad about parental care comes about. I intended this to be a very good story, I had it all thought out and asked one of my daughters how she felt about it and please do tell her I love her so much, in particular love her so much, not that any of you are loved more or less than the other, you’re all very special to me in your own special ways and I love you oh so much and…! Oh, goodness me. What am I trying to say to my beloved child? Oh yes, do not worry where you’re going my child, you’ll always be with me, and even if your story doesn’t make sense, it’ll always be yours, and you will always be mine. Well, the neighbors up and about, (as if he wasn’t before), so it’s about time for me to retire for the evening. Goodnight my dear, I’ll miss you ever so much. I love you.


I tried to go back and forth between 2 timelines, so sorry if it's a little confusing “Earth to Sara. Hello?” “Hmm?” I snapped back out of my thoughts. “So, what do you say?” “What?” “I said, what do you think about going sledding tomorrow?” 3 years. Maybe it was time to go back. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll be there.” I say, trying to show my indifference, though inside I was waging a war with myself, yelling at myself for agreeing to go.

“Ok.“ I sunk back into my thoughts as my friends went back to talking about whatever crazy thing happened over the weekend. The rest of the day went by in a blur, as I was sinking in my thoughts. After school, I met up with Cerise, my sister, to walk back home. I talked about my day and the thought of going sledding again. “Why not?” Cerise said. “We haven’t gone in a long time.” I smiled sadly. “You know why.” I whispered under my breath.

When I got home, my mom was there waiting for me on the kitchen table. With her dark brown hair and almost black eyes, we could have been sisters. I put my bag down and started to go upstairs before my mom asked, “What have you been doing? You haven’t been getting in trouble, now have you.” She wagged her finger at me and I smiled. Some things never change.

**0** Cerise and I run inside, our cheeks flushed red and our faces wide with smiles.

“What have you been doing? You haven’t been getting into trouble, now have you.” Our mom said, waiting at the kitchen table, wagging her finger at us.

“Sledding.” We say in unison, and burst into laughter afterwards.

 **0** The next day I’m standing in front of my mirror, wearing snow pants and a T-shirt, unable to decide whether to go or not.

“Should I go, Cerise?” “Why not? You haven’t gone in so long. Let’s go back and play, it’ll be fun. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” My sister sat at the end of my bed, dangling her feet over the edge. I took a deep breath.

“Ok.”

Now, standing at the top of the hill, I definitely regretted saying yes. I couldn’t do anything as a flood of painful memories went through my mind. Staring at the mountains, the ones I knew so well from years before, I shivered, though not from the cold. I heard someone say to their friends, “Ready?” **0** “Ready?” “I was born ready.” I stood at the top of the hill, my eyes fixed on the end. Cerise stood next to me, in her bright snow gear and dark goggles. She smirked under her ski mask. “Go.” We sled down the hill at harrowing speeds, the wind whipping our hair in a frenzy. I smiled knowingly under my mask, then shoved my sled left, into a shortcut I knew well, leaving Cerise behind. Now I stood at the bottom of the hill, shivering but grinning wide. “Cerise!” I called. “Are you that slow or are you that sore of a loser? Either way, I can’t wait here all night!” No reply. As the minutes ticked by, my smile slowly dropped a little more. Suddenly, a loud rumble tumbled from the hill above me. I scrambled backwards. I knew what that sound meant. Avalanche. They rarely happened but up here, out in the woods, you don’t know what could happen. As I ran back to the cabin, I remembered. Cerise was still up there. I turned and sprinted back towards the hill I was going at before, but a hand grabbed my shoulder. “Miss, we have to go.” A man in a bright orange vest and goggles stood behind me.

“My sister is still up there!” I cried, desperate to find Cerise “Miss, we’ll find her, you have to go back to your cabin.” “I-I can’t, my sister...” I started to break down in sobs “We’ll find her. Now, go,” The man said with determination in his eyes. I reluctantly walked back to my cabin, my tears freezing on my face as they fell. I turned back to thank the man, but he was already walking up the hill, and soon he disappeared in the storm of snow that followed. I ran faster to my cabin, and anxiously waited for him to come back with my sister. And waited. And waited. When they came down and broke the news, I cried for a week. Then I had no more tears left to cry. I gave up sledding, and didn’t touch a board for 3 years. U ntil now. **0** “First time sledding?” A voice asked

 “What?”

“Is it your first time sledding?” the voice asked again, but louder. And suddenly my memory jogged back. I stared in at the icy hills in front of me, feeling a pain slowly crawling into me.

“I said, is it your first time sledding?”

“Sorry, no, why’d you ask?”

“Probably because everyone knows you can’t sled without a board.” I looked at my hands and suddenly noticed I didn’t have a board.

“If you want you can borrow mine.”

I stared at the stranger for a second. She had a ski mask on and a pair of sledding goggles, which seemed a little excessive. Dark brown hair came out of her hat. Something about her felt familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. “Thanks.” I took her spare board and started to look at the signs on the hills Fright mountain, Avalanche explosion, and Sloth slide. I headed toward the Sloth Slide because it seemed like the safest bet, but the girl grabbed my hand and pulled me into a bush. I looked around and saw a giant hill, wondering how I never saw it.

“Where did you find this spot?”

“ 2 years ago, you want to try it?” She grinned. “You go first.”

“Okay.” The girl hopped on the board in a surfer position and started to sled, but fell instantly. A giggle escaped my lips, despite what I had felt before.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who hasn’t been sledding in a while.” She shrugged and sat down on the board and started to sled but at the last second pulled me down with her.

“Ahhhhhhh!”

“Oh stop screaming, it’s not that bad.”

 “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Oh, well-”

“Look out!” I screamed and we suddenly crashed into a tree. “Oww.” I started to look for the girl but couldn’t find her. When I found her ski mask and sledding goggles I started to panic. But my panicking slowed down as I saw her. “Are you okay? I found your ski mask and goggles.” The girl whipped around, and I finally caught sight of her face. Suddenly my heart stopped and a thousand questions raced into my head, but the only word I managed to choke out was “Cerise?”