He walked in line. He wasn’t leading, or following, but was firmly planted in the middle of the whole procession. He was calm, at ease, even, but the parade was anything but lighthearted. They grew closer. He could see it in the distance, the bridge where he spent much of his youth. The bridge where, as a boy, he waded into the slow, muddy, brown waters where his father fished for that night’s supper. The bridge, old and tall, covered in moss, yet still standing after centuries, was getting larger by each step. No one knew when, or who, or how the bridge was built. The village was just happy to have the bridge, for, while the water at the edge of the river was calm, towards the middle it became deep and treacherous. A jagged canyon underneath pulled a current strong enough to tear apart the foolish would be sailor’s raft. The bridge spanned the danger and allowed the village out into the forest on the other side. They started up the cliff. The bridge spanned what seemed like half a mile, impossibly long and impossibly tall, jutting out from cliff to cliff, towering above even the village’s highest cathedral spires. The parade continued. Marching up the emerald hill, closer and closer to the bridge. Somber faces gazed ahead, step after step. The whispering began. He looked around, taking in the hills, and the cliffs, and the bridge, and… and the people. The people who came to watch the parade. Tents were scattered among the rolling hills, little dabs of color in the sea of gently swaying emerald green. From the trees hung lanterns, ready to be lit as the celebration spilled into the evening. He had seen it before, as a boy, though never from the parade. He’d never imagined he would be the center of attention. But here he was. He stepped onto the bridge’s worn stone roadway. A horse trotted from the center of the bridge towards the parade. The spectators quieted. The clack clack’ing of the horse’s shoes echoed. He took a long, slow, deep breath in. “Rope!” The rider cried into the silence. Two soldiers from the rear of the pack brought forward a long coil of wrist thick braided cotton yarn. “Tie it to the pillar!” Ordered the rider. Her eyes scanned the procession. Two soldiers, a color guard, a drummer, a man, hands bound and ankles shackled, two more soldiers, and a priest. The soldiers finished knotting the fraying rope around the stone. They coiled what they could next to the short stone railing and looked to their captain. The rider rode closer to him. He locked eyes just briefly, then looked to the ledge, then back to the captain. “It’s time.” She told him. “Very well.” He walked to the ledge, the priest trailing along, praying, speaking to their gods, seeking his passage into the next life, bartering for him. The two soldiers uncoiled enough rope to slip a noose around his neck and help him up the ledge. He looked around at the bridge, admiring the stonework, taking in the intricate designs, and looking for new patches of moss or ivy he hadn’t seen before. “Villagers!” The rider started, her voice carrying over the hills between the campfires, “as you know is our way, we shall let the bridge decide his fate! For he shall fall and hang, or this bridge give way, and the river’s shore waters will be his savior.” The soldiers pushed. He fell, rope frantically uncoiling behind him. Thoughts of crumbling brick and mossy pillars filled his head. Sky, water, sky, water, sky is all he saw as he tumbled through the air, speeding towards the river. But a bridge that old doesn’t just fall apart. The rope went taut. The people cheered.


"Let's check out this fortune teller, Nigel. Maybe she can tells us our future," said Frank as he took the first step up towards the parlor car. I looked at the sign which illustrated a gypsy like lady silhouette with a crystal orb in front of her. On top of the sign read: "Come forth to see your future with Lady Qanilla!" And at the bottom of it said: "No refunds or exchanges." I replied with a little nervously: "I don't know Frank. For all we know, she could be a scam artist." Frank waved his hand and replied: "Looks can be deceiving. Who knows maybe she has a heart of gold and has good intentions." "You do know that not everyone is like you, Frank," I said just to clarify. "You can't just go willy nilly trusting people like that. They can take advantage of you if you aren't careful." Frank replied with: "I know buddy. Thanks for the reminder. I maybe too straight forward but I always have a close eye." I caved in, replying back: "Alright, Frank. Whatever you said. After all, I do trust ya. Just please don't let me do anything irrational." My friend of mine replied with his toothless grin: "Of course, I will. I'll always have your back. Just as I know you have mine." I then followed my friend into the parlor car which hostes a fortune teller. The lady looked exactly like she was impicted on her advised sign outside. She had black curly hair with white highlights and had red eyes which I'm sure was prosthetic. The fortune teller wore a purple dress with gold jewelry everywhere among her slim body. She had to be around her mid 30s but with all of the makeup and attire she wore, it all made her look like she was 25. I couldn't help but feel my face turning red once I came in through the door seeing her. She takes notice of Frank who entered first and then looks me with a smile. She introduces herself by saying:  "Welcome gentlemen to my parlor of fortune. Please take a seat." Frank responds as he takes a seat to the chair on the left: "Thank you kindly for your hospitality Madam, oh what was it again?" "It's Qanilla my good sir," replied the fortune teller. "A pleasure meeting you. The name is Frank and this one here is Nigel," said my friend introducing to ourselves. As soon as I sat down on the chair to the right, he wraps his right arm around me to show Qanilla who he was referring to. I could say I was a bit of embarrassed which would make it the understatement of the year. For my face was red as a tomato after my friend announced my name to a fine lady that sat right in front of me. She smiled at me with her radiant fake red eyes as the light behind her highlights her curly hair and ita feature. I was obviously and absolutely star stuck with the state I was in. As I continue to find the words, pur lovely fortune teller ask me directly: "A bit nervous, are we?" It's clear that she could see right through me. I then proceeded to take a deep breath silently through my nose and once I had release the air from my lungs, I replied: "Yes madam, just a bit." She replied with a smile: "It's all good my love. You have nothing to worry about." I watched her eyes as she told me. The old me would have been paranoid about all of this but somehow I feel like I could trust her. Frank has done a number on me ever since visiting Miller Park a week ago. I've quite changed from how I used to be. I went from being a spolied selfish brat to a man who seeks vaules over life than the riches. After consideration and reassurance, I go: "Alright then. I believe you." Qanilla then responds: "Good, I just want to make sure my guests is always comfortable when they come visit me. You're awfully cute, Nigel. I can't help but pinpoint your accent. Are you from the UK?" Before I could reply, Frank goes: "He most certainly is. He's from London and his family owns a firm over there." Qanilla responds: "Oh lovely. I always wanted to go there myself. My little sister goes around the world for her job meanwhile I make a life as a fortune teller." "Well maybe one of these days, you can come with me when I get back," I said before I even realize it. Qanilla's smile even more than ever. She replied: "Really!? You would do that for me?" I responded with a smile: "Absolutely my dear. But first I would like to see my future." Qanilla was somewhat put off by that answer but she snapped back and return back to character. "Right, right," she said as she cracked her hands and wiggle her fingers up in front of us. She continues: "You all have come to see what the future holds and I shall gladly show you. I do however charge but considering I, Lady Qanilla, have taking a liking to the both of you, you shall both have a discount for this visit. Now, are you ready for me to tell you both what your future will bring?" Frank and I looked at each other. We both gave each other a smiling nod and both replied with a "yes". Qanilla then proceeds to levitate her hands above the crystal orb in front of us as she looked deep into it. I watched as she did all of this in amazement. Not one bit was I nervous or scary for here is a woman I would like to date. After a good minute or two, she goes: "Frank, I can see you now. Yes, right here. You have a heart of gold and a good judge of character. You've brought dear Nigel here for an adventure to the carnival and drop by to a lonesome woman as I. I can see your future. It's crystal clear..." "Yes, madam Qanilla, what is my future? Please tell me," said Frank with excitement. She responded: "I can you adopting in your future." "Cool," Frank replied. He then goes: "What do I adopted?" Qanilla speaks: "It's unclear but you would make a good role model. As for Nigel..." Anticipation excited me as I heard every word Qanilla said: "You have changed quite a bit for the past week. Thanks to Frank, you've become something better and your parents will be proud of that. Since you've met Frank, you learn to trust not only him, but others such as me. I can now see your future and it's bright as day my love." Excitedly, I go: "Yes Qanilla, my love, what is it that's in my future. Please do tell." She then makes a sadden face as a tear streaming down her face. Qanilla then replys sadly: "You'll be lonely forever..."


“So what’s the catch?” “A choice, no catch. You can either stay here and meet your fate or leave with me.” Romina Vega flipped the business card between her fingers, thinking.

“You make it sound easy. I can’t just stand up and walk out of here. If you haven’t noticed…” Romina pushed forward, repositioning herself in the metal chair. Her chains chattered as she moved. “If you tried to leave, the guards wouldn’t be able to stop you.” Romina pressed down a short laugh. There was no indication that she posed a threat to anyone. She was young, barely into her twenties, somewhat slight of frame, and noticeably malnourished. Her hair was a plume of dark coils and unkempt chaos. She wore the customary green jumpsuit of the women’s prison, which nearly swallowed her entirely. She sat up and rested her weight squarely on the pads of her feet as if she was preparing to bolt.

“Don’t play with me, old man. I know where I am and I know what I did to get here–” “Yes. About that.” The man reached inside his briefcase and pulled out a black legal folder. He opened the file and used his long index finger to skim across the printed report. “I know what happened. What you said happened and what the authorities charged. Between you and me, I believe your account.” “Why?” The man gave a half smile. “Why wouldn’t I believe you? The evidence is all there. I would be blind to ignore it.” “The police and the judge seem to think differently. They said I did it. I killed my aunt and mom.” “But I know you didn’t. You couldn’t have.”

“The courts sure think it was me. Hell, all of Georgia thinks I did it. Why not you?” He smiled indulgently. “Because… I know what killed them.” “Really?” Romina scoffed. “What do you know that the court and the jury haven’t already disproven about my case? I’ve been convicted for their murders. Considering the circumstances, I honestly don’t blame them for coming to their decision. I don’t know what was real about that night anymore. Maybe I went insane. Maybe I made it all up. “ “Or maybe you were attacked by a being, not of this world. You came face to face with something. You fought it. Injured it… And lived to tell your story.”

“A story nobody believes,” said Romina with a sneer. The memory of the nightmare played once more in her thoughts, bringing back the pain of loss it always carried. Her eyes lowered to the table, unable to sustain the weight of guilt pressing down on her shoulders, reminding her of what she couldn’t do.

“You saw it, Romina,” the man urged.

“It was a monster,” Romina said in a low voice. “Could have been human at one point, but… Maybe it was an alien? A demon… A… I don’t know what it was. It looked like a giant bat.” “It was what we call a Revenant. A being not unlike what you might consider a bat, only it’s not. It’s more like… well… A vampire… Or a parasite. It feeds off of living flesh and terrorizes those it once knew or came in contact with at one point.” “That thing was a vampire?” Romina did not hide her disbelief.

“Probably not in the traditional context you would think. Dracula is far from what a vampire is. He certainly doesn’t look like what one is. Bram Stoker took the idea and put an agreeable face to the real terror those things are. Demons more closely describe them. However, even that term only provides the visual.” “What are you trying to say? I was attacked by a demon vampire?” “Well…” “You can’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining,” said Romina. “I know what I saw and what I saw wasn’t no damn vampire. I don’t know what the hell that thing was but it certainly wasn’t what you’re saying it was. Either you’re here to poke fun or you’re trying to make me look crazier than they already think that I am. I’m not crazy! I’m not on drugs! I didn’t imagine that fucking thing! And I sure as hell didn’t kill my goddamn mother! I don’t give a damn what the State of Georgia or the D.A. or anybody wants to believe! I’m not a fucking murderer and I didn’t kill my family!” Romina could barely catch her breath. She glared at the man as he sat placidly in his seat across the table. Her words had no effect. He stared coldly back at her as if looking directly through the whirlwind of her heated emotions. She got the sense that the man saw all of this before. Perhaps too many times enough to no longer care and possibly predict what would happen next. Again her chains tugged her down into her seat, reminding her she could do nothing further than the length of each link allowed. Her thighs burned with excess energy, demanding to be freed from the seated position so they could stretch and move with violent intention. Still, the man sat, eyes forward, and expression calm despite her fury. She could do nothing to harm him and she hated that he knew this despite what he suggested earlier.

He had a kind face. The type that could appear fatherly. His hair was shock white as if he had seen far more than what Romina experienced. He wore all black, making his physique difficult to determine. However, she assumed he kept himself up. He looked like law enforcement or possibly an agent of some other agency she did not know about. She could not determine what sort of officer the man was as he did not display a badge like most would. Whatever enforcement the man represented did not require him to make his authority known plainly. It was all assumed which made her all the more curious. “Who are you?” Romina asked. “Who I am is irrelevant. Who I represent is more important.” “Ok, so then who do you represent? CIA? FBI? Italian Mafia? What is this?” “I am from an order of defense no man knows about. No other agency in the world is aware of our presence. We operate beyond the Veil. Given your natural skill and intelligence, we believe you would make the perfect candidate for our program.” “Program? You’re here to recruit me?” “You have been chosen.” “Chosen? By who? For what?” “Come with me and I will tell you everything you want to know.” “How about you tell me now,” Romina challenged.

“Doesn’t work that way. I’m here for a limited time. Once I walk out that door, the offer goes with me.” Romina considered the offer once more, unsure of her answer. Although she did not trust the man sitting across from her at the interview table, she could not dispel the possibility of taking the offer and being freed. The past year of the murder trial and subsequent sentencing hearing made the days spent behind bars seem to flash by. After her sentencing, time bled into each hour drawing out the torture of her incarceration as she waited anxiously for the set date of her execution. So far, the attorney assigned to her case was not confident in the success of the appeal process. The first two returned denied and the third was decided with a high probability of denial also. No one believed her account of the monster coming into the small apartment shared by the three women. Not even the court-appointed psychiatrist considered her unchanged statement as truth. Instead, the doctor suggested the murders were caused by some sort of drug-induced psychosis causing her to hallucinate. Romina insisted she did not imagine the creature, nor would she allow the court to label her a drug-addicted psycho that raged during a bad trip. The trace opiates found by the police in her blood were not enough to support the intoxication theory. The jury quickly dismissed this explanation as the reason why her mother’s throat was torn open and her aunt was found mauled by the kitchen sink. There could only be one conclusion that made any kind of sense to those participating in the trial. A monster did not break inside her home and gruesomely murder her family. According to the State of Georgia, Romina killed them.

 “If I say yes, and I go with you… What happens next?” “You walk away from here never to return to this place again.” “And then?” “You will train. Be educated. Prepared.” Romina considered what the man said. “Prepared for what?” He sat silent.

Steady.

“You’re serious, aren’t you,” said Romina. “You can get me out of here? Just like that?” “Exactly that. Do you not believe me?” “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know who to trust.” “Trust God.”

“Trust God,” Romina shook her head. “He’s probably the reason why I’m in here. Why did all this happen? My family is dead and I’m in prison. Some thing created by God is why I'm here talking to you. And you want me to trust God?”

The man stood. His dark frame suddenly filled the space behind him as his long black coat and suit wrapped about him. His white hair and glacial eyes caught the light from the overhead lamp and made his face appear more brilliant than the rising sun. Romina almost gasped in awe realizing the man wasn’t exactly what she thought he was.

He was something else.

Something more.

“You will soon know all the secrets kept from all of mankind. It won’t matter if you don’t believe… In time, you will.” Romina looked up at the man, shrinking away from him as his presence became overwhelming. His gaze was no longer tender or fatherly. Instead, it pressed down like a weighted blanket. He stood over her a moment before gathering the links of her shackles between his talon-like fingers. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in God. Hell is real. What you saw was real. And there are worse things than death in this world.” The man pulled at the chains until the links bent and pulled apart. Romina looked down at her broken binds, then at the man. “What are you?” “I am what you will become...” [Exert from Current first rough draft project Hellseeker: The Awakening]


When I was 6, I saw how my mother killed our postman. When I was 6 I saw our postman raping my mother every morning for 4 months. When I was 6 I used to sit near by the window and wait til our postman comes every morning. I was an observer when I was 6. She has green eyes. They turn to yellow when she is looking at the sun. Blue appears when she is looking at the sea. And then there is black. With black comes darkness and sadness. They turn to black when she is looking at me. My sister has green eyes. When I was 7 I started going to school. When I was 7 I started answering to people's questions. When I was 7 I started lying to everyone. When I was 7 people liked me. When I was 7 I used to talk to everyone. When I was 7 nobody knew that every single word of mine was false. I was a socialiser when I was 7. She has gentle hands. They make cats purr. They make food that melts into everyone mouths. They make her face prettier every morning. They make wonderful sounds go from the piano. They create bruises on my skin. My sister has gentle hands. When I was 10 I learned that talking is directly proportional to attention that comes toward you. When I was 10 I learned how to get what you desire from people. When I was 10 I learned that if you keep confronting everything you don't like, people will give up on changing you the way they want you to be. I was a learner when I was 10. She has a nice body. It can be cold when she lies in the snow. It can be hot when she is lying in the bath. It can be glowing when she is standing in front of the sun. It can be covered in blood when she scratches her skin off. It can create white liquid when she makes me touch her. My sister has a nice body. When I was 14 I set our car on fire. When I was 14 I sent our mother to the prison for 2 years. When I was 14 I made 3 girls bleed. I was an achiever when I was 14. She is looking at me right now. She can hear all thoughts I have. She can feel all emotions I experience. For the first time I can see some green shadows behind that blackness. She is touching me right now. She can make me feel loved. She can make me feel worthless. She can make me feel powerful. My sister is looking at me right now. Maybe she can make me do whatever she wish me to. Maybe she can make me feel whatever she wants me to. But she can't do one thing. She can't make me stop growing. I'm 16 and I'm a killer.


(warning, mental illness described) He looked over the balcony, the shimmering starlight reflecting in the growing puddles of a storm that had just passed. There was something beautiful about that moment. It was a space in between, when the future was still ahead but the past was now behind. This kind of moment could last forever. He inhaled the crisp, cold air of the witching hour. That’s what they call it, right? That liminal space between the twilight’s last tendrils, and the beautiful, piercing rays of the morning sun? I’ve always wondered if those hours were a gift to the damned and the broken. It always seems like they are the ones who take advantage. While the innocent sleep in the comfort of their dreams and ambitions. We broken few use the hours of silence, the hours of tranquility, to feel the full brunt of our loneliness, the entire weight of our depression, the deadly thrust of a blade which anxiety wields, while our anger and fear duel for supremacy of our mental stage. Forgive me, we were talking about him. You see, he’s right on the edge of the balcony now, looking down into the onyx pits that call him down, can you hear them egging him on? Daring him to aim for the center of their icy depths. He starts to believe, that maybe if he falls just right, he’ll never hit the ground. Instead, he will be transported somewhere else. Maybe to a place where it doesn’t have to hurt to exist. Maybe to a world where he can finally feel worthy of the air he breathes; maybe to a universe where he finally has purpose; maybe to an existence where he can be loved. He climbs the banister. He is not cold. The wind wiggles its way into every crevice of his clothes, wrapping him in a blanket of nothingness. He doesn’t even feel as it begins to pull him. He doesn’t even realize he is falling until the lurch of gravity begins to pull him downward. Not like this. Not now. Not here. He had so much to live for. At least, that’s what his friends will say at his funeral. Will his friends go to his funeral? Will he get a funeral? The invitation howls past his ears, incomprehensible, and yet so damn familiar. “Give Up” He stares up at the stars. They seem so much brighter now. They call to him. He can hear them sing. A melody so sweet and pure he feels unworthy to even witness it. They aren’t just singing. They are singing to him. Calling his name! Screaming out for him to reach up and grab a fistful of sky. If he could only reach, he knows they will save him. He remembers the melody they sing, a bittersweet tune of love and sadness. The stars must witness all that occurs under their valiant watch. The trees bring in a harmony and the stones of the earth add their deep, steady tones. He knows this song. It’s the one he used to hum as a small child, the one He always tried to write, but never found the lyrics for. It is his song, and the universe is singing it. He wakes in a cold sweat. It’s dark. The clock reads 3:14. The door to his balcony sits ajar, a howling wind and whispering rain siege the cracks of the doorframe. He closes the balcony doors. This is no time for sleep. We sang to him. And now he knows there’s still work to do.


Twenty-three hundred days in hell is exactly what you’d think. Well, unless you anticipated screaming, and praying, and begging, and wailing and gnashing of teeth no…hell is nothing like the Old Testament. Hell is an eight-foot-tall, six-by-six cell. Three walls and a ceiling, all made of concrete. That fourth wall however, now I’m betting you anticipate “bars,” right? Seeing as I’ve described hell as a cell? Well here I am to burst your bubble ‘cause hell isn’t a cell per se. The fourth wall is just…open. Completely open to a four-story drop for me, even higher for the boys above me. And if you were to drop, you’d land and shatter your fucking femurs for one, but you’d land on the sandy bottom of a tall, dark, enclosed, circular building in the middle of goddamn nowhere. The floor of this place is about the size of a football field in all directions and in its center…in its heart. Is the Panopticon. I can still remember the metallic voice over the unseen speakers as we each awoke, drugged, in our cells. It started off with a factoid. The man who first proposed the idea of the Panopticon described it as “A mill for grinding rogues honest.” We were to be the, “First ever maximum-security inmates to be housed within the ULTIMATE STRUCTURE OF SURVEILLANCE!” Like we were supposed to be goddamn excited for it. Like they were selling us something that we should be chomping at the bit to buy. 360-degree view from the tower in the center with about 150 open cells surrounding. No human face though, scowling out at us from behind it’s dark, cold plexi-glass. No human faces EVER. See that was really the thing about hell. I hadn’t seen another human face since the moment that screeching, tinny, robotic voice woke me up to tell me what I’d won, twenty-three hundred days and counting, in hell. The point of the “open cell concept” as I like to call it, is this, we all assume we could be the one being monitored at any given time so now, we self-discipline. No need for bars when we’re met with a bone crushing fall and motion-activated machine guns mounted on every curve of that tower. No sir-e. We’ll be the good little boys our mechanical overlords know we’ll be, because we have no other fucking choice. Now how can a maximum-security prison operate without any human beings? Much like most things in this brave new, robotic world. Our three-square meals a day are delivered to us through a perfectly fucking sealed square hole in the wall and I know that it’s being delivered on a conveyor belt, assembled and maintained by machines because for the past 6 months my meals have been coming to me with the exact same mistakes, day-in-and day-out. If that doesn’t sound like a malfunctioning robot, electronic, or machine to you than you haven’t spent a lot of time depending on one. My breakfasts used to be nice and portioned off on the tray. The scrambled eggs had their square, the toast had his, and my orange slices had theirs. Now every single morning the eggs are no longer scrambled, they’re runny as hell and I hate runny. But what’s more is my orange slices are placed right in the center of that disgusting, thick soup o’ eggs. Like two orange, radioactive islands floating within a sea of yellow shit. And my dinners no longer include any meat, just the gravy for the meat. So, I’m just getting potatoes and steamed veggies every night for the past 6 months with nothing but the idea of meat. It used to be that once a month a palm-sized touch pad would come through the food slot and you could make selections on any malfunctions or problems you’d been experiencing under certain categories and then back through the slot it would go and within a day or so the problem would be resolved. So, once upon a time I could rectify these mistakes or at least be given the illusion of having a voice. But I haven’t seen a touch pad come through the wall in well over 3 years and I don’t expect I’ll be seeing one ever again. I mean my lunch no longer even comes at all but from the feedback I’ve gotten from the fine gentlemen around me, everybody’s lunch stopped coming about 2 years ago so a certain programed protocol has obviously kicked in. What we all want to know is what it means… Here’s what I think it means. The people running this place, the human beings meant to give mind to this machine of hell, are all gone. Something very, very bad happened out there in the world and we’re in here completely unsupervised, by man. But now we’re so dangerously supervised by the machines that this really is a hell, and we’ll all spending eternity in this place as more parts and pieces of it fall apart with no human beings coming to put it all back together again, and call the devil back to bed. Plus, the water has started to taste a little like battery acid. We figured out I want to say two-and-a-half years ago that we could call out to one another and have conversations without anything happening. The first guy to finally shriek out into the abyss was Bluie my neighbor. He’s a totally innocent man and one night right as I was finally beginning to drift off into my version of sleep, I hear the first human voice I’d heard since before my incarceration. It was Bluie. And Bluie yells out, “Aye, aye RoboCops! Why ain’t ya tuck us in no more!?” The silence that followed…whew! Could have heard the drip, drip, drip of a robot taking a gasoline piss a football field away. But then…nothing happened. I mean absolutely nothing happened for one minute, then two minutes, then seven. In the hour that followed the event that I’ve so affectionately named, “Bluie’s First Contact” it was truly as if we were in hell, yet this time, we were the demons. The screaming and shrieking, swearing and cursing, the absolute thunderous, bellowing shouts of rage and sound that erupted from all 150 inmates after Bluie’s First Contact was the most hell-ish thing I had ever known. Myself, I just yelled every horrible thing I had ever heard or thought of throughout the entire course of my life until I tasted blood in the back of my throat and no longer had any voice to speak with. But this ushered in great change. There were conversations for a few weeks. Men confessing, mostly men declaring innocence. Men sharing jokes, men telling stories of all the best and all the worst pussy they’d had before waking up in this place. We were a tribe. But with so many conversations happening all at once we couldn’t keep track of the fractures. The fissures, the silences. And soon there were indecipherable clicks with the tongue, and combinations of words which meant nothing. High and low shouts which gave away no inflection or intention. We all developed our own secret language to communicate with the men we really trusted. We’re split now, divided. Sound is all we have so we use it as secret forms of communication. The acoustics are fantastic in our Panopticon and so each level has developed their own secret means of communication so no other level can understand them. The highest level of cells, near the ceiling are rumored to still be receiving lunch, spring water to drink, and meat with dinner so of course it goes without saying that every level hates them. The bottom level, my level is rumored to have successfully gotten some of our boys out—escape. I know this is bullshit because several months back another guy, real quiet guy likes us to call him G, kicked his pillow right out the opening in his cell. You may have wondered how I knew the machine guns mounted on the Panopticon were motion-sensitive? At least three machine guns locked onto it and shot it as it was falling through the air, and completely eviscerated it once it hit ground. So began the escape rumors. We also know that if we come to close to the opening of our cells the machine guns lock onto us and follow our every move until we step back far enough. Once, I daggled a piece of cloth over the side and a machine gun fired and nearly blew my fucking hand off. What I’ve been trying to get my guys on this level to understand, is that there aren’t enough machine guns to handle all of us. If only we conducted more “experiments” really figured out the way they work, even if just one of us could escape that one could go find out what happened to the world. Bring help. But Bluie says this is part of the Panopticon. This is how we’re meant to be kept here, in hell. “Men built this,” he said, “men want this.” G thinks what I’m suggesting involves sacrificing one of “ours”. Even if we got the rest of the 147 inmates in on it everyone would scream the same thing: “The cocksuckers on the bottom have the lowest fall! They should be the ones to distract the guns while others try an escape!” I think G is probably right. But no one has spoken a real, human sentence in so long, I don’t intend to be the first to break the “silence” and find out. But what I haven’t told you, or told anyone for that matter, is that I’ve been pissing blood for the last 4 months. I got to get up and take a piss at least 12 times a night. I knew I was terminal before they condemned me to wake up here, but I think I must be getting to the end. Yesterday morning I woke up to blood in my underwear, which is new. Bluie’s also changed, he talks about God a lot now and what he’ll do in the Kingdom of Heaven when he finally goes “home.” G hasn’t spoken to us in over a week. I think he may be dead but it’s real hard to cut through the smell of myself and 149 other poorly washed prisoners to detect the scent of death. Plus, I never really knew what cell was his anyway, it’s not like I can crane my neck out with a, “Yooohoooo! Still alive in there?!” and find out. I wonder how hard it would be to convince Bluie to let his body drop to that warm, sandy floor…let him get on “home” then. Or me, what about me? Smear myself in my own dirty blood and go screaming over the side the same way I screamed my lungs out a few short years ago when I knew for certain that this, this was hell, this was going to be the place in which I became a demon. Because yes. This mill has finally ground me down. I am a demon of the Panopticon.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 850 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Innocence! | This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘innocence’. Two weeks ago we took a look at guilt, and what that meant for your characters and the world around them. So, let’s flip that. What happens when one of the innocent are pulled into the storm, punished even, for the crimes of another? Who is to be believed in this situation? What happens to a person’s trust in their friends, their family, their system? Do they stand strong, ready to fight injustice with everything they have, or do they give up, feeling broken and defeated? We, as people, often feel guilt, even when the events aren’t necessarily our fault. But how does that affect someone internally? Externally? How does this change someone? These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure.   *** #Theme Schedule: - September 11 - Innocence (this week) - September 18 - Jealousy - September 25 - Knowledge   *** **Most Recent Themes:** | | | | | ***   #Rules & How to Participate Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation! - **Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, set in your self-established universe. Use to check your wordcount.** Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. If you’re continuing an in-progress serial (not on Serial Sunday), please include links to your previous installments. - **Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the start of Campfire. Late entries will be disqualified. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically. - **Only one active serial per author at a time.** This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **All Serial Sunday authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s one comment on two different stories).** The feedback should be **actionable** and include something the author has done well. You have until **Saturday at 11:59pm EST** to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our crit sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Weekly Campfires & Voting: - **On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! (And Campfire is feedback is worth extra points!) You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points (but its interpretation is entirely up to you)! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by other users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Actionable Feedback:** - Thread feedback (at least 2 required) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) **Nominating Other Stories:** - Voting for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) **Looking for more on what actionable feedback is?** Check out or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings for “Heartbreak” - **First place:** - by u/Zetakh   - **Second place:** - by u/mattswritingaccount   - **Third place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/Loki_7000   *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and a few other fun events! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week we will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Today, I want to talk about tenses in writing: past and present (and future if you really want to torture yourself). Choosing the right one for your story is important, but can be tricky. So tell me about your favorite! - Which tense do you prefer writing in? What about as a reader? - How do you decide which tense to use for a story? - Have you ever caught yourself switching tenses midway through a story? (I’m definitely guilty of that one!) - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? *** #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.


*Life will come to Spring;* *To the fiery god of Summer,* *Water brings his Fall.* *Daughters of the Snow,* *Bring glory to us all.* The boar was released into the clearing, and the people roared and cheered. It began to dash into the forest, with an instinctive knowledge that to run was to live. It smelled of hay and sweat, bringing the Dragoneers to life, as their reptilian thirst for warm blood awakened, and cunning forgotten came to the forefront. The first to run after the boar was Lily, and her face was a sight to see, for calm had morphed into an intense excitement, and she was grinning as she ran, her teeth white and sharp, her body lithe and sleek, what dark scales she had on her back and arms glittering in the dappled moonlight. She had foregone clothing except for a loose loincloth around her hips, and her breasts had almost completely merged into her body, so that they were not in the way. Just one step behind and on the right of the beast her long scaled legs bounded, unhindered by the cold snow and rough thorns. The beast, being blocked from the right which led into a darkly thicketed, safe ravine, ran in mad dashes ahead, sometimes veering in roundabouts around treacherous unseen quicksands and swamps that usurped several Dragoneers, who cried as they fell to the traps of the night, their wounded screams piercing the landscape and sending chills up Tam’s spine. They would never move on. But the bulk of Dragoneers, with heightened vision and taste of the air, could feel the same dangers as the boar did, and veered around the uncertain grounds to continue driving the boar ahead. Tam timidly followed them, fear of the darkness pounding in her head. Ada and Eva were at the head of the drivers who prevented the boar from ever escaping backwards, and they loped patiently at a constant pace, neither slowing nor racing ahead. Tam trotted with them, unsure of what to do, until Jai yelled, “Run!” At his call, a strange voice awakened within Tam. *Run*, it murmured. *See*, it beckoned. *Feel*. She suddenly felt that the boar was banking towards the left, where the bush was thicker, and there the prey would be lost soon enough. She had to take a chance. She broke away from the path of the mass of Dragoneers who were performing the role of drivers, and went on her own towards what she predicted would be the boar’s path. She was still uncertain, but she felt something that drove her to make this risk in a lifetime of monotony. No longer would she follow behind. *Awaken*, the voice within her commanded. She could smell. See. Feel the boar’s fear, its mind wildly calculating its last escape. The moon, high in the sky; the trees, awash in its light. The good night air, cold and fresh in her lungs. On the ground lumps of snow sparkled where the light was able to pierce the bare arms of the branches. And blood. She smelled it now, copper and rusty, and it would be good to taste. Life was good, life was precious, and it was worth fighting for. Tonight, the boar’s life would give her life. The boar was running fast, but Tam was running faster, a giddiness filling her mind and soul, and she felt keen hunger. She forgot who or where she was. At the last, Tam looked into the boar’s eyes, maddened with fear and rage as its tusks reared up in the air, and it was when she heard its scream that she realized that she was screaming herself, a spear of ice piercing into the boar’s neck, cold smoke evaporating from her nostrils and open mouth. She’d done it. She was a true Dragoneer. The boar had slashed her across the thigh. As the bloodlust faded away, she dropped to her knees, panting, the dying boar’s throat gushing blood upon her, and she saw Lily behind the boar, with a duplicate ice-spear that drove into its neck from the other side. They feasted on the blood, and the blood was good.


Madeline watched the emotions flit across Liam’s face as he considered her question, small hands turning white as they gripped the kitchen table. Without meaning to, she soon found her leg was bouncing up and down. The tapping sound from her heel knocking against the cupboard filled the silence. In an attempt to alleviate the nervous energy, she hopped down off the counter and paced back and forth. Eventually, the wait became too much for her. “Come on, you had all night to think about it. Am I taking you back to the store? Or are you staying with me?” “I– I think I’d like to stay with you,” he said before hurriedly adding, “If that’s okay, that is.” Now it was Madeline’s turn to leave him waiting. Her mouth slowly opened and closed as she processed his answer. While she thought it was the right thing for him to do, she had somehow never really believed he’d be happy to leave the store – and any hope of seeing his father again – for good. It was part of what had made it easier to offer to keep looking after him. But now… Now she had to actually follow through. The thought made her chest tighten and sucked the saliva from her mouth. “Madeline? *Is* that okay?” His plaintive voice snapped her out of the rising panic. “Yes, yes of course. It just… surprised me. That’s all.” “Yeah,” Liam sighed, looking down at the table. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to go back. But everything you said last night made me realise it isn’t what my Dad would want. He left me there to be safe. But it isn’t safe there anymore.” Madeline nodded to herself, glad he’d taken her words to heart. “Well then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “We should get moving. I’ve packed as many of the supplies here as I can carry. Is there anything you can think of that you want to take?” Liam looked around and shook his head. “Okay. Let’s go.” After heaving her full bag onto her back and tucking her copy of *Emma* back under her arm, Madeline headed out the back door. Liam seemed keen to hang back again, keeping at least a few metres away, as he always did. By the time he was outside, she was already hauling herself over the fence. Together, they made their way across the gardens. When they reached the end of the row of houses, Madeline peered out into the street. Confident enough that it was clear, she stepped out and began her careful path along the road, clinging to the edge of the buildings as best she could. Now and then, she paused to consult her map, unsure whether sticking to the shortest route was best, or getting back to roads she knew as soon as possible. The comfort of familiarity won out over speed, and soon they were once again surrounded by the grey concrete of the city centre. As noon approached, she noticed Liam lagging further and further behind. Given that there was still plenty of daylight left, a short stop probably wouldn’t do much harm. She waited for Liam to catch up a bit, before beckoning him towards an old clothes shop. When she was sure he’d seen her, she stepped inside, broken glass crunching underfoot as she walked through the empty doorway. Inside, most of the stock lay untouched, covered in a thin layer of dust. Madeline picked her way through, stopping at the far side of the room to sling her bag off her back and sit cross-legged on the floor, book nestled on her lap. Liam's face poked through the clothes, and she gestured for him to join her. “I thought a break for some food and water would do us both some good.” “Yeah,” Liam replied as he lowered himself to the ground. “Thanks.” She threw him a pack of nuts and tore another open for herself. “Are you doing okay?” she asked before tossing a handful into her mouth. “I’m good.” “Really? We’ve got around the same distance to cover again. Perhaps a bit less. If you’re going to struggle I’d rather know now so I can find us somewhere safe to stay for the night.” “Really,” he confirmed. “But…” “Yes?” “I *would* like to know where we’re going.” Madeline paused in her chewing. While she fully understood his desire to not be kept in the dark, sharing any information about where she lived felt like a risk. If they came across a Poiloog on the way – if he got captured and she didn’t – she wanted to minimise what they could find out. “It’s… You’ll see when we get there, okay? For now, just know that it’s somewhere I’ve found to be safe and comfortable. And we’ll be there in a couple of hours.” He regarded her closely. “Okay then. But is there anything else you can tell me? Is it big, with plenty of space for both of us? Is there anyone else there?” “It’s pretty big, much bigger than the house we just came from. And no, it’s just me.” “For how long?” he asked. “A while,” she said, smiling at the look of frustration that crossed his face. “What? That’s all the detail you gave me at first?” “Yeah… but I did tell you more in the end.” “Alright. Like you, I’m not sure exactly. But definitely over a year.” Liam went back to eating his nuts, but his gaze kept flicking over to her. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?” “Yes…” “Go on then,” she said before tipping the last remnants of her packet into her mouth. “Why are you helping me?” The question caught her off-guard. She gave herself time to formulate an answer by chewing slowly, only swallowing when ready. “At first, you were right. I felt guilty that I might have put you in danger.” “And what about now?” “Now? I suppose I’ve just become used to having someone else around.” She scrunched up her empty packet and tucked it into her pocket as she stood. “Are you ready to go?” “Yeah,” Liam said, hurrying to finish up his food before scrambling to his feet. “Make sure to take that with you,” Madeline said, gesturing to his empty packet. “It’s best to avoid leaving traces where you’ve been. Just in case.” Nodding, he stuffed it into a pocket before backing up against the wall to maintain the distance between them as she walked past. Then they were back on their way. It was good to be in more familiar territory once again. While she had tried to avoid forming a sentimental attachment to any one place, she had to admit she had missed her library – and the streets around it. She could try and pretend it was all tactical. The home advantage gained from knowing the area like the back of her hand. But there was something more to it. It was her home. A home that she was about to share with someone else. The thought sent a rush of emotion through her. The cold flood of dread. The tingling of nervous excitement. The warm glow of hope. They made good time and soon the roof of the library could be seen peeking out of the city skyline. The sight set Madeline’s heart racing, hands trembling. It was difficult to control her pace – the surge of energy had to go somewhere – but Liam seemed able to keep up. When they finally reached it she wanted nothing more than to charge inside. But, excited as she was, she could not throw caution to the wind. She had been gone longer than planned – longer than ever before. The Poiloogs could have found it. Other people could have found it. Before she went inside, she needed to be as sure as possible that it was safe. Especially if she was taking Liam with her. A quick circuit of the building revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Windows were still either intact or boarded up. The front door was sealed. The only entrance left to check was the one she used. She made her way around to the wall that separated the library garden from the street. It was only then that a thought occurred. She beckoned Liam closer, and he edged forwards a fraction of an inch at a time. When he was a little over two metres away she gave up and whispered, “Do you think you can climb that wall?” He considered it carefully, doubt written across his face. “I didn’t think so,” she muttered. “That leaves us with a bit of a problem. I can help you over, but that requires letting me near you which you don’t seem keen on doing. Or I can leave you here while I go let you in another entrance. But that could take a while. And you’d be vulnerable. Alone.” “I– Errr… Maybe I could…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Can you help me over? But as quickly as possible, please?” “Okay.” Madeline strode over to the wall and jumped, seizing the top with both hands. Forcing her boots into the cracks between the bricks for extra support, she hauled herself up. Rather than swinging herself over fully, she paused with a leg on either side and held out a hand for Liam. He hurried forwards and grabbed it. With a heave, Madeline pulled him up and over, depositing him in the garden. He immediately hurried over to the far side, leaving her plenty of room to jump down herself. After some fumbling in her bag for the key, Madeline opened the bike lock that sealed the door and stepped inside. A familiar smell greeted her. One she hadn’t realised she’d missed, but that she could never quite put her finger on. It wrapped her in the comfort of home.


TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains mentions of the following: Physical violence, gore, and abuse Suicide or self-harm Mental health “Well, this is clearly haunted.” “Mikail!” Katlynn reached around her husband’s back to lightly whack her son on the back of his head. “Knock that off.” “Momma,” Kalli called from where she stood next to the van, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around Lucky’s neck. The poor golden retriever was dying to run around and explore, yet stood dutifully still to allow the six-year-old to cling to her for support. “Is it really haunted?” “No, Kalli,” Robert said, walking over to open the trunk of the van. “Your brother was just making a joke. Isn’t that right, Mikail?” “Sure, not like this whole move hasn’t been one big joke,” Mikail responded. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized jeans and hunched his back, looking for all the world like a prisoner accepting his fate on death row. “How long are you going to continue to mope, Mikey? We’ve gone over this. Moving to the country is a fresh start. Think of it as a chance to make new friends!” Mikail grumbled as he kicked at a stray dandelion growing in the middle of the dirt path. “What was that?” Katlynn asked. “I said to stop calling me Mikey. I’m sixteen now. You don’t have to call me baby names.” She smiled and ruffled his messy brown hair, which was in dire need of a haircut. Pretty soon, she would have to stand on the tips of her toes to reach the top of his head. “Sixteen or sixty, you’ll always be my Mikey.” “Mikey!” Kalli shouted as she finally released Lucky. Free at last, the dog bounded off to explore her new surroundings. “Let’s explore!” She pulled her brother’s hand from his pocket and dragged him forward. For all his grumbling, Katlynn saw him smile as he followed his little sister. “Well, what do you think?” Robert asked as he came up beside her. He had two duffel bags draped over his shoulders and an over-packed cardboard box in his arms. “Doesn’t look quite like the pictures, but it’s too late now.” Katlynn hummed in agreement, taking one of the duffels from him. He kissed her forehead in thanks before trudging up the path toward their new home. The mansion stood proudly against the backdrop of the surrounding forest, its imposing Victorian architecture looming over the landscape like a silent sentinel of a bygone era. Built in the late 1800s, its weathered facade bore the marks of time, with ivy crawling up its walls and intricate wrought-iron gates guarding the entrance. Tall, arched windows peered out from beneath gabled roofs, hinting at the grandeur that once filled its halls. Goosebumps inched across Katlynn’s arms as she took in the sight. Mikail may have been on to something earlier. Just as she could easily see this ancient mansion being restored to its former beauty and repurposed into the bed and breakfast of her dreams, she could imagine the building being the focal point of some horror story. Giddy excitement nearly overwhelmed her as she grabbed the keys from the van. It was time to unpack! ~*~ “Well, this sucks.” “Mikail!" Katlynn scolded. "If I have to tell you one more time to knock it off with the melodrama…” He sighed and shuffled back out the double doors to grab another box. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it, trying not to cough as the dusty air filled her lungs. Feeling marginally better, she resumed organizing the tower of boxes into piles, indicating which room they belonged in. The sound of glass shattering echoed from an open doorway to her left, which led to the kitchens. A second later, she heard a quiet “Oops.” She shared a glance with Robert, who stood on a ladder, replacing the entryway lightbulbs. “Kalli,” she called. “What are you doing in there?” “Lucky dropped a box.” Katlynn rubbed her temples and took another deep breath. Mikail shuffled through the front doors carrying a small shoebox. He unceremoniously dropped it at the exact moment that a lightbulb fell and shattered. “Oops.” “Okay!” Katlynn shouted, clapping her hands together. “Kalli, come in here please.” A moment later, she skipped through the kitchen doors, Lucky not a step behind. “How about we take a break and play a game?” “Yay, a game!” Kalli cheered as Mikail groaned. “What about hide-and-seek?” Robert suggested as he swept up the broken bulb. “This way, we can have fun exploring our new home.” “Kalli will just get lost,” Mikail deadpanned. “No, I won’t!” “Good point, Mikey,” Katlynn said. “In that case, why don’t you two stay together for this first game? And since the game was Dad’s idea, he can be the first seeker.” After laying down a few rules, Robert covered his eyes and began counting while the rest went to hide. Though Katlynn went in the opposite direction from Mikail and Kalli, he could hear her daughter’s excited chatter echoing through the halls. Inside, the mansion was a maze of forgotten grandeur and faded elegance. The entrance hall boasted a sweeping staircase, its once grand banister now worn smooth and chipped from use. Tattered tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes from a forgotten era, while dust-covered chandeliers hung overhead, casting eerie shadows across the marble floors. As Katlynn explored, she felt that each room held its own story. From the opulent ballroom, which she would repurpose into an event hall, to the dusty library lined with shelves of forgotten tomes. The mansion’s history seemed to whisper to her from every corner, a haunting reminder of the secrets it must hold within its walls. A distant bark reminded her that she was supposed to be finding a good hiding spot. She slipped into a large linen closet that was thankfully free of cobwebs or rodents. Settling into the corner, she allowed her body to relax and her thoughts to roam. Katlynn sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to sag, her head resting against the wall. She was so tired. She wished she could take a nap, just for a few minutes, and then get back to unpacking, figuring out utilities, getting the kids enrolled in school, and all the other joys that come with being an adult. But for now, she would close her eyes for a few minutes… ~*~ Faint scratching jolted Katlynn awake. She hadn’t meant to doze off. She felt like she had slept for hours, though judging by the light leaking through the crack under the door, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The sound of scratching came again, accompanied by the tell-tale squeak of a mouse. Biting back a squeak of her own, Katlynn jumped up and out of the closet. After ensuring she hadn’t been nibbled on, she took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, the last of her panic-induced adrenaline fading. She first noticed that the light she had seen through the door was not from the nearby window, as she had initially thought, but from the lit sconces lining the hallway. That was odd. She hadn’t remembered turning them on. Perhaps Robert had made his way past here while looking for her and turned on the lights as he went. Thankfully, besides a few broken and burnt-out bulbs, most of the lights in the mansion were in working order. She approached the large four-paneled window at the end of the hall and tried to peer through. The darkness of night on the other side was so oppressive that all she could see was her reflection. Figuring she had waited long enough to be found, she turned and headed back toward the entry hall. The entry hall was just as she had left it, a tower of boxes in the center with smaller organized piles spread throughout the space. There was no sign of Robert, Mikail, Kalli, or Lucky. Maybe they were still looking for her. Just as Katlynn began to call for them, she heard Lucky barking. It echoed faintly from the second floor, but she would recognize that sound anywhere. Anxiety raced through her as she registered the tone of Lucky’s bark, which she used when protecting Kalli from other dogs who approached too quickly, and she felt threatened. Katlynn raced through the labyrinthine halls, following the barks and snarls. Unlike before, the lights on this side of the mansion were not turned on, and every door was shut. Just as she thought she was close, she heard a high-pitched yelp, followed by silence. Racing around a bend in the hallway, she paused, panting. A single door stood open a few rooms down, cold white light spilling through the doorway and into the hallway. “Lucky?” She called, her voice trembling from uncertainty and exertion. As her panting subsided, she heard the sound of running water. Gathering her courage, she peered around the doorframe. Inside was an opulent bathroom. Every surface was made of marble, including the sink and massive tub overflowing with water. Cursing, Katlynn rushed in to turn off the faucets, ignoring the water soaking through her flats. Once the sink and tub faucets were off, she noticed the water wasn’t draining even though the tub drain was popped open. Steeling herself, she reached into the cold water, unscrewed the drain cap, and felt inside for whatever was clogging the pipe. She shivered and gagged as her fingers brushed something soft. She pinched as much as she could and pulled free a large tuft of golden brown hair. The water began to drain slowly, so she reached back in, pulled a few more clumps from the drain, and then repeated the process on the sink. She paused as she approached the toilet to flush the hairy clumps, noticing her reflection in the massive gold-rimmed mirror. Her arms, from elbow to fingertip, were drenched in a startling red. Smears of crimson covered her shirt and jeans as if she had been splashed with paint. She blinked rapidly, but her reflection didn’t change. Perplexed, she looked down at herself. Katlynn screamed. Red covered the floor, puddled in the corners, and stained the marble tub and sink. She backpedaled, dropping the wet pile of hair, which landed with a sickening splat on the tile. A clinking sound caught her attention, and she glanced back at the pile. Partially buried within the hair was a small silver pendant shaped like a bone with a single word engraved across the surface. Lucky. “Momma?” Katlynn yelped and spun to face the door leading to the hallway. Kalli stood just past the threshold, her face stark with horror as she took in the blood-stained bathroom. Her knees wobbled with relief. She reached toward her, ready to lift and take her away from the gruesome scene. “Momma, what did you do to Lucky?” The shaking in her voice nearly broke Katlynn’s heart, and she stopped just inches from touching the girl, as her hands were still stained red. Kalli’s feet were already stained from the puddle she stood in, and the sight made her nauseous. “Kalli, honey, where is your daddy? Have you seen Mikail?” “What did you do to Lucky!?” Kalli screamed, her little hands balling into fists. Tears streamed down her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at Katlynn. She turned, intending to grab a towel or shower curtain not stained in blood to wrap around Kalli. Instead, she stared at a mangled lump of golden brown hair stained with red. “No…” She breathed out. Kalli broke out into sobbing hysterics before darting back into the hallway. Katlynn shouted for her to come back as she raced after her. Having lost sight of her, she followed the path of little red footprints until they eventually faded at the top of the entry hall grand staircase. “Kalli!” “Mom?” She whirled at the sound of Mikail’s shaky voice. He stood at the bottom of the stairs. Even from where she stood, she could see that he was trembling. “Mikey! Where is your sister? Why weren’t you with her?” “What have you done…” His whispered words carried in the open space. Katlynn realized then that he wasn’t looking at her but at the ground; at the small body lying in a heap. Mikail crouched beside the body of his little sister, hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder and trying to roll her over. Her legs and one arm rested at odd angles, clearly broken. As he shifted her, her head turned at an awkward angle. “You pushed her,” Milkail said, his voice rising to a shout. He finally looked up at her, tears streaming down his face, pure rage painted across his features. “No,” Katlynn whispered. “No, I didn’t.” “How could you!?” His accusations echoed behind her as she turned and sprinted back down the hallway. Why was this happening? What was happening? She stumbled through the halls in a daze, desperately trying to understand how her life had turned so quickly. Somehow, she ended up in the massive kitchen. She didn’t know how she ended up here, as she could have sworn she was just on the second floor. The sound of crackling made her glance down at her foot. Shattered glass and the upper half of a wine bottle littered the floor. She bent and picked it up by the neck. Was this what Kalli had dropped earlier? Something dark caught her attention, which was in stark contrast to the white marble and stainless steel kitchen. A shoe lay on the ground, half exposed from around the kitchen island’s corner. Numb, Katlynn slowly approached the island. Time stood still as she stared at Mikail’s body lying face down. Red liquid puddled beneath his head, crawling across the floor to settle in the cracks between marble tiles. It was impossible to tell if the liquid matted in his hair and leaking from the garish gash across the back of her son’s head was blood or from the broken bottle of wine. “Honey?” Katlynn didn’t react, not even bothering to acknowledge Robert’s presence. “Sweetheart,” His voice shook, and what part of her heart remained intact shattered. “Please, drop the bottle.” Ah, the broken bottle. And her son lay at her feet, the back of his head cracked and bleeding onto the kitchen floor. This all had to be some sick joke, and she was struck with the desire to laugh and scream. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t understand what was happening. But when she finally lifted her gaze from Mikail’s body to settle on her husband, the horror she found directed at her kept her mouth shut. What did it matter? There was nothing she could say that would convince him she was innocent. Not that she could blame him, as she’d react in the same way were their roles reversed. Something in the way she looked at him must have broken the last of Robert’s resolve. Hands up in surrender, he slowly backed out of the kitchen as though he feared a quick retreat would trigger her to attack. Just before he disappeared from her line of sight, she saw him pull his cell phone from his pocket, no doubt to call the police. Katlynn couldn’t bring herself to care. Whatever was happening here, she had to be the cause somehow. Maybe it was for the best that she was locked away. It wasn’t as if she could return to living a normal life after this, anyway. Not that she’d want to if given the chance. A wet sound, like raw chicken impacting a cutting board, came from the entryway, quickly followed by a loud thump. Katlynn watched the doorway, torn between her desire to make sure Robert was alright and remaining where she was, numb. “Robert?” She called, weak at first, before clearing her voice and calling again. Step by shaky step, she left the kitchen and emerged into the entrance hall. She had felt her heart break before, but now her very soul crumbled to nothing as she took in Robert’s prone form on the ground, a large axe embedded in his back. They didn’t even own an axe. Her hand relaxed, the broken bottle slipping from her grip and shattering against the tile. The sound bounced off the walls and marble floor, like an echo of madness doomed to repeat for eternity. ~*~ “Another one? You’ve gotta be kidding me. They need to just tear this damn thing down.” Officer Johnson hummed nonchalantly, watching Abney, his younger partner, wrap a thick chain through the gate’s iron bars and secure it with a thick padlock. The mansion sat just on the other side, standing sentinel over its forested domain. “What happened here, by the way? It’s always a family of four with a dog who buys this freaky place only to abandon it without notice.” “There was a murder a few hundred years ago or so. Apparently, the wife went nuts and killed the entire family before offed herself.” “Damn…” Abney shivered, backing away from the ancient structure as though it would strike the moment he turned his back. “How did she do it?” “She drowned the dog, pushed her youngest kid down the stairs, bashed in the oldest kid’s head with a bottle, and stuck an axe in the husband’s back. Then she hung herself.” Abney’s eyes went wide with fear. “Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s just an old story someone probably made up to keep kids from trying to sneak in. Let’s get back to the station. Kick-off is at six, and I want to make sure I get a good spot at the bar.” As Abney nodded and headed for the patrol car, Johnson stuck a large “For Sale” sign in the ground.


"I've Got a Plan." Olivia said to herself and then turned to look out the window from her seat on the train.

On the train, she had many childhood memories of trying to make the first pitch of a Pinnacle City Wolves baseball game in Den stadium. The thrill of trying to get there was the most memorable part. It was good she didn't take her car through the highway and tolls because she wanted to enjoy traveling on one to get a warm feeling of nostalgia. This nostalgia brought a smile to her face but had nothing to do with her plan.

She took trains to New York City. She brought tickets to musicals and then stayed at a hotel with a spa. She would dream of being with her ex-girlfriend Mercedes as they celebrate their accomplishments.

In those dreams, Mercedes would make fun of how Olivia would wear her Wrestling championship title and nothing else in the spa.

Olivia's Latina ex, in her dreams, was basking in the afterglow of becoming a triple crown winner in her rookie year and Most Valuable Player in the World Series.

The sex was intense, and somehow, they got in the scissors position. They screamed in orgasms so loud, but because it was in a dream, no one heard them. It was just a dream.

Her ex-girlfriend is on Olivia's favorite baseball team and will be in the stadium where she spent her childhood watching games.

Olivia went on social media and told everyone on her social media about the broken heart she had from the breakup.

She wanted to hurt Mercedes.

On the video social media post, Olivia admitted to having a one-night stand with Mercedes's teammate, Solomon King, but it was a lie.

She's gay, and he's involved but didn't mind playing along.

Mercedes broke it off because of Olivia's blood Bond she made with her high school best friend Lexis.

A Blood Bond is sacred because there's a connection to Lexis's emotions and thoughts. Her ghost hangs around until Olivia dies, so they go to the afterlife together.

Mercedes was tired of feeling like she was in a polygamous relationship.

The baseball community is angry at Olivia. They blame her for the reported conflict between Solomon and Mercedes during spring training. One week ago, the Baseball team owner and wrestling promotion CEO, Princess Victoria Godspeed, stepped in to speak to Olivia and Lillith in her office. Lillith wore top designer clothes because she expected to get the news about going over Olivia at the wrestling event, "Honor Thy Ring."

"Do you want her to go over after what she's done to your team?" Lillith said, and Olivia responded to that insult with a middle finger.

"You're still losing the match!" Victoria raises her voice and growl to made it clear to Lillith that the young Werewolf decision is final.

" I need you to get out of town for a while and lay low. I want the Wolves to be the center of attention. You will have your time at Honor Thy Ring when you win the title. Social media blackout. Do you understand Livvie?" Victoria calmly asks

 "I'm not going to sell!" Lillith yells

 "That would breach your contract, and Wolves take that personally. We're brutal about it" Victoria's threatening tone made Lillith mad that she won't be getting her way and more terrified.  "I'll leave tonight by train." Olivia told them.

"I've got a Plan." Olivia said to herself as she got off the train. She went to the parking garage to get her car and was happy it was in one piece. The outfit she changed to on the train shows skin between her shorts and Boots. Above Olivia's waist was a custom jersey with her ex-named. She hopes to run into her at a Graveyard.

She brought an expensive bouquet and went to the cemetery.

"This could go so wrong." Olivia said

"Yep." a voice comes from the passenger seat, and Lexis is there.

"I love those boots." Lexis said

"You could enter my body later and feel how warm they are from the inside." Olivia said.

"Cool. Are we waiting for Mercedes to visit her mom?" Lexis asks, and Olivia's silence spoke volumes.  	"Do you think she's over you "fucking a man?" Lexis asks.

"I was upset, and Solomon went along with the lie." Olivia told her.

"This could be a mess, but I'm here for you." Lexis said.

"You have no choice but thank you." Olivia said.

The blonde got out of the car with the flowers and began to walk the path into the graveyard. It's not too long before the blonde gets to the headstone of Maria Valenuza, Mercedes's mother.

She grew up with the family, but nothing romantic started in high school. Mercedes was in the minor league making superhuman catches, stealing bases, and driving in runs.

Olivia was the most popular babyface in the wrestling promotion. She stood in front of the grave and put down the flowers.

"Hey, Madam V. How are you? I hope it's wonderful wherever you are." Olivia put down the flowers on the grave.

"Have you been keeping up with everything? I screw up. Your daughter broke up with me, and I made it worse by overreacting. I miss Mercedes in my life, and I wish you could be there to see her opening day." Olivia knew that Mercedre's mother had kill herself.

"I almost killed myself in the spa, and If it wasn't for the dream I had. It was so vivid Mercedres and me celebrating our accomplishments. Life is worth living. Thank you for assistance that Lexis got from you." she confessed and didn't hear Mercedres standing behind her.

"I'm going to beat your older daughter, and spoiler alert, I'm going to hit her hard. After the hell she put Mecedes through growing up and constantly being toxic. She's leaving that ring bloodied." Olivia told Mercedes's mother.

"I don't think mom will care about the stiff shots." Mercedes said to her ex-girlfriend. Mercedes walked up to her, and they would face to face. Despite the awkwardness of this moment, they couldn't help to share comfort as they wrapped their arms around each other.

Mercedes inhales the perfume that Olivia is wearing.

"Are you sniffing me?" Olivia asks. Mercedes misses her so much but can't come off as too eager. She's pissed at the friction her ex has created. "I love the perfume." The Latina was honest in her answer but sad that she wasn't familiar with the scent. She's used to know what Olivia would spray around her neck.

"The new Rose fragrance from uncaged." Olivia said.

"That makes sense. Uncaged works with no-kill shelters to get cats and dogs adopted." Mercedes said.

"It's my favorite now." Olivia said.

"Not the jasmine." Mercedes was wandering. "It was dethroned for obvious reasons." Olivia said those words to show Mercedes how she was trying to move on. The Ballplayer would be convinced if she hadn't heard about her ex almost committing suicide.

"You could smell me again." Olivia jokes. The plan was working.


My dad's real work I have been working with IT for over a dozen years now. This is a story about over ten years in the past. When started studying IT related stuff in my teens, I wanted to be a hacker, as lots of other people want when they start. But it's not nearly as easy as most movies show it to be. But still I tried really hard for over two years of highschool and start computer science college. Even though I never really became a "hacker" I still picked up a lot of skills with the years. And where do you test some of those skills? At Home, at work and at college. My father is now a retired federal cop, but at the time I was "testing" my skills. I kind of snooped around in his laptop and "infected" his pendrives with stuff that would put a backdoor for me to snoop around his work computer. Let me tell you, in the country that I live in. The government IT security sucks. Going back to my father, he only ever talked about his accomplishments when it came to white collar crimes, some politicians that they arrested or when it came to stuff related to drug trafficking. He never mentioned any other sort of crime related stuff. So I was never really interested in my father's work, because I thought that he was pretty open about it One day I saw on the news a major case about trafficking of *** slaves to other countries and that the group that did that was arrested. And I recognized one of the federal agent that a camera picked up on the side, it was my my father's friend from work.Them I realized that my father would probably talk about that to us, but I was mistaken, he never brought up the subject during the week, I thought that maybe he wasn't part of that criminal case. But as I already had access to all his files, I decided to snoop around the cases that he had worked on. It was than that I discoved that the cases he talked about, were the vast minority of his work. He actually had tons of investigations on the most heinous acts that humans could possibly do. *** Slaves. Child ****. Serial killers. Profiles about some of the worst kind of criminals possible. Today I really appreciate the fact that photos on those kind of stuff were not digitalized and kep on the agents computers, that kind of evidence was only ever kept printed in some really secure cabinets. But what I was able to read already made me have nightmares for a few days at that time. I never imagined that my father and some of his colleagues worked in a division where they saw that kind of stuff constantly, and now knowing what they saw most of their years working. I have always seen my father as a kind, calm and cheerful person, and thought the same about his colleagues. A few years after most o them retired, 2 of his peers unalived themselves. And their families could never understand why, I think that they were probably haunted by what they saw for thirty years of their lives. As for my father, I can only say that I have only ever respected and loved him. And after discovering what he really did for a living, I can only pridefully say that he and his friends helped make this world a better place paying the price with their mental health.


He put on his oven mitts when he heard the beep. The steel, commercial-sized oven could cook enough for 100 people, but he only needed to feed 40. Opening the oven, he felt the heat blast his face as he looked down at the lasagna casserole. Steam rose from the wide tray of penne pasta, melted cheese, sizzling tomato sauce and hot sausage. It looked like it had burnt on the sides, but he didn’t care. These kids would eat anything. After pulling out the tray and placing it on the counter, he took off his gloves and walked over to his bag. From inside it he pulled out a clear, unmarked bottle filled with a light pink powder. The casserole would be an easy meal to make the powder disappear. He would just mix it in with the serving spoon and voilà. None of the players would need to know what they were eating. He had regretted making burgers during the first week he began feeding the team. He had to sprinkle each individual patty with the powder and make sure it was covered with the slice of cheese. That’s when he decided to start making meals that fit in large trays. He planned to continue through his rotation of shareable meals for the next few weeks, at least until after the league championship game. ************************ “Chef Bill! Chef Bill! Chef Bill!” Cody chanted along with his teammates, but not as loud as some of the hungry linemen, as the cook walked out of the kitchen holding a tray of steaming food. They had used to call him Mr. Hamlin when he taught chemistry, but ever since his accident in the lab, he was no longer allowed to teach classes. It was probably for the best. Some students were surprised Principal Webber allowed him to stay on as cook, but the principal had assured everyone there was no risk, and that Bill was a good man who deserved another chance. Cody thought the principal did it because he felt bad for Bill. Even as a teacher, he always had a hint of sadness in his eyes. Cody had heard his wife left him a few years back, and once when he was biking home he saw Bill walking toward the trailer park where his mom told him not to wander. “What’d you think of that new play?” Steve asked him. “What’s that? Cody responded, distracted. “Oh yeah, the play. I think it’s smart. If the linemen make their blocks, I’ll have no one but the safety to beat. And I can juke him out.” “Forget juking. Run over him,” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder. “Look how big you’ve gotten. You can run over anyone.” After Bill put the tray down on the table, Cody went up with Steve and the other seniors to take his serving. Then the juniors went up, followed by the underclassmen. The older players scooped the better pieces of the casserole, leaving the burnt edges for their younger teammates, but that didn’t stop anyone from wolfing down their meals. The typically loud banter from the group was replaced by the sounds of forks and chewing mouths as they scarfed down the first food they had eaten in hours. Practice always made them hungry. “All right everyone, listen up,” Coach Hunter said once he saw that most of the players had finished eating. “It’s no secret that the season didn’t start out the way we wanted. But you guys have shown serious improvement over the last few weeks, and if we win tomorrow we’ll be 4-4. We would still need to win our last three games to make the league championship, but like I always say: one week at a time. The games are not going to be won on the field. They are going to be won at practice and in the weight room. If you put in the extra effort when no one is watching, you’ll be able to celebrate with the whole school cheering from the bleachers. Get to sleep early tonight, and you’ll wake up stronger tomorrow. Team on three. One. Two. Three." “TEAM” the players chanted in unison. Then they began to throw away their plates and file out of the cafeteria. ************************* He opened the door to his mobile home, a rusted trailer not much bigger than a minivan with cinderblocks instead of wheels. The key always got stuck at first, and he had to jiggle the handle to get the door open. Once inside, Bill glanced around to make sure everything was still in its place. On the right side of the trailer was his pull-out couch and a small television set. On the left side, the kitchen countertop was lined with beakers, test tubes and a plastic shelf filled with bags containing various minerals in powdered form. Ever since he lost his job as chemistry teacher, this cramped kitchen had become his lab. Bill pulled the bags out of the shelf one by one to check how much of each mineral remained. He had only mastered the formula for the strength serum about a month earlier, but already he had depleted each of the necessary minerals significantly. He would need to make sure he had enough to last through the league championship game. As he sifted through his materials and thought about his plan, he wondered if the kids had noticed themselves growing unnaturally stronger. They probably wouldn’t think anything of it. They were going through puberty anyway, and their egos would likely attribute the growth to their work in the weight room. If the kids didn’t notice it, he worried that the parents might, or even the coaches. The team had improved and won its last three games. But the regular season wins didn’t matter to Bill. The bet he placed had been on the league championship. His bookie didn’t usually accept bets on high school sports, but he made an exception for this one. It couldn’t be on an individual game, only on the league champion at the end of the year. Irving High struggled last year and had gotten off to a slow start this year by the time Bill mastered the serum. When he went to ask about league championship odds after the fourth week, his bookie gave him 20-to-1 odds on Irving, even though there were only 10 teams in the league. He put all of the money he had been saving up — a full $5,000 — on the team. But he wasn’t betting on a bunch of high schoolers, he thought. He was betting on himself. Bill pulled one of his microwave dinners out of the freezer and began to heat it up. If he could only win this bet, he thought, he would never have to eat this crap again. The payout would be big enough that he could rent a spacious apartment with a full kitchen, and he could stock up on fresh groceries. He thought back to the meals he used to cook for Linda, before she kicked him out of the house. Suddenly, his attention was grabbed by a hard knock on the door that shook the entire trailer. “Open up, Bill. I know you’re in there.” It was Dave, the owner of the trailer park. “Be right there.” Bill shouted. He walked over to the door and opened it a crack, stopping it with his foot so Dave could see his face but not the entirety of his home. “What can I do you for, Dave?” “You know why I’m here, Bill. You’re three days late on the rent. I ought to kick you out of this park. Freeloading off all of these fine people who pay their rent on time, that’s what you’re doing.” “I know I know,” Bill gathered his thoughts. “Look, I don’t have it this month. But I’ve got some money coming in soon, and next month I’ll pay you double, plus interest. I might even have enough to leave this godforsaken trailer park.” “That’s no way to talk about a park to it’s owner, especially one who’s letting you live rent free. If you don’t have the money to me by the first of next month, plus a 5% late fee, I’ll tow your piece of shit trailer out of the park myself. You consider this a warning.” “Thanks, Dave. I’ll have the money. Don’t you worry.” ***************** “FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!” The chorus of teammates chanting together echoed off the weight room’s concrete ceiling as Cody completed his set on the squat machine. He slammed the bar back into place on the rack and then walked away from the machine, flexing his arms as his teammates cheered him. He had just done 10 reps of 405. Last week, he could only do six reps at that weight, and the week before, just two. “Dude, you’re killing it,” Steve said to Cody as he rejoined his group of friends. “Since when can you squat that much?” “Since this month, I guess.” Cody grabbed his legs to feel his quad muscles. They had grown larger and more firm in the last few weeks, he thought, just like his arms. “But I’m not the only one hitting a new max. Look at Frankie.” The boys looked over as Frankie, a stout junior who played center, put another plate on each side of the squat rack. A crowd gathered around him. “He’s about to squat 495. Holy shit.” Cody looked at Steve with his eyebrows raised as Frankie strutted around to the front of the squat rack. He bent his knees as he pulled his head under, placed his hands evenly on the bar, pushed it up with his shoulders and began to squat. The mob of teammates around him cheered even louder as Frankie reached his sixth rep. Veins bulged out of the boy’s forehead as he forced up a seventh. Cody was surprised he made it that far and his jaw dropped as he saw Frankie going down for one more. The voices urging him on grew louder and louder, screaming his name as Frankie bent his knees to his lowest point. “AAAHHH” Frankie shouted in pain as he collapsed onto the ground, the weights falling out of his hands and slamming onto the safety bars. His teammates’ cheering stopped suddenly as they crowded around him asking if he was all right. Frankie cursed as he held his knee. “Get the trainer! NOW!” ******************* Three weeks later, Cody could barely fit into his clothing. His skin-tight compression shorts felt like they might rip as he pulled them on and began to get dressed for the big game. “You’re looking huge, kid.” His coach patted on the back of his muscular shoulders. “How do you feel?” “Fine. I mean, good. I’m ready to go.” “You better be. This is the biggest game of your life, son.” He was usually one of the first to start getting ready, but his teammates had arrived early today. They each sat in front of their lockers, headphones on and not talking to each other as they went through their early preparation for the game. All except Frankie. He sat on a bench in jeans and his varsity jacket, with his two crutches leaned up against the wall next to him. He hadn’t played since the accident. As he looked around at his teammates, Cody wondered if they felt as anxious as he did. He always felt a little nervous before games, but this one felt different. It was the league championship game, and he felt like all the pressure was on him. His team’s winning streak had come from Cody running over people with a strength he never had before. He used to be a quick running back and would cut in between the tacklers, but now as he grew stronger and more aggressive, Cody ran straight through and over the defenders. As he thought about some of his harder hits, he felt not pride but fear. He didn’t feel like himself anymore. He didn’t know what his body was capable of doing. Even if his teammates were as anxious as he was, he knew none of them would say a word about it. They would nod their heads to their own pump-up music, slap each other on the ass, shout each other’s names and describe just how hard they intended to hit the opposing players. “You good, man?” Steve said as he sat down on the bench next to Cody. “Yeah I’m good. It just feels weird. I never thought we’d make it this far.” “It’s been a crazy run, and it’s all because of you, bro.” Steve patted him on the back. “You gonna run over some more losers today?” “You know it.” The boys pounded knuckles as Steve walked away from Cody’s locker. ******************************* “You’re in for a good one today, folks,” the announcer’s voice boomed from the press box. “We’ve got defending champion Monroe High School looking to hold onto their crown against the comeback kids at Irving High. After an 0-4 start to the season, Irving has won a miraculous seven straight games, vaulting them into the league championship.” The press box sat atop the metal bleachers, and next to the right side of the bleachers stood Bill Hamlin. Standing alone with his arms crossed and sunglasses on, he scanned the packed crowed of excited faces. He saw students and parents he recognized, and just as his focus reached the side gate, he saw the one person he hoped wouldn’t make it. His bookie. The man in the leather jacket nodded at Bill and began to walk toward him. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans as the man approached. “Tony, how you doing?” Bill said with fake friendliness in his voice as he reached out to shake his bookie’s hand. “I didn’t know you were coming to the game.” “After that bet you placed, how could I miss it?” Tony said. “Say, how’d you know those Irving kids were gonna turn it around?” Bill looked around, scared that someone might overhear their conversation. But a steady roar came from the crowd of talking fans, and Tony had gotten close enough that he could practically whisper. “No reason. Just a hunch.” “A hunch, right. Well look, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Tony lowered his voice. "I’ll let you hedge your bet. Put some money down on Monroe. That way no matter who wins, you win something. And you’re not at risk of losing everything.” He considered the offer. If he hedged his bet, then either way he could win enough to pay the rent he owed. But if he won the whole thing, as he had planned from the beginning, he could start over. He could move into a nice apartment where he could invite people over and cook for them. He would just need Irving to win. Looking over at the field, he saw the team lined up to stretch. Their muscles bulged out of their jerseys as they reached down to touch their toes. They were stronger than the other team. He knew it. He had made it so. “No thanks, Tony. I’m all in on Irving.” **************** “That’s a timeout by Irving High. We’ve got a close one here folks. It’s 24-20, Monroe on top, 20 seconds left in the game. Irving has the ball at their own 35 yard line. They need a touchdown or it’s all over.” Cody could hear the announcer as he jogged toward the sideline where the team huddled around the coach. He tried to slow his breathing, but it had been a long game, and he was exhausted. Someone tossed him a water bottle and he squirted it into his mouth as he tried to hear what his coach was saying. The noise from the crowd made it difficult. “Can you here me Cody?” “Yes. Yes Coach.” “I said we’re calling your play! 28 Toss Crack. Take it to the outside, the blockers will clear the way, and you’ll only have one man between you and the end zone. You got it?” “I got it, coach.” The whistle blew and they ran back onto the field, lining up in formation. Cody stood behind the quarterback with his hands on his bent knees. He snuck a quick peek over to the right side of the field to see where the defenders lined up. “Red 28! Red 28! Set! Hike!” The quarterback received the snap and tossed it backward to Cody, who sprinted to his right. His blockers pulled out in front of him as he looked to turn up field. The linemen made their blocks with ease, sending the defenders falling backwards as Cody burst through the gap. When he emerged, he saw only the safety between him and the end zone. He barreled toward the safety and saw his eyes widen as he approached. Cody thought about trying to run him over but decided against it. This was his play. He was going to do it his way. He took a firm step to the right and saw the safety plant his foot, then he shifted all of his weight in the opposite direction and exploded to the left. The safety fell backwards as he tried to recover and Cody danced into the end zone, untouched. The crowd erupted as Cody turned around, threw the ball into the air, let out his loudest scream and raised his arms to embrace his jumping teammates. Next to the bleachers, Bill Hamlin pumped his fists and shouted: “YES! We did it!” Tony, without saying a word, handed Bill a thick envelope and walked away. Bill slipped it into his jacket and turned to exit the stadium. As he walked to his car, he felt euphoria. He couldn’t believe how easy it been. He could now escape from the trailer park and rent a fancy apartment. But then a thought occurred to him: what if he could buy one? What if this scheme could work on another level with even higher stakes, where he could win even more money? He pulled out his phone and began to type into the search engine: “college football team cook jobs.