Where I come from, everyone avoids the rain. I slip out from beneath an awning and around blue puddles from the last thunderstorm. Windows cry long streaks and buildings are left stained with dark smears. Nature's paint. At least nature couldn't get arrested. After art became illegal, I watched cities lose their souls and the rain tried to paint it blue instead.

With free speech and creative voices out of the picture, the government’s new focus is fixing the weather. Except they were the ones to blame when the rain started falling in pretty sapphire drops about a year ago. The catch? Water became absolutely deadly to drink. I pass through a neighborhood drowned in silence. A couple leaves scrape against the emptiness. It's a reminder of the hundreds of deaths from the poorer districts, but no one to tell people about it. All journalism organizations were dismantled several years ago when the government realized that artists weren’t the only ones who could speak out.

The rain often still falls blue. I’m almost certain that they’ve given up trying to undo it completely. After all, now they can make money off selling bottles to the desperate people who don’t have access to clean water. My eyes fish in the dark pockets of alleyways and I hurry my pace. I catch a glimpse of my wavering shape in a window: dark jeans ripped at my knees, and an oversized hooded jacket. I cradle my own metal water bottle in one of my arms, feeling its contents shift with my movements. I never use it to carry water.

I slip into an alleyway marked with a faint yellow smudge against one of the bricks. A quick search leads me to a handle camouflaged into its surroundings to blend almost completely into the grimy walls and dirty cement. I tug at the handle and despite its aged appearance, the door opens without any creaks. I’m quick to disappear into the gaping blackness for fear of unwanted guests finding the way in.

Climbing down the ladder, I have to re-position the water bottle to make sure it doesn’t fall. The rungs vibrate with each step down until I jump the rest of the way. My boots hitting the cement sends an echo that’s immediately absorbed into the dark.

The tunnel’s mouth widens and the underground brims with fluttering life. New art decorates the walls. Fellow artists return my smile as I pass them in the midst of their newest projects. I walk through the art market where little cubed areas are sectioned off for traveling or permanent vendors to sell goods. There's anything from handmade paintbrushes, custom paints and inks, partly recovered makeup palettes, fabrics, paper, and I even know a traveling notebook maker. As for the prices…those could usually be bargained down. I touch my short wavy dark strands as I pass a vendor selling homemade hair dye. I really want to dye my hair, but technically I don't

need  to. I turn my gaze away from being tempted and keep walking.

Lights continue to trace the walls of the tunnel. Just like artists, to make our own little stars that brighten the lives of those who went into hiding like I did.

This is where the true city lives, not the empty shell that sleeps above our heads. It takes a few turns through the maze of tunnels until I come upon the entryway I had been looking for. There’s a fluctuating stream of people coming in and going out. I go inside and end up in a space pumping with music and dancing bodies. The Underworld never disappoints.

My guess is the room used to be water storage but since it had been drained, it now acted as the perfect underground club. The lights are covered with a type of red transparent plastic, so the room glows to complement the bar’s name. The red cushioned sofas line the walls while tall standing tables are spaced sporadically in the space. Each has a small fake candle atop it. Then, the centerpiece of it all: the bar.

I don’t know how they managed to install lit shelving to hold the alcohol, but I had decided a while ago not to question it.

The bar sits at the far end of the large room. Its glasses of alcohol fill the shelves and while the decorated shelves go to the ceiling, the alcohol remains at a height where bartenders could easily reach without a ladder. A long counter runs in front of it but surprisingly it’s not too crowded. Most people order their drink and then hurry off to some other part of the room. At the bar, the music isn’t as blaring as it is where a live DJ is performing. I find a seat on one of the black painted stools etched with white curls up the legs. Just as I’m debating a drink, I find that one has already been set in front of me.

“You’re back early,” says the bartender who gave it to me. “There weren’t any problems,” I shrug. I examine the drink in the faint light. Little bubbles rise in a liquid that’s either purple or blue. It was hard to tell because of the red glow around me. I take a sip. It’s good.

She hands another drink to someone before coming back to me. Tonight, her jet-black hair is scrambled back into a messy bun with a notable silver hairpin slipped through it. Silver earrings wink red light from the many piercings she has. Then her winged eyeliner is traced with silver lines to match the sequins which turn crimson when she glances to the side. “Sorry I couldn’t go with. Keeping an eye on some of the newbies. They just came out of recovery,” she says, tapping her ringed fingers on the bar. I look over my shoulder to see where she is looking. The new artists look out of place near the wall but they appear to be at least talking with one other. When I glance back, she’s smiling at them like a mother to children. “Did they find what their outlet is?” I hand her the water bottle.

She opens it and pours out the contents: a few skinny bottles of glow in the dark ink, permanent glue, a flash drive, and some wire. She lifts one of the ink bottles up to the overhead light. “One of them decided it's drawing. I think one might like poetry or short prose, but the other one isn't sure yet.” I nod and gesture at the contents. “Sorry, it's not much, but the store was pretty destroyed when I got there. I think one of the other Houses beat us to it." She sweeps the water bottle’s contents into her own bag to put under the counter. “At the next House trade, we might be able to bargain for things though.”

Another customer asks for a drink and she multi-tasks talking and mixing.

“Vynia and I are working to send out more scouts. Are there still things we could use from that store?” she asks.

 “We’ll

definitely  need more hands if we go back. It wasn’t really the type of arts I work in, so I wasn’t really sure what was ‘important’ enough to take.” I swirl the liquid in the glass cup.

“I’m surprised you found a flash drive,” she hands the drink to a waiting hand. “Maybe one of our media artists can use it. I think we have a few in Domino.”

Ever since I joined the House of Domino, Sera was the one who helped me with my recovery. Most House leaders were usually a part of that process. Mine had been a pretty bad recovery period, but I got through it. Somehow.

“Seraaa,” a voice sings slightly off pitch.

Sera’s girlfriend, Vynia dances towards us. The DJ’s violet lavender hair twirls around her and I can see that both of my friends have silver sequins under their eyes.

“Wow, where was the memo on the sequins?” I gesture to the couple.

Vynia walks behind the bar to kiss her girlfriend on the cheek before making herself a drink. “Sera said that you would be out for a while; besides, are you sticking around until we close?”

Closing time is 3 a.m. and like hell would I stay out that late. I'm tired. I don’t respond, so Vynia smirks at me.

“Aren’t

you  supposed to be DJing right now?” I retort.

Her violet hair shakes with her head. “I let one of the others take over. They need some time with music anyway.”

Vynia became Sera’s co-leader to the House of Domino once they made their relationship official. It didn’t feel like Domino without both girls at the helm. Vynia was especially terrifyingly protective of our artists. If a Domino artist was ever harmed, Sera had to hold Vynia back from tearing apart another House. Not that Houses fought very often, but it happened usually after we hold the mid-year art galleries. It sounds tame but it’s really a competition for which House has the best talent. All of the House leaders get together to vote and you’re never allowed to vote for your own.

Vynia jumps onto the stool next to me with her drink. Surprisingly, she doesn’t spill anything.

“So? How are you doing, G?”

Like a lot of recovering artists, I still was trying to remember my name. So far, all I got was a “G” in my head. Sera protects her real name under “Sera” which was inspired by seraph or seraphim, a type of powerful angel. Someone in Domino started a trend of calling her “Angel Sera” but she put an end to it because she said it felt weird. “I’m just an artist,” Sera had said at the time. “What I create as an artist might be magic, but I’m sure as hell not a goddess of any kind.”

Sera felt like a name related to an angel would protect her from being taken again, just as she could protect the artists in her House.

“It was okay,” I shrug. “I didn’t see anyone on the surface today. Not even any other House artists running around like I normally would.”

“It’s probably because of the rainstorm,” Vynia points out. “There were rumors that it now can poison by touch not just by drinking. Not surprising considering its frickin’

blue .” I add a mental tally to my the-government-messed-up-again chart. I down the rest of my drink and leave my friends to go back to our sector. As I leave, I see Vynia and Sera leaving the bar. They're engulfed by the crowd and then gone. “Why didn’t you say something last night?!” I hurry after Vynia as she ties her hair into a ponytail.

The day is going well. I went and did some food shopping at the market, made myself a sandwich, and was messing with a black market music software on Sera's computer. Then, Vynia appeared and said I was going with them on a rescue mission. “Some things came up, okay? You—” she shoves a backpack in my hands. “—are a stand-in on short notice. I told Sera that you would be good for this.”

I rub my hand over my face. Flashes of red and phantom pains rush at me when I close my eyes. I try to flick the anxiety from my fingertips but it just gathers again in jitters. “I’m not recovered enough for this.”

“Trust me, you are,” Sera appears, backpack slung over her shoulder and dressed in the white uniform from the facility.

I force myself into the white uniform and cross my arms. “And if I get taken again—” “You won’t be,” Sera reassures me. “Here.” She hands me the headphones that I had seen her rescue mission group using before. I turn it on and rest the headphones on my shoulders. I was used to being on simple observation missions and your standard art thievery. This was not what I was used to. Still, I realize too late that I should’ve just said no.

Our driver drops us off a block away from the Playground, a massive facility dedicated to one thing: holding artists captive. When Creatives are captured, they're sent to the Playgrounds to work for the government. Some remember the details like a puppet being controlled, unable to do anything. Others barely remember anything. I’m in between the two.

Sera leads our group of five. A usual mission saves one artist. A good mission saves two or more. A bad mission lost one of our own. Domino has experienced all three. Before we left, one of Domino’s makeup artists marked our faces to be unrecognizable by the face scanners in the building. We would be practically invisible to the digital eye.

“Our synced headphones play

one  song that starts when we get inside,” Sera had explained as they left the underground. “Once it starts, you have that much time to locate an artist. If you can’t get someone by the song’s bridge, meet at the exit. Do

not  be in the building without our music.”

Hypnosis. Apparently, that’s what Playground workers play on the speakers throughout the building. Our headphones blend right in because all the workers also wear them. However, since we had all been under it before, it will hypothetically be a lot easier for us to fall under again.

Sera leads us to the entry point, and we slip behind a back door. Everything is white and plain. White tile. White walls. I just want to splatter it with paint.

Domino’s House leader nods before pressing play and a song erupts into my ears. We each disperse into the building, tugging the facility’s standard white masks over the lower half of our faces. Sera said that we each would be tugged to where we once worked in the building. It's a strange autopilot feeling where my legs carry me away from the others to a room on the second floor.

As I’m heading down a hall, I see a Playground worker coming my way. I practically hold my breath, but they pass with barely a glance in my direction.

Good. Okay. I reach a familiar room separated by a glass wall. There's one facility worker inside managing a group of people. I’m surprised when my finger presses the button for the glass door to slide open. I present a fake holo badge which indicates I’m switching out this person for the new shift. They nod at me and disappear down the hall without a word. I’m only at the second verse of the song so I still have time.

I scan the room of people in cubicles. I look over the shoulder of one person to see them making cartoons. Really basic and boring looking cartoons. There’s a list open in front of them of everything the characters are supposed to be and the plot. I frown at the large group in front of me. I wish I could get all of them out of here.

Instead, I choose the closest person.

“Hey?” I say, unsure of how loud I’m speaking because of the song.

Their glassy eyes shift to me, slowly blinking.

I slowly help the person up as they look at me confused.

Was this what I was like?

I wonder.

“Come with me, we’re getting you out of here,” I say, gently nudging them forward.

Something startles in their eyes when I manage to take them beyond the room. That’s when they completely collapse.

Their widened mouth strains against their face in a scream I can't hear. I remember this pain. God, I remember this pain.

I try to help them but they’re thrashing so much I can’t get a good hold.

The song hits the bridge.

“Please—” I half mutter to myself but more to the person. In the corner of my eye, I see a fleet of white running toward me. I reach out one last time to the thrashing figure before giving up. I turn away muttering “I’m sorry.”

I say it to Sera too when I meet up with everyone again in the safety of our getaway car. “I’m sorry.”

Sitting beside Vynia is a young boy with his palms pressed flat to his ears. He’ll have to deal with pain for the next several blocks until he’s far enough away from the Playground’s reach. He’s the only one we could save today.

Sera nods but doesn’t say anything. I stare out the window, but I can still hear the boy’s whimpers above the car’s music. When I flinch it's not from the boy's cries, it's from the first blue raindrop against the glass.


The man in red blew into town on a blustery November day. Despite there being many witnesses to the event – an empty sidewalk one moment, then with a gust of wind, there he stood the next – his exact looks remained a debate. He took a different form based on who you asked; He’s pushing seven feet with fingertips that hang to his knees one man said; Oh he was quite handsome indeed a woman blushed, I think he might have even winked at me. One thing everybody agreed on however was the red velour suit he donned. Everybody that is, except me. I was there that day. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant day to begin with. My wife and I were having troubles and I’d resorted to perusing the windows of local boutiques to try and find something to, if only temporarily, remove the scorn from her eyes. It was a heeled pair of brown boots that had me stopped when I first felt the chill in the air. The wind rolled in from around the side of the brick corner store I stood gazing into and wrapped around my legs. I looked down at my feet, a trembling shiver working its way from my toes up my body. When I looked back up, there he was. The reflection of him grinning behind me. The first thing I noticed was his body was red with blood, devoid of skin or any form of containment, the inside of him turned out like a discarded sock, its seams and frayed strands baring the inner workings of his construction. It was horrific. As if he had been burned alive but doused with water after only his fleshy bits had burned off. He smelled like it too. The second thing I noticed was despite the depravity that stood in front of me now, I recognized this man. I knew him, which meant that I knew him standing there now, in front of me, grinning and bare, was simply not possible. I knew this because this man was dead – and I had killed him. A wide grin splayed across his face, he rested his chin on my shoulder and stared at me in the reflection of the window. Words bubbled up from deep within him and fought their way through a blood filled mouth. Noone will believe you, he whispered in my ear. A hand of melted flesh and taut tendons wrapped around my other shoulder as he patted me reassuringly then walked away. He brushed past a portly woman who turned as he walked by. His eyes twinkled back at her and he gave her a wink before continuing on down the street. She must have noticed me starting because when she began walking my way again she said, handsome fella isn’t he. And that suit. He must not be from around here, he’s dressed far too nice. She pursed her lips, her cheeks flushed with the infrequent attention of the male gaze and wandered off to tell her friends about the handsome new stranger in town. When I turned back he was already rounding the next corner. I took off after him, skidding around the corner but he was gone. The air was thick with the smell of burning and a few people along the street were energetically speaking with one another, each relaying their experience with the man in red. As I walked from group to group it became clear from overhead conversations that despite a few details of size and stature and the general pleasantness of his appearance, nobody had seen what I saw. I decided then, I would have to keep it that way until I could put him back where he belonged; Far away from me, this town, and the mountain of sin that existed between us.


This is a story that takes place between four walls. Walls that once used to be white but are now a light brown shit yellow, from all the cigarettes smoked during bowel movements, and other activities. Now, if that didnt give away the fact that i was talking about a bathroom, then im not completely confident that there is hope for you, and your advancement in this floating ball we call home. Anyway before i go off on a long tangent that has really nothing to do with the story, but yet again everything to do with the story. The bathroom, where daydreams can be relived, pressures can be relieved, tanks can be emptied, and where unborn children are given mandatory flying lessons. But im not here for any of those reasons. Im not resting on the cold pot, or washing my face in the dripping sink, or even trying to find the frustrating medium of cold and hot water to take a replenishing shower. Oh no, i am here for reasons much more dark, dark enough as to the sun couldnt even keep it lit. And the funny part is, this is no tunnel, theres no light at the end of this cave. As i climb the rocks in the cave, i sweat, i cry, i laugh, out of psychosis of course, but laughed nonetheless, and most of all i wanted to be out of there. I walk, i run, i jump, and i never rest, getting out of the cave is my only goal any more. I need to see who is waiting for me at the entrance, who missed me, who cared enough to wait because somewhere deep down they knew i would make it out. How long have they been waiting, but the more important question is, how much longer will they wait. Enough with the metaphorical speak. When i say climbing rocks and caves, i mean pressing my whole body weight against the bathroom wall in an attempt to make my self upright. Everything is heavy, standing is now a task that deems harder that solving a rubiks cube with one hand and color blindness. All i can see is the mirror, and what i saw, oh man what i saw, is what really makes this story take off. My eyes met my own, my stare shot right through me. this wasnt a mirror anymore, this was a theatre. A theatre with only one seat, way in the back. And there was only one occupant in that seat, and that occupant was me. Every memory i have ever had all at once, in a split second it all flashed. I knew every mistake i had made, every wrong i had done someone. I faced my wrongdoings and was apologetic, and ready to change. I tried to find an old memory that could arise a smile, but the muscles were to sore to muster one up. I want to be a better guy, i want to do it right. I want to apologize. Then a sharp, harsh realization, its too late, i think i finally see a light. Im back on the floor, my body just as heavy as ever, back in the throne room. Drip, Drip, Drip is all i can hear from the sink. how long was i out? Who Knows, who cares.


Another Death (first reddit post!) *A soft wind ruffles my hair into my eyes as the chatter of people, the constant rumble of car engines, the ringing of bicycle bells and a million other sounds around me were all silenced to a minimum.* *I look up from my phone just in time to see the lights to go green, before everything seems to stop and go at the same time. People in black and white and grey around me buzz with sound and begin to walk along with me, while the cars to the side screech to a stop.* *In the middle of the road, I distinctly see a bright red object hurtling towards me from the corner of my right eye, right before it hits me.* *The next moment, I am knocked to the ground, as the sky turns to a bright blood red, black and white sparks flying everywhere, my ears buzzing. I feel my foot being crushed by the wheels, then my leg, then my chest.* *And then everything goes dark.* Sometimes being stuck with the one memory where you die sucks. Especially when it’s a painful one, like getting run over by a car. As I reattach my scythe to my back, I take out my buzzing tablet, and receive my next target, AKA the next upcoming death. *Name: Danielle Hills (Female)* *Location: 37.7749ºN, -122.4194ºE* *Death signature: 37%* *Estimated time till death: 12 minutes and 43 seconds* Being a Grim Reaper isn't really hard. Sure, you lose all memories of your past life except for the last few moments before you die, which is not the best thing to cling to when you’re having a bad day. You also have to wear the big black cloak for all eternity, which *really* depresses some of the other Grim Reapers, which is probably why there are very little mirrors in the dead’s world. But, you do get to help bring the normal souls to their next life, or eternal pain/happiness to the really bad/good ones, which always brings a nice sense of accomplishment. The job is quite simple. Receive details on the next death. Find and follow. Wait until person dies. Reap and collect soul from dead body. Sometimes I regret my initial decision to accept the role of a Grim Reaper. I mean, over the few years since I started, I had the deaths of some people—good people that made it *really* hard for me to swing my scythe down on them. It didn’t help that every time I reap a soul (which is just severing the bond between the soul and the body with my scythe), I also get to go down memory lane and relive the part where I got run over by a car. It doesn't take me long to find her. She looks quite normal, with a simple black dress and a rather large smile on her face. I watch her walk out of a large building, waving cheerfully at a few other people before leaving. I follow her for a few streets as she walks at a leisurely pace, until she stops, checks something on her phone, and begins to run, her smile replaced by panic. I speed up as well, until a few minutes later she rushes into a hotel building, where through the large glass panes I can see her urgently gesturing something at the front desk. I pass through the walls, lean over her shoulder, and in her shaking hands I can distinctly see the figures *Room 1013.* I fly up, going straight through the ceilings. Elevators tend to not work for ghosts—we just pass straight through the bottom when it starts to go up. Same goes for cars, buses, planes—anything that moves. Makes it a real pain when someone dies on a plane. It only takes me a few seconds to reach the room, where I see a couple, both sweaty and naked on a bed. “Ah.” Poor Danielle. I can already see how this ends. I take out a tablet, and recheck the details of the death. *Name: Danielle Hills (Female)* *Location: 37.7748ºN, -122.4193ºE* *Death signature: 88%* *Estimated time till death: 1 minutes and 12 seconds* I put my tablet back into the depths of my cloak, sit/float on the couch, and wait. Soon enough, after a minute or so, the door seems to shake slightly, right before it bursts right open and she strides in, freezing the moment she sees the scene. The other two also freeze, before they react and frantically covers themselves. The man rises, with a bed sheet tied around him, and reaches out for Danielle, but she stumbles backwards, the tears already falling like rain. I float over them, as I absentmindedly listen to them arguing, which includes quite a bit of slapping and screaming, until Danielle roughly shoves the man and tries to walk out of the door. At the same time, the tablet buzzes which means *Death Signature 99%. Prepare to reap soul.* The man grabs an innocent-looking geode from the side of the room, the other woman pounces on Danielle, and I take out my scythe. It would look rather unthreatening, a 5 foot long wooden shaft with a long curved silver blade, if you didn't know that it is used to reap souls from fresh dead bodies. I float right next to Danielle, who the next second was hit by the sharp point of the rock *hard* on the head, resulting in the familiar sound of *crack*. At that exact moment I swing my scythe down, right through her body, into the bond that connects the soul and the body. You can’t really see the bond, and it’s not exactly a stand of string, and I still can’t explain how it works or why they call it a bond. It had weakened when she died, but not completely, so cutting through it feels a bit like cutting through butter with a dull knife, but it was enough. A few moments later a ghostly figure of Danielle bounces out of the body, transforms into a strand of silver light, and then was sucked into the tablet, while at the same time I plunge into my all too familiar memory of death by car, also within a few seconds. Returning back to reality, I look down at the horrified pair. “She…we…we just knocked her out, right?” The woman whispered, her face pale. A shame that they won’t die for quite a while. Amid the deathly silence I fly out of the hotel, and in the blue-grey air I silently listen to the millions of sounds around me for a few precious seconds. Then my tablet buzzes, as the details of the next death appears.


They can’t rest, so they won’t let me rest. They’re everywhere I am, their voices echoing against my skull. You might think it’s a gift, but in reality, being able to see and hear the dead is nothing but a curse. I can do nothing for them, not one shred of solace I can offer while their voices pound away in my brain. When I was younger, I thought it was fun. Like a game that only I could play. Watching their ghostly wanderings, chasing the smallest ones through the garden of my childhood home. They have always seemed more real to me that even my own family. But now, the game has become dark and twisted. One day, I was walking down the street when I heard the most gut-wrenching screams I’d ever borne witness to. Looking around, I quickly located the source: the shadow of an old man standing next to park bench. A mangy stray dog was curled up on the rough planks of wood, shivering in the chilly air. The ghost reached out to it futilely, empty tears streaming down his face as he failed to comfort his lost friend. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was a place I walked past often that called out to me. It was a hospital. Or rather, an asylum. I would occasionally see patients sitting outside with beautiful nurses, everyone looking peaceful and serene. The perfect place for someone like me. I stepped through the front door and up to the front desk. A lovely woman with ebony skin and a heart-shaped face smiled from behind stacks of papers. “Hello,” she greeted me warmly. “How can I help you?” “I need to check myself in,” I replied. I expected her to ask questions, but she simply guided me to an empty room. As the door closed behind me, I quickly fell asleep, truly alone for the first time inside the mint green walls. When I finally woke, pulling myself out of a slumber deeper than hell itself, it was time for me to meet the doctor who would hopefully have the answers I needed. A nurse with hair the color of turmeric and a spray of freckles across her nose came to my room and led me to a dark office. I followed closely behind her and watched her feet as they moved, almost seeming to dance across the tile floor. Inside the office, a woman in a white coat waited on the couch, her eyes shining like jade fire in the dim light. She gestured for me to sit next to her, patting the sofa with her long, graceful fingers. I sat easily, feeling nothing but peace in her presence. “I understand you admitted yourself to the hospital,” she said, her voice humming like the strings of a lute. “Why?” She tilted her head to the side as she waited for my response. “I see ghosts,” I said, the words slipping from my lips without thought or hesitation. I dropped my head into my hands. “I just want them to leave me alone so I can rest.” As gleaming tears began to form in my eyes, the doctor leaned forward and placed her soft hand on mine. “Don’t worry,” she said with a gentle smile. “I'll keep the ghosts from bothering you.” Days went by in a haze. Sometimes I walked outside among the weeping willow trees, accompanied by a nurse with rubina lips or gleaming almond eyes. Sometimes I talked quietly with the other patients; the ones who were willing, that is. Some of them are just so, so angry, and they always seem afraid to come near me. I sighed with relief every time their sharp eyes turned away from me. Some days, I looked out my window and saw them on the other side of the fence. There are so many of them, and they all feel so deeply. I can see their lips move, speaking their lonesome words, but inside those walls, there was only beautiful silence. Most days, I sleep. I have a lifetime of rest to catch up on. But now, from somewhere just outside the wispy fog of sleep, I feel someone shaking me, voices talking and shattering the blissful silence. “Wake up,” a stern voice says. I barely have the energy to mumble, “I’m just trying to rest.” “You can’t stay here,” he says angrily. I blink open my eyes slowly, taking in the shining gold police badge pinned to his shirt. “But I’m a patient here,” I say, rubbing the sandman's dust from my tired eyes. The officer shakes his head in pity. “You can’t be a patient here,” he says roughly. “This hospital’s been closed for years.” The silence explodes, and I twist in the air as I fall.


I'm a pretty realistic guy, I like to think I'm grounded in reality and listen to reason, but sometimes some things happen in the world that totally defy any way I can make sense of 'em. Strange, unexplainable things have happened to countless people since the dawn of man. I've lived a pretty normal country life- raising cattle, fishing, hunting, and loving the land. In my 28 years of life I thought I've read of and seen just about all there was 'round Tennessee, but it was all changed when I went fishing one day. I thank God every day I was able to escape the horrible nightmare made real because of that mystery. It all started with a cool spring morning I had planned a fishing trip on. I live on my own in the woods of northeastern Tennessee. There's a ranger station 'bout twenty miles south, but that's the closest to any other humans there are 'round here. I had planned to take my rod about eleven miles in northeast, to this remote lake deep in the woods. I always get great catches at this one lake. On this particular trip, I left my cabin on a Tuesday morning around 5:30. I stepped outside my door to a perfect and chilled morning. The only things breaking the serene silence were the occasional chirp of birds, or light rustling of wind through the trees. Though it was a bit of a cloudy day, I could see golden sunlight shimmering on the outlines of some clouds, through the trees, and the occasional dandelion seed or bug drifting in the air through the rays of warmth. I went behind my cabin to my backyard where I keep my dogs to check on 'em, give them their morning food. They were all asleep, except Mary, who was huddled in the southwestern corner of the yard, by my cabin and a big tree by the fence I built. It was like she was trying to press her body up against the corner of my cabin and the tree as much as she could. She looked scared, and was dartin' her eyes to random places in the woods. Mary was normally a nervous kinda dog, though sometimes she could be a good huntin' dog. I put her inside to make her feel better, I just assumed a wayward black bear had spooked her or somethin'. I had to pick up the poor girl and take her inside, she was shiverin' all over. No bears can get over or through the fence I built. Good 'n safe. I had built a good layer of concrete fer the ground of the fence so the dogs or nothin' else could dig under it, either. The cold morning air filled my lungs with confidence about the day, and I started down a well-worn path in the direction of the lake. About two or three miles away from the lake, I start to occasionally catch a faint whiff of a strange smell, something like a mix between some kind of ashes of something dead, and foreign spices or somethin'. I thought of how I had never smelled something like that before, not in the woods or anywhere else. I thought more about it as I strolled through the chilled morning woods, the early birds singing here and there. I pondered what it might be, because it creeped me out a bit, but I didn't let it distract me too much from my trip. As I neared the lake the strange smell became more frequent and apparent. When I came within sight of the woods line for the lake, I started to see thick fog, which is strange, since the thickest fog I've ever seen there is a few thin patches on the ground in the early mornings, but nothin' like this. I couldn't see much through this fog. I stepped through the woods and shrubs, through the woods line onto the small beaches of the lake. I briefly noted how eerily quiet it was that morning there. Even as I entered and prepared my canoe, with the rustling of oars, rods, and supplies, the sounds of preparation seemed muffled and quieter in some strange, unexplainable way. “Hmm, that's weird.” I said out loud, to test the sound of my voice there, but my voice still seemed its normal volume. The strange scent became more apparent around the lake, even though I still couldn't figure out where it was comin' from. After about an hour or so there, I had gotten used to the strange smell by then. Strangely I didn't get a single bite. I normally would've at least reeled in three or four by then, but the lake was eerily still and quiet, the morning fog quietly floating just above its glassy smooth surface. About an hour and a half or so later there is when the nightmare began.... I remember it so clearly. The terror of the experience etched it into my brain forever. None of it makes sense. I don't try to make sense of it anymore, I'll only lose more sleep over it. I don't ever even want to think about it ever again. Makes me stay up all night with my shotgun and dogs inside. I don't expect you to believe me, but what happened next is true as the sky is blue. I was actually feeling pretty comfortable and relaxed, reclining in my canoe with my fishing rod resting between my legs, hangin' off the side of my canoe, when I started to hear a strange, wet slapping noise off in the distance. Like a kid hittin' water with their open palm or somethin'. It had weird ploopin' sounds to it, like maybe it was a deer or something. That was my first thought. I wouldn't be too concerned about a deer swimming through the lake. I've never seen it happen, but I know that they do, and wouldn't be surprised to see it. Unfortunately, it wasn't a deer. Wish it was. It sounded like it started over on the northeastern bank of the lake, like whatever it was entered the lake and started to try to swim. I never heard it make any noise on the banks, or in the woods. The slappin' sounds were slow and random in pace. I sat up in my canoe and brought my line in and focused on the weird sound. It was made even weirder by the strange scent I had been smelling all day that day. I think it had something to do with that.... thing. I only smelled that scent that day. Never after that. Mary surely smelled it before I did. For a while, it sounded like whatever it was, was going in random directions, like it had no idea where it wanted to go. I was so concentrated on the weird sound that one moment I suddenly sneezed. The sounds stopped briefly, then to my horror they slowly got closer and closer to my canoe. Each slapping sound started getting a pattern to it, startin' to get about three to five seconds apart. I got weirded out pretty quick at that point, and decided to high tail it right outta there. I quickly closed up my tackle box, set my rod in the bottom of the canoe, and fished the kinda small oar out from under some nets. I repositioned myself and started to paddle back to shore, but I only managed to get a few strokes in, before a big splash shot up on the right side of my canoe and just 'bout shocked me half to death. The thing that entered the lake had somehow suddenly got right by my canoe, even though a couple moments before that I heard it makin' sounds 'bout 30 yards away. It shot up out of the water with a horrifying groan-like moaning kind of screaming. Sounded like a bear and a lion screaming at the same time. Looked like a bunch of melted piles of flesh of different animals stuck together, stretched in some places and lumped together in others, with a big gaping maw that stunk to high heaven. Instinct kicked in, and I kicked the thing as hard as I could in the face, or what I thought was a face, about two or three times, before realizing it didn't seem to do much good. Whatever it was swung a big lookin' arm around its right side and heaved the arm on the boat, which made it rock a lot. The big 'ol arm had a deer leg stickin' out of it that was wriggling and twitching. It had a couple of bear arms stickin' out of it, and to my horror, a few human ones too. All of it was somehow mushed and stuck together as one big lumpy abomination of an appendage. I didn't even try to get that good of a look at the thing, I was focused on survival and getting' the Hell outta there. The thing was lettin' out that smell I smelled from its mouth, 'cept it was a hundred times more putrid. It was so strong that I gagged and coughed at the stench. Its grip on the canoe was so strong it started to sink it and break it apart soon after it got ahold of it. I could hear my canoe quickly snapping here and there; I had the oar in my right hand, and hit it in the head with it, dropped it, and bailed. It seemed like the thing was pretty wrapped up in attacking the boat, like it thought I and the canoe were a single organism. I dove into the water and swam as fast as I had ever swam before in my life straight for shore. I heard the monster crushing and snapping my precious canoe apart, screaming horrible, low-pitched groans and moans through the fog. As soon as I got a footing on land, I turned in the water to see the monster slowly sinking back into the water towards me, chunks and parts of my canoe sticking out of it, looked like they were sinking into the thing's flesh.. Bubbles kept coming up from the water, what I assumed was the creature's wretched breath. I started running as fast as possible up the path through the woods to my cabin. I sprinted for miles then I sprinted some more. No way was I gonna look back wastin' time and get caught. I thought I heard the thing either get out of the water or was in the woods looking for me, or what it thought was the rest of the canoe, while I was running. I was too panicked and freaked out to really tell. When I made it to my cabin, my lungs were on fire and I was worn out from running constantly. I looked around and listened for it, but didn't hear anything. None of my dogs seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary, so that was a bigger relief for me. I got inside quick and had my shotgun at the ready for the next three days, didn't do anything without that shotgun within reach of my hands. I never saw of that creature again. Its smell lingered for about a day after the incident, but faded after that...


Your odds of being struck by lightning in any given year are 1 in 700,000. Your odds of being killed by a tornado are 1 in 5 million, although those odds rise to 50 in 5 million if you live in a mobile home. Not even probability is free of classist influences. Your odds of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 60 million—much lower than your odds of dying in a car accident. Your odds of winning the lottery depend on how many people are playing, but they hover around 1 in 300 million in most cases. What if you could change those odds? Not just for yourself, but for anyone in the world? I can. I started noticing my power when I was a teenager. The likelihood of getting shampoo in my eyes? 100 to 1. The odds that the cafeteria would still have dessert left by the time I made it through the lunch line? 1000 to 1. The odds of me hitting a red light on my drive to school? 4 million to 1. Unless I want to hit a red light. That’s how I learned my luck was something I could control. At first, I thought it was just traffic patterns which, as far as superpowers go, is a bit underwhelming. It’s not terrible, but there are definitely better options out there.

Then my volleyball team went to state and won for the first time in thirty years. The boy I liked asked me to the winter formal. I aced the SAT, then aced it again when I had to retake it to confirm my score. I think I earned the score both times. I hadn’t changed anything beyond the likelihood that what I studied would be on the tests. I got acceptance letters followed by scholarship offers from every college I applied to. There’s no such thing in life as a guarantee, but being able to manipulate probability is the next best thing. Unfortunately for me, there’s no such thing as actions without consequences either.

Increasing the odds that something good happens to me means that it’s less likely to happen to someone else. Maybe someone that needs it more. Decreasing the likelihood that something bad will happen to me means that it’s more likely to happen to someone else. I can’t make luck, just change it.

I learned that the hard way.

“Hey, darlin’” a man’s voice drawls, and I turn to look at him. Numbers flash through my mind. Odds that he’s dangerous? 1 in 3. Odds that he’s going to bother some other poor woman in this crappy bar if I shuffle probability and make him leave me alone? 7 to 2. Not great.

“Hi,” I say. Friendly, but not encouraging. Polite, but hopefully not projecting any interest. “Can I get you a drink?” “My night as the designated driver,” I say, smiling apologetically. It’s not technically a lie—I’m alone in the bar and driving myself home. I’m also working, but I’m clearly not a bar employee. I don’t want to have to make up a lie about what I do.

“Quit flirting and pay attention,” a voice snaps from my earbud. “The target will be here any minute.” I would like to tell Alex that I know and that I’m not flirting, and if he hadn’t insisted on putting me in a dress to fit in with this bar’s normal crowd none of this would be happening, but I can’t with the man looming over me. Alex really ought to listen to the woman that can see probabilities. “A shame,” says the man, leaning closer. He smells like cigarettes and I have to fight not to wrinkle my nose.

“You know how it is,” I tell him vaguely, scanning the room. Alex is right. The target will be here soon if everything is going according to plan.

“Target spotted,” says Alex as if on cue. “Ten o’clock.” Ten o’clock is directly behind the man leering at me. I force my lips into a smile and crank up the probability of him having a bathroom emergency as high as I can. He immediately goes green. “Pardon me,” he mutters and makes a beeline for the restrooms.

My line of sight is clear, but the target is nowhere to be found. “Alex,” I hiss. “Where did he go?” Static from the earbud and nothing from Alex.

“Alex,” I say, slightly louder. “Where is he? I don’t see the target.” Still nothing. I clamber off of my barstool and hobble toward the parking lot as quickly as I can manage in my ridiculous shoes. This is the last time I let anyone talk me into stilettos. I only have to be able to see someone to change their luck, which means I don’t normally have to run during an op. Occasionally though, while the odds aren’t good, something does go wrong.

The surveillance van Alex inhabits is parked at the back of the gravel lot. Even in the dim light, I can see that the doors are open and equipment is scattered everywhere. “Damn it, Alex,” I sigh, and approach cautiously to look for bloodstains.

There aren’t any, which is good news. The bad news is I hear footsteps behind me and a man’s voice says, “Hands up. I’ll shoot your friend here if you turn around.” “I’m fine—” Alex gets out, but the man must hit him because there’s the sound of a fist meeting ribs and he goes quiet.

There’s nothing I can do to change the probability of the gun misfiring or my attacker suddenly having a heart attack if I can’t see him, which he must know. “Would you be Arnie Gulheim?” I inquire, numbers and scenarios racing through my mind.

“Smart and pretty,” Gulheim says approvingly. “Such a shame you came after me tonight. I’m a bit busy, you see.” “Threatening federal agents?” Alex grumbles. “The federal government does seem to take offense when one of their own disappears,” Gulheim muses. “Never anyone from your particular department though. Imagine that.” Because people from our department, even the name of which is classified, often disappear in ways normal people simply don’t. The government doesn’t want anyone asking any uncomfortable questions about agents turning into beetles, columns of marble, or puddles of goo.

The odds of Gulheim shooting Alex are high if I try to move. The odds of Alex dying if he’s shot at such a close range are also very high.

I should have rigged the lottery ten years ago, consequences be damned, and gone to live on my own private island somewhere far from other people.

I hear the click as Gulheim turns the safety on his gun off. I start to spin at the same moment. My dress rips and the roundhouse kick I’d meant to get Gulheim with misses, but he’s startled enough that the shot he gets off goes wide. It hits one of the van’s tires rather than Alex and I use the opportunity to grab all of Gulheim’s health-related probabilities with both metaphorical hands and yank on them.

He has a heart attack, an aneurism, and a pulmonary embolism all within five seconds. He hits the ground two seconds later, already dead.

“Well,” says Alex as he brushes imaginary dust off his shirt. “The briefing only said they’d prefer if he was brought in alive. It wasn’t a requirement.”

I gingerly remove the gun from Gulheim’s slack fingers. “There is that.”

Alex dials the clean-up crew’s number. “Tangerine alpha,” he says, which is the code phrase for a single dead body. Then he gives the address, waits a moment, and hangs up. “ETA fifteen minutes,” he informs me. “Want to get pancakes after this?” “I could go for some pancakes.”


"Hey." Jaime's tone was low, almost a mumble. The two men rarely made eye contact tonight, both of them stared longingly out the shuttered diner window. Nothing but darkened storefronts and neon signs advertising various goods were in view. "Erm... Hey. How'd you find me?" Erin looked disheveled, a telltale sign that his mental state was slipping away from him. He came here to be by himself, which seemed to contradict that he was already alone in his apartment prior. "I know you like their shakes, so... it made sense. I swung by your apartment first, but..." "Yeah?" It was almost like Erin was in a fog, half listening, half thinking. "Look, man. I know it's hard. I hate seeing you like this." Jaime braced his elbows on the table, his hands folded in a raised position over the surface. A shaky sigh left Erin's lips, condensing on the window. Droplets of water trickled down the window, the broken jukebox wasn't able to drown out the rain. "Erin, man... You can't keep going like this. You've been spiraling for weeks. I've seen you go through worse without so much as cryi-" "S-stop. Stop, okay?" Erin's voice cracked, his jaw clenched, his throat wavered with ragged breaths. "I haven't been through anything worse than this." Jaime hung his head, looking down at his legs beneath the table. Erin's milkshake sat there, completely melted. He'd been sitting there for hours. "You aren't sleeping again, are you?" He glanced up at the dark circles that seemingly grew to swallow Erin's eyes. Jaime put his hands down, laying his arms on the tabletop. The waitress came by, quietly setting down a cup of black coffee for Jaime. She knew the two of them well, or at least knew their regular orders. Jaime politely nodded in her direction before taking a sip, the girl looked distressed at the sight of Erin's sunken in face. Erin's head leaned against the cold glass, a dull, red neon light cast through the droplets into his cheek. Jaime snuck a peek at his phone. 4 AM. "Lemme take you home, dude. Being alone at your place can't be good for you." Jaime was trying, but he never was good at offering his help. Erin had been for him numerous times, and despite it not being his forte, he had to try. Erin tiredly set a crumpled wad of cash on the table, which his friend pushed back towards his hand. "I got this one, dude. Don't... don't worry." The two men stood, Jaime stood tall over Erin. The hollow looking male gathered his money and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. "Erm... Thanks for letting me stay for a bit, Ava." He cleared his throat, following Jaime out to his transport. Jaime opened the door for his friend, firmly slamming it shut before climbing in on the driver's side. Melodic instrumentals played over the stereo, almost meshing with the low hum of the car powering on. Erin leaned his head back, slipping into a much needed slumber.


“Fear not my lady Abby, thy renowned confidant is here to retrieve thy mislaid soul from the island ‘The Unknown’, said Kat whilst gripping a plastic sword and pointing its sharp end towards the sky. Abby was in a seated position about a meter away. Upon hearing Kate’s hilarious statement, dissolved into laughter and leaned back. Almost lying down on her back. Amid her ceaseless laughter, she managed to word a suitable reply, “Oh, great Kate, make haste and catch my hand in yours and therefore redeem m bewildered humanity”. “Great Kate?”, Kate pointed out, “I think I like that”, she said with a smirk on her lips. Lifting her chin in pride. In classic Abby and Kate style, they were performing in public, at an airport. It didn’t bother them that people walking by stared at them. Neither did they feel embarrassed. Just before Kate could utter another iconic phrase in front of their audience, she was interrupted by the airport announcement. “THIS IS THE FINAL BOARDING CALL FOR ABBY HADE AND KATE COLLINS BOOKED ON FLIGHT 385A TO MIDDLECAM CAY. PLEASE PROCEED TO GATE 2 IMMEDIATELY. THE FINAL CHECKS ARE BEING COMPLETED AND THE CAPTAIN WILL ORDER FOR THE DOORS OF THE AIRCRAFT TO CLOSE IN APPROXIMATELY FIVE MINUTES. I REPEAT. THIS IS THE FINAL BOARDING CALL FOR ABBY HADE AND KATE COLLINS. THANK YOU”, said a female voice through the speakers. Abby snapped out of their fantasy play without delay. “You hear that Kate? We have to go now!”, said Abby and began hauling their bags. While Kate, on the other hand, dragged her feet and groaned with her back slouched. She ultimately accepted that it was time for them to leave. After all, they were late. “Come on Kate, we’ve been waiting for this moment since forever. Since high school. We’re finally going to Middlecam Cay”, said Abby in a soft voice. She put her hand on Kate’s shoulder to reassure her. “Cheer up, we’re going to the island at last”, she continued, in an enthusiastic voice. Abby noticed the change in expression on Kate’s face when the announcement came on. But that didn’t stop her from looking forward to the trip. There was something about that feeling she had. Abby couldn’t wait to arrive at Middlecam Cay. She read and heard stories about the island, such as that spirits are wandering in the area and that not everyone survived more than a few months after arriving. Only the pure in heart with pure intentions flourished. ‘The Unknown’ island was indeed a real place, although some people believed it to be a myth. It hadn’t been mapped out yet by cartographers, as they could not attain the accurate measurements of the island’s perimeters. It was rumoured that cartographers would get lost and unearth new plots of land. Thus, forcing them to retake measurements and so the cycle continued. Abby knew all this information but did not mention a word to Kate. She only told her that the hotels were hiring young people and that is why they were travelling there. She knew that Kate would change her mind about leaving home if that were not the reason. As soon as they boarded the plane, the pair was met with two air hostesses. They paged through their papers and cleared them to go on the plane. They walked straight for a few moments and found their seats. Within seconds after fastening their seatbelts, the pair fell asleep without hesitation. Kate and Abby had been best friends for more than a decade. Both told each other everything. Anyone who did not know Abby and Kate was would recognize them as sisters. Meanwhile in Middlecam Cay, ‘The Unknown’ island awaited them. Named by previous army troops centuries ago. The men claimed to have seen and heard a woman’s voice at night. No one believed them. Throughout all their efforts to ask for help, none of it worked. The mysterious woman-like spirit said to one soldier that her name was Samira. There had also been a story about some magical key. It was crucial in finding a way out and going to wherever you wished. To Abby, this was all a mystery to be solved. According to Kate, Middlecam Cay is a city full of job opportunities for young people. Following six hours of sleep from home, Bailee Town, Abby and Kate woke up just moments after touchdown. They listened through the announcement made by the flight attendant. Still drenched in sleep they rubbed their eyes to fully wake up and start departing the plane. The pair felt a force push them from behind which caused them to skip a few steps before landing on dirt with their faces. They spotted unfamiliar insects crawling around with glowing little legs. Abby and Kate stared at each other’s dirty faces in confusion. “Where’d the plane go? Where is everyone else?”, asked Kate in a tight voice. She examined her environment but still could not make out her location. Kate also received no answer from Abby, who seemed to have an idea of what was happening. She presented no sign of amazement. Lost in her thought about where she was, she had long forgotten about Kate’s questions. “Abby, hello? Answer me. You look like you know where we are don’t you?”, Kate shouted at her. “It’s not… not really like that. I-” “You what? Huh? What? Why aren’t you freaking out?” Kate stood up, shook off the dirt on her jacket and skirt, picked up her backpack and began searching for other people. Abby couldn’t let roam alone in this strange place. Not on this Island. She took her backpack and dusted off the dirt on her face and clothes. She saw a glowing ring-shaped object buried in the soil and dried leaves, but didn’t pay much attention to it, Kate was more important. She trailed on Kate’s trails. Abby then felt a tingling sensation along with a dash of warmth travelling down her spine. Droplets of seat running down her forehead, her heartbeat accelerating almost as if it wanted to evacuate her chest. Abby could not wait any longer to enlighten Kate about the information she came by. She leapt closer to Kate and caught hold of her arm and turning her around. “What, you ready to speak now?”, Kate demanded. “Yeah, I do have something to tell y-” “Well then say it,” Kate interrupted” “Okay so listen. We’re at a cursed island according to legends and myths. It’s called ‘The Unknown’ island because no one knows how big it is. Even the most skilled cartographers have been trying to map it out. They keep getting lost and finding new places then getting lost again before they could write down their findings”. Abby let out a heavy sigh before continuing. “It is also said to be a female spirit called Samira that hovers over this strange place and apparently she is the only one who can give us a key to leave this place.” “What key is that and how do we find this Sameri?”, asked Kate.  A cold wind blew in their direction, flowing with dried leaves and withered flowers. It seemed to have blown specifically in their direction. Silence. Moments later, Abby replied again to Kate with her now shaky voice. “It’s S-A-M-I-R-A okay, and I don’t know how we can find her. But she can probably see us. As for the key… I also don’t know how we can find it”, she said with her hands in the air and shoulders lifted. “Oh. Okay so let me get this straight Abby. You dragged me to this godforsaken island telling me that we’re here to get hired- “I know but- “No, no buts. You knew very well that this place is creepy, and you tell me about some spirit, magical key story. Make it make sense.’ “Look, we are lucky to have made it this far”, Abby protested. “Lucky? What do you mean lucky, we’re stranded? “Yes, I know that just listen to me. We will make it out of here soon. What I meant is that we have a shot of getting the key from Samira alright?” Abby attempted to convince Kate, but she wouldn’t listen. Kate walked away from her before she could say anything. She didn’t know what to make of the situation. It was nightfall and the cold winds blew again, this time even colder. There was no shelter for them to protect themselves. As it got darker, Abby and Kate grew hungrier. Their delicate skin shivered because of the cold and their empty stomachs rumbled loudly. Every now and then, they glanced at each other. Wanting to say something but couldn’t. Some trees had attractive fruit on their peculiar branches. The fruit looked edible, but the pair weren’t sure whether to eat them or not. The fruit did look different from the ones that they knew. It was now Samira’s time to leave her den and roam over her island as she usually does. In the middle of the night, when the moon has disappeared behind the clouds. What Abby overlooked was that Samira had long been hunted and harmed by notorious witch-hunters seeking to seize the island. They learned to conceal their auras which gave off their bad intentions. Samira had fought plenty of bad people while guarding her island. When she noticed Abby and Kate, she immediately fumed. In response to their presence, Samira sent out all her poisonous insects. One of them bit and infected Kate’s left ankle. Her scream was one with agony, she felt immense pain. Sharp shooting and endless pain. She failed to contain it. Abby was soon overwhelmed with intense worry. She couldn’t ignore her childhood best friend who was now in pain. Abby had studied some of the plants found on the island. She knew that some of them could wounds and bites. However, she had forgotten which leaves and plants to put together. Only a few could surface on her memory. Abby used what she remembered to numb Kate’s pain. This was the perfect time to apologize to Kate and mend their friendship. Samira’s ghost-like voice frightened Abby and Kate, making their hearts skip a beat. Samira demanded that they leave the leave her island. Throughout the whole night, Abby and Kate did not sleep a wink. The screeching sound of Samira’s horrific voice kept them awake. What worsened the experience was the darkness. Morning came and the second Abby and Kate opened their eyes, there she was. A pair of white glowing eyes stared dead into their souls. Abby and Kate froze in awe, allowing only their nostrils to keep the air flowing in and out. Finally, Abby gathered the courage and confronted Samira that instant, “Sa-Samira?... My name is Abby. This is my, my best friend Kate”, she paused to gather her words. “How and why were we able to enter this island? Okay… either way, we’re not here to hurt you, we just want to get to the city. You know the… the hotels and stuff. Ca-Can you please give us the key?” Abby could feel Samira’s fatiguing presence on her body. Kate had her eyes shut and faced to the side while tightly gripping Abby’s hand. Samira didn’t make a sound while Abby pleaded for freedom. She only heard the innocence in her voice. She realized that they could never harm her. A breeze blew through her long and flowing black hair. With that breeze came a kaleidoscope of pink shimmering butterflies. The dead leaves disappeared, and the trees bloomed to life. This left Kate and Abby astonished yet puzzled. Then the soil in front of the rose in the form of a mini-tornado. There a key appeared. “The key?”, said Kate as her mouth widened, “Is that the key?” she further asked. “So… you won’t kill us or make us vanish or something like that?” Abby added. Kate stood closer to Abby and cupped her hand on her ear, “Man I wish she said something”, she whispered. Samira replied, “No I shall not harm you because you did not harm me. Take this key to open the door behind you and leave this island.” A wide door decorated with glistening gold awaited them. Covered with fresh and the most beautiful flowers. Completed with the greenest leaves they’ve ever seen. “Woahhhhhhhhh, that’s so amazing, thank you so so much, Samira!” “My pleasure, and my apologies for last night. Here is some food”, Samira handed them a grass basket full of fresh fruit. Abby and Samira’s stomachs rumbled again. “No biggie, it's cool. At least now we can work at our dream hotel!” said Kate in excitement.


Carl stood in the middle of the dusty road smoking gun in hand staring down at the bloody carcass lying in the road twenty paces in front of him. “How did I end up in this situation again?” He asked himself. The events flashed in his mind scene by scene. He started with image of the 44 slug slamming in to the man’s left breast before the man’s gun cleared leather. He saw the man’s body thrown back by the impact, and the red rose of his wound beginning to bloom before he even hit the ground. Flash! He sees his self standing back to back with the man. They start walking off the paces with the sun low and bright in his eyes as he walked away from his opponent. One...two... three... as he counts off the paces, and he feels a calm come over him. All anxiety just fades away, and his breathing becomes steady. Eight... nine... ten, he spins around fast like a striking rattle snake drawing his pistol and shooting from the hip. He feels the familiar recoil from the colt 44. Flash! He was sitting at a table in the saloon his back to the wall facing the double swinging doors that led to the street. The remains of his meal lay on the pewter plate that rested on the table in front of him. The burn from the whisky was fresh in his chest when the man came bursting through the swinging doors. The mans voice shook with rage as he called out, “Carl Richter come out and meet me!” “What can I do for you friend?” He asked in a clear calm voice. “I’m no friend of yours,” the man barked, “and I am calling you out”. “I’m not looking for trouble,” he said to the man. “I know who you are, and I know what you have done,” the man seethed at him, “are you coming out, or should we settle this here and now?” he asked placing his hand on the butt of his pistol. “No, I’m coming since you have your mind is set,” he said to the man as he rose from the table. He walked towards the door fear clutching at his throat as the man backed out of the saloon. Flash! He is stepping out of the saddle of his big sorrel horse. After tying him up to the hitching post he walked up to the saloon and stopped in the doorway to take in the room before entering. There are five men in the room. The first is the bartender who stands behind the counter with a round ruddy face, large handle bar mustache, and a bright red waist coat. The next man is seated at the bar directly in front of the bartender. He is an older man with a full beard that is stained with tobacco juice. The other three men sit at a table in the center of the room playing cards. One of the card players is a small wiry fellow with round spectacles and wearing a bowler hat. Another of the card players is rotund man in a fine suit with a large bulbous nose. The third card player was a young lanky cowboy with a cheerful mischievous look to him. Not seeing any threats he enters the establishment and proceeds to a table in a dark corner of the room that faced the door. He figured this position would give him the advantage if any one came looking for trouble as he would be in the shadows to someone coming in, and they would be illuminated by the light from the doorway to him. He ordered a meal of steak and potatoes with a glass of whiskey and settled down to enjoy his meal. Flash! He rode in to the settlement high on hope. The settlement was small with one main dirt road lined with low Adobe buildings. The street was quite as he meandered down it on his horse. A few children played in the distance, and a pair of old men sat in rocking chairs on a porch playing a game of checkers. A pretty young Mexican woman stepped out on to her porch with broom in hand, and gave him a pleasant smile before proceed to sweep the porch. “This could be a nice place to settle down,” he thought to himself as he returned her smile and tipped his hat to her as he rode by. Just then two men walked around the corner of building in front him. They looked like range cowboys and were laughing loud and boisterously when one looked up and saw him riding down the street towards them. The man grabbed his companions arm and froze in place starring up at him. He saw the man say something to his fellow, and then he saw the fear that spread across the other mans face before they turned and ran back the way they came from. He pulled his hat down low and shook his head. No this town was not going to be a place he could settle down he has seen those looks before, and he knows what that will mean. He will just stop for some grub then continue his search for a place where nobody knows who he is. Hopefully he can get out of town before there is any trouble. He rides up to the saloon, and stops his horse. Flash! He sits a top his horse and looks down on a sleepy little settlement in the desert valley. “Maybe this will be the place we can settle down,” he says to the horse. Oh how he longs to find that place in his heart. He is tired of rambling from place to place. He is tiered of the men that search him out just to make a name for themselves. He can’t remember the last time he has had a good nights sleep. The last time he could call a place home. This little sleepy town represents hope to him. Represents opportunity. He can feel the hope growing inside of him. He knows this is dangerous. Every time he gets his hopes up they always crash down that much harder when he gets disappointed. He kicks his hose in to motion and walks slowly towards the town. Flash! He is a young man fresh out of the war and headed home to Texas. He stopped in a town for a drink when three union soldiers approach him. Walking up behind him the biggest man grabs his shoulder and spins him around. “Your in the wrong place boy!” The man says loudly. “Yeah, we don’t want no rebs in here,” his friend interjects shoving his finger in to Carl’s chest. The third man just smiles at him while displaying a large Bowie knife that he has in his procession. “I’m not looking for any trouble. I’m just trying to get home,” he says to the men in a mild tone. “You should have thought of that before you decide to become a traitor to your own country boy!” The big man roars as he grabs the front of Carl’s shirt, and slams his fist into Carl’s face. Everything goes black just for a second after the mans fist makes contact. All three men proceed to hit and stomp on him while he is down. The rain of blows is so fierce he can’t even fight back. All he can do is curl up, and protect his self the best he can. After a few minutes the men start to walk away laughing at him as he lays there bleeding. He struggles to his feet and calls out to the men, “hey! Where do you think your going?” The men turn around. “You want some more boy?” The big man growls at him. “Let’s see how good you three are with those pistols your packing,” he says to the men raising his hand to his hip wiggling his fingers next to his pistol. All three men reach for their own pistols. The fear and rage drain away instantly to be replaced by an odd feeling of calm and focus in him. The men look like they are moving in slow motion. The big man is the first to get his hand on his pistol, and Carl draws his. Shooting from the hip he shoots the big man right between the eyes. Then he shoots the other two. The man with the knife was the only one to get a shot off, but it was a wild shot, and he didn’t live long enough to get a second chance. The saloon became a bee hive of commotion. He had to fight his way out. He jumped on his horse and ran out of town as fast as he could. He’s been running ever since.


Mary-Ann could not believe her luck in finding a three-bedroom apartment with the utilities included!  Now all she had to do was convince her two best friends - to move into the three-bedroom apartment. They all made a pact to go to the same university.  She could have moved into an on-campus dorm - but she wants to know about the feeling of independence and freedom - from her parents. "Kate, Steve, please, please!!!" Mary-Ann pleads with her two friends to share the three-bedroom apartment. Kate pipes up and says, "I want the room with the second-best amount of closet space!" Mary-Ann giggles and agrees - that she can have the room with the second-best amount of space. Steve is standing in the hallway - thinking hard about moving in or not. Mary-Ann turns to Steve, sensing that he is not one hundred percent on board yet.  "Steve, I know you wanted the dorm experience - but having our very own space to ourselves - how can you pass this up!?!" Steve finally gives his answer, "Alright -alright, you guys, let's do this!" The apartment has furnishings, so they only need a few oversized items and some essentials. They each run to their rooms of choice and begin the process of making it their own.  Adding their signature touches.  After getting the apartment set up after a long day, they order from the local Pizza place called "The Campus Slice." The order arrives - they are hungry and ordered enough for an army.  "Lots of leftovers for tomorrow!" Steve chimes in with a smile. Steve is like an old shoe - he acts like a 30-year-old man rather than an 18-year-old. And Mary-Ann and Kate are like his two younger sisters - he wishes he had growing up. On the first day of classes, the three of them wish to meet up for lunch, but it would be impossible with their class schedules!  "No worries - we will meet up for some leftovers for supper tonight!" Mary-Ann says as she hurries off to her first class of the day. They each run off in opposite directions to start their journeys. As time passes, Mary-Ann, Kate and Steve - are preoccupied with their studies and barely see each other. Except for the odd supper together and on-campus gatherings.  Mary-Ann is so focused and into her studies, she begins - to rely on things she sees as - giving her a leg up.  The things she sees as - lots and lots of coffee. Steve and Kate seem to be managing well with their course load. Mary-Ann is envious of how well - Steve and Kate are doing - the two of them were the same way throughout high school "organized and steady."

One day Mary-Ann oversleeps and misses a whole day of classes.  It does not faze her - she rolls over and sleeps the day away. This behaviour becomes a habit - but Mary-Ann manages to hold onto her academic year by - borrowing her class-mates notes and following her Doctor's orders of medication regiment and lots of coffee - to get her over the hurdle. Somehow, someway, she gets by, then one afternoon, her professor takes her aside to ask her if things are alright with her and if she needs any guidance. "No, I am excellent - Professor Ryan - if you are wondering about the term paper - I will have it done by the deadline," Mary-Ann goes on to tell him that sometimes her Lupus flares up, and she needs to take the odd day to rest. Professor Ryan - tells her to take an extra week if she feels she needs it. Mary-Ann has suffered from Lupus since she was 15 years of age - she tells her professor. Steve and Kate are waiting for Mary-Ann when she gets back to the apartment.  The aroma of freshly baked lasagna and garlic bread fills the apartment. "What's all this?" Mary-Ann cannot believe they went through all this trouble to cook a "real" Home Cooked meal. "Mary-Ann, Steve and I feel a bit guilty for not checking in with you as often as we should have and wanted to catch up with you!"

"We also want to know if your Lupus is under control - we both know how taxing it was for you in high school," Steve chimes in with a caring and inquiring tone. "Guys - guys, like I told Professor Ryan, I am fine and sometimes - I require the odd day to rest." Steve and Kate rush over to Mary-Ann and give her a huge. They all sit down at the table to enjoy the meal, and you would think things were back to how they were before the start of university - but Mary-Ann knows differently. It is the mid-way point in the university year, and Mary-Ann's parents decide to make a special visit. "Hey - guys, my parents are coming up for a short visit - you know to check our digs and to drop off a care package!" Steve and Kate - do a "Happy Dance" cause they know her parents will include them in the care package. "When are they arriving?" both Steve and Kate ask eagerly. The day after tomorrow, the 20 th . Mary-Ann hopes it will be a quick visit! The day arrives, and Mary-Ann's parents have brought enough "care package goodies" to last the three of them for a while. After everyone is up to speed with campus life and progress, Kate and Steve decide to step out for a few hours - to give Mary-Ann time to spend with her parents - Margret and Tim. "Honey, how are you feeling - are the pills working - since the adjustment in the dosage?" Mary-Ann's mother, Margret, gets right to the point. "Mom - I think they need to be adjusted a little - I am a bit more tired than normal." Her father states, "Doctor Fin did say this change may cause some drowsiness or sleep disturbances." Margret puts her arms around Mary-Ann, "Don't worry, honey, your father and I will get you sorted out - with Doctor Fin."

Her parents no sooner arrived, and they were leaving - saying their goodbyes.  Mary-Ann had a long conversation with her Doctor. He explained how her medication for Depression and Anxiety would be changed - the usual drill, what to expect with side effects, and how long they usually last. When she picks up the new prescription, Mary-Ann asked if Doctor Fin could include all of this information.  Mary-Ann's parents question her again before they finally leave, "Are you sure you want to continue with this lie of having "lupus" instead of letting people know you have a "mental illness?" Mary-Ann tells her parents, "Yes, Mom and Dad, I cannot let this get out - it could hurt my ongoing scholarship or worse!"

Mary-Ann has left for morning classes - but Steve and Kate do not have classes until the afternoon. Both of them are still in their pyjamas lounging around until their first afternoon classes. "Steve do you have any extra notepad paper and pens - I need to pick some up this week," Kate asks Steve as she goes through the desk in the living room.  Steve replies, "No, but I think Mary-Ann just picked a whole bunch of stuff up the other day - when she went to the pharmacy - I am sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed a few things."

Kate pauses for a moment - and agrees with Steve - she will reimburse her tonight. Kate pushes the door to Mary-Ann's room open and immediately sees the shopping bag full of school supplies. She reaches into the bag and takes out a notepad and a few writing pens. Kate starts to write Mary-Ann a note letting her know about borrowing the notepad and pens. As Kate leaves the room, she stops to place the message on her bedside table and notices a prescription. It catches her eye because the prescription is for Zoloft and Wellbutrin.  Kate is in shock, and her mind starts racing how Mary-Ann can handle university - when she is dealing with - Lupus and now a mental illness! In the evening, Kate has decided to make a nice meal to discuss some things with Mary-Ann - she is very concerned about her well-being. "Wow, it smells great, Kate!" Steve yells from his bedroom. Mary-Ann seconds that, "Yes, Kate, it smells wonderful and cannot believe you made dessert as well!" The oven's timer goes off, and dinner is ready! Everyone sits down to supper. As Mary-Ann gets up to clear the dishes, Kate says, "Mary-Ann sit, sit, let's have dessert and some coffee. I need to talk to you about something." Mary-Ann and Steve look at Kate, both surprised at how serious her tone and body language appear. "I hope I am not in trouble!" Mary-Ann says jokingly - while looking in Steve's direction. "Of course not!" Kate says quickly - trying to reassure her. I happened to be in your bedroom this morning - I was looking for a notepad and some pens - Steve mentioned that you had just bought some and probably wouldn't mind if I borrowed some." Mary-Ann looks at her with a grin and says, "No, silly, I have always told if you need anything, just check in my desk - you know that!" Kate looks down for a minute, then says, "Well - I did borrow a notepad and some pens, but as I was leaving your bedroom, I happened to see a prescription, a prescription for antidepressants."  Steve finally looks up from his large piece of black forest cake in shock.  "Mary-Ann, please don't be mad at me, but Steve and I, we care about you and want to be there for you if you need us for anything!"

"Kate is right; she and I care about you and know having lupus has held you back a little, but you are strong and have not let it stop you from anything!" Steve rushes over and hugs Mary-Ann so tight she thinks she may stop breathing.  Mary-Ann gestures for both of them to sit down on the sofa. "I have a confession to make…I have never had Lupus or suffered from it." Kate and Steve are sitting on the sofa and look confused and lost. "Wait a minute - you mean that you lied about having lupus all through high school?" Kate asks in disbelief. "Now the reason why I lied about having lupus was to cover up the real truth - I have… a mental illness," tears start to stream down Mary-Ann's face slowly.  Kate rushes over to Mary-Ann and grabs her by the shoulders, "You, listen here, my friend I love you like the sister I never had - and if you think this realization/truth - changes the way Steve and I feel about you - this could not be further from the truth!"


"Anna, I know you consider me a friend, but there's no time like the present, so here it goes. I've loved you since I first saw you; you're beautiful, funny, and one of the smartest demons I've ever met. Do you think we could be more than just friends?" Aiden, the demon said as he was sucked away from his conversation and transported to the summoning bureau. "Are you serious?" Aiden was enraged. A summoning bureau demon clerk has a case file for Aiden to review. "It appears that we have three teens who were curious by something they read on the internet and were successful in summoning a demon. You were chosen for summoning duties in a random lottery," said the demon clerk. "They encourage you to vote, and then you start getting summoned all the time," Aiden says angrily to the clerk. "I'm sorry, that's how it works," the clerk said as she pressed a button, sending Aiden to the human realm. He enters the bedroom, surrounded by candles and pentagrams, with three emo teenage girls. The summoning of a demon is extremely unpleasant for the demon, and Aiden howls in agony. The three emo teenagers screamed and left the room in terror. Once a demon enters the human realm, they have to stay there for 24 hours, meaning that Aiden will not get an answer to his question until the end of that time. Demons have regular lives, just as humans; they have relationships, go to the laundromat, and even attend school. The school curriculum consists primarily of horror films and other propaganda depicting humans negatively; there is little doubt that history, tradition, and experience contribute to demons' negative views against humans, and vice versa. Aiden quickly becomes invisible, as he has been taught in school. This is his third summons in two months, and he's fed up and ready to take it out on some humans. To make matters worse, Aiden glances around the room and notices a bottle of holy water, a crucifix, and a Bible. "Wonderful, an exorcism," Aiden thought to himself. An exorcism is one of the worst summonses a demon can receive; it's torment. Aiden sees the emo teen's younger sister and instantly takes control of her body. He employs some of the school-taught tactics, such as rotating her head 360 degrees, gushing puke, and, of course, turning crucifixes upside down. He's been on enough summonings to know what's going to happen next: the family will freak out, they'll call the priest, and then they'll make with the holy water, the Latin, the power of Christ compels you, blah, blah, blah. Aiden liked frightening this family, but his thoughts are with Anna; he loves her. As Aiden predicted, the priest arrived a few hours later, and the exorcism began, over 18 hours of suffering for a demon. His time ran out, and he was forced to return to the demon realm. As soon as he got back, he dashed to Anna to hear her response. Anna was surprised to see him when he arrives. "Has it really been 24 hours, Aiden?" she asked. "Yes, my love, I couldn't wait to see you again," Aiden said. "Oh, that's nice," Anna said, playing it nonchalantly. "So, do you have nothing to say about my admission?" Aiden asked. "About that," Anna continued, "we're such good friends; I wouldn't want to mess things up with a romance," Aiden was devastated. The love of his life has friend-zoned him. Aiden plunged into profound despair after being rejected by Anna; he didn't care about anything. Aiden was surrounded by pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, and the stench of his own filth a few weeks later. He was abruptly summoned back to the summoning bureau, where the same clerk was sitting behind the desk. "Okay, we have a religious zealot who believes a demon will aid him in smiting people who have wronged him. I guess he's in for a surprise," the clerk said, trying to make light of the situation. Aiden aggressively ignores her. "Whatever, just push the button." Despite the agony, Aiden couldn't muster enough strength to roar, only a wince. He didn't care, and he was going to make it known that he didn't care. "Finally, I will no longer be overlooked, not with the might of a demon on my side," the religious zealot declares, surrounded by torches and pentagrams. Aiden calmly walks right past the zealot and out the door. "Hey, where are you going? Aren't you going to assist me in exacting vengeance on those who have treated me unfairly?" The zealot said, perplexed. Aiden keeps walking, so depressed and enraged that he doesn't care if he's visible. He wanders the human realm's streets, alone and dejected. This summoning occurs in New York City; therefore, a demon that was visible to humans was no big deal; just another eccentric on the subway. In fact, Aiden sat next to a human on the L train, and it didn't phase them in the slightest. "How's it going, buddy?" The human asked. Aiden chose to ignore him. "Hey, I get it, but I told my shrink I would talk to 10 new people this week, and I've already started with you, so what do you say? My name's Arthur." "Aiden," he said. "So, tell me, what's bugging you?" Arthur asked. "I don't want to talk about it," an enraged Aiden said. "Look, no matter what happened, things get better. For example, take me, my wife cheated on me, left me, took my children, and now I pay HER alimony. If you only take one piece of advice from me, it's this: don't skimp on the lawyer," Arthur stated. "Yeah, I've had no luck with love either; it's not worth it," Aiden said. "Oh, a fresh wound, you sound exactly like me six months ago. Let me guess: you're depressed, you don't want to do your job, and you're always angry," Arthur said. "You get it; there's no point in putting yourself out there; all you get in the end is hurt," Aiden said. "I'm not sure about that. People will tell you that there are other fish in the sea, but that's nonsense. However, the only way to get out of your funk is to have some fun. If the right one comes along, the right one comes along; there's no pressure; you simply have to let it happen," Arthur said. Aiden commented, "You sound like a damn fortune cookie." "Heck, I got tonight off; why don't you be my wingman? We'll meet some people, drink some cocktails, and forget about our exes," Arthur said. "I don't think so; all I want is to be alone," Aiden responded. "Come on, what else you got going on? Chicks like the bulked-up bad-boy type, I need you, man," Arthur stated. "All right," Aiden said, "I'll have one drink." That night, Arthur and Aiden went to a bar and met some delightful people; they sang karaoke, played bar trivia, and Aiden even got so drunk that he did a coyote ugly dance on the bar; much to the horror and fright of most of the patrons. The bottom line is that Arthur helped him forget about Anna while also demonstrating to him that not all humans are as evil as demons are taught in school. Aiden's summons had expired by the morning, and he was returned to the summoning bureau, where the same clerk sat behind the counter. Aiden remembered how he had treated her the previous two times he had been there. "Hey, it's you. I apologize for the past couple of summons; I was in a bad mood at the time, and it wasn't ideal timing. I should not have taken my frustrations out on you," Aiden said. "No problem, I get that all the time; no one enjoys summoning duty; at least you apologized," the clerk said. "My name is Aiden. You're always pleasant in this difficult job; I just wanted to express my appreciation," Aiden said. "My name is Jackie. I get off in a half-hour; maybe you could tell me more about how you appreciate me while you buy me a drink." Aiden smiles.


*'pressure failure, resecure seals'* *weep weep* I have a splitting headache, something is pressing hard against my head. "That. Hissing." I'm floating half conscious. My ears ring with beeping, hissing and droning speech. What is that feeling...? I convulse and scream as my skin is pulled through the ajar hip seal of my vessel. "Crap crap crap!" I pry apart the plates while contorting away, blood sprays out of the seal in a red mist and the hissing screeches to a maximum. I taste blood as I bite down, forcing the pieces together and pinching the wound until finally it clicks. My ears pop and I'm left in agony slowly spinning amongst the debris. *snort* *sobs*. "Ow, ow, oh Mother what happened here? " I unclench my eyes and take in the scrolling view before me. I glance about the reading in my vessel's interface. I thought I was lucky. But I was wrong. "Hero-sync" *bleep bleep* I wince and sharply draw breath, "read out vessel status." The harmonic voice chimes *"internal temperature at 5° Celsius, battery percentage at 58 percent, 75 of 500 liters of gas 14%.*" "Great, I'm going to die of blood loss, hypothermia, asphyxiation, and radiation poisoning." I glance about the remnants of ship hull, tools and other odds floating about. Nothing really usable here. The room starts growing darker. I grab onto a fistful of metal debris and throw it to start spinning. As the void that once was half of the room comes into view *crash* I am smashed by a boulder from the side. All of the seals on the suit give. After brief hissing the room becomes distant. "No no no!" I scream. The void of space is my new heading and faster than I'd like. I twist and pivot rapidly ignoring the searing pain as I look for something, anything. A rebar sticking out! I grab on. I start to slow. *crash* the boulder hits me again and I and the rebar slip beyond the reach of any hope of survival. "Wait wait." I start to twist and fling the rebar away. As it slides through my gaping grip, I see what has been throwing its momentum at me. My bookcase! "Haha! Yes! I may not die after all." I glance up at the shrinking ship. "I guess it's now or never" I start heaving off the lower hand chisled mahogany doors. I launch them as hard as I can away from both me and my only shelter. "It's at least not getting smaller any faster." I chuckle. *grunt* I begin throwing books. "The small ones in groups, I want to be lighter when I start doing more work" I sigh. Half the bookcase is now gone. I glance up, it feels like I've made no progress but the ship doesn't seem to changing size anymore. I breathe a sigh of relief "Phew, I don't want to lose any books now though." My reckless tossing and handling has caused the books to start skidding closer to one side. I grab one as it slips out of the group. I throw a few more books as the ship begins to grow larger again. "What happened to you Phoenix?" I look over what I can see of the missing half of the ship. The massive rounded white metal disk looks like a frisbee with the absence of a shark mouth in it. Starry space where part of my home is suppose to be. As I drift closer I see some of the internal silver chambers jammed and half-cocked outside the outer white shell of the ship. The centrifuge that spins the environment modules is completely destroyed. Looks like I'm not getting gravity when I get back. "Ha, it kind of looks like silver toy dough pushed out of a mold. Should be easy to slip in through an intermodular pressure hatch." I look down. Only a quarter of the books are left. I throw the remaining books, my hardback collection of antiques to correct my drift toward an opening. I can see most of the ship's pieces again and see the time isolation chamber I had just flown from. I mumble in awe, "if whatever it was hit a few meters over I might have been dead." I finally drift into the empty space that was part of my ship. "I could fit an old city from the moon colony days in here." I let another book out of my grip and look down. The bookcase is empty and behind me a trail of books floats beyond. I don't know how me and this bookshelf are gonna slow down. I look towards the blunt edge of the ship I am careening towards.