(this is my first attempt at a story, I'd love some criticism and thoughts thanks) I'm a simple man, just a New Yorker, like everyone else. I was born In the Bronx and I will probably die in the Bronx. Never been outside of the city, except for once. I was in an inner city youth program and they took us to New Jersey on a camping trip, if you can call it that. We had a picnic in a park. I was lucky, I was able to see my 18th birthday. Many of my friends did not. My best friend Nick, he met his maker overdosing one night, he was only 16. He died right there next to me but I was too messed up to even do anything about it. After that, I got clean. Well, I started getting clean. I just got my 30 year chip about 6 months ago, I'm 50 now. I've been driving cabs around the city for 25 years. I like the job, it pays good enough and I get to see a lot of the city and interesting people. When you've been driving as long as I have, you get to know how to read people. I can pretty much tell you what a person is up to as soon as they open the cab door. A man in a nice suit jacket going to Manhattan is probably businessman, but the same man going to the Bronx is probably looking to get high. I don't judge though, it's not my place. I simply get people from point A to point B. The night was like any other, I got to the taxi depot around 7:30pm, my shift started at 8:00pm. A tuna fish sandwich in one hand, my timesheet in the other. I've been trying to work some overtime lately so I'm staying out a little later. I'm saving up for one of those new fancy flat screens. I heard you can see the sweat coming off Vinny Testaverde’s face. When I got there, my boss was already mad. Who knows at what. All I know, is it wasn't me and I wasn't about to ask. I handed him the time sheet and grabbed the keys out of the lock box, which was never locked. We're supposed to do an inspection of the cab. You know, check the oil, tire pressure, and stuff like that. Over the years, it turned into more of a five second glance. Check the boxes and go! About four hours had passed at this point, the clock was knocking on 11:30pm. I only had half the sandwich left with around three hours of driving remaining. I didn't like working night shift, but you couldn't beat the money and the roads were clear. Well, as clear as New York roads get. There is a reason they call us the city that never sleeps. The other thing about the night shift is people seem to keep to themselves. No one talks to me and I sure wasn't about to talk to them. All I needed was an address and a couple bucks and that was good enough for me. As I reached down to grab the last half of the tuna sandwich, which I knew I'd be regretting later, I saw a man on the sidewalk trying to call. This was a little odd, because I swear a second ago he wasn't there. But, you know how New York is, everywhere you look there's a nook or cranny to hide in or even sleep in. As I got up on him, my lights shined up onto his face or rather lack of. Where I expected to see some old ragged man, all I saw was darkness. Again, being from New York, this wasn't the weirdest thing I've ever seen. I figured it was just some sort of mask. Didn’t matter anyway, he tried anything funny, I had a 45 next to me. You aren’t supposed to carry in the cabs, but everyone did. I hadn't had trouble in a long time. Kind of dumb to rob a cab. For one, there's cameras and for another, the money goes in the box. Even I can't get it out. So, unless he was dying for a half-eaten tuna sandwich and the $3 in change I had in my left pocket, he wasn't going to get anything else. I pulled up, the man got in the car and sat down heavily. That was unexpected as he seemed to be a slender man almost unhealthily skinny. He wore some sort of black hoodie which I could not see where it began or ended. I waited for a few seconds figuring he would tell me the address, but it was just silent. This is not unusual as some people needed me to ask; however, most New Yorkers knew the routine. I went to turn around, expecting to see some young man in a black mask, but as I looked into his face there was nothingness. Not black, just a lack of substance, as though no light within it would ever escape, if there was any at all. I felt if I stared long enough, I would be pulled in. This made me shudder to my bones. I quickly regained my composure, thinking it was surely some sort of magic trick for I did not take heed into the supernatural. I was raised by my grandmother since I was 11, my father left when I was young. I don’t remember him. My mother died of cancer when I was 10. I was young enough not to understand, but old enough to remember. My grandmother was a very devout Catholic and she tried her best to get me to believe. I went to church every Sunday and said my prayers. Did communion, but knew there was nothing to it. If there was any God out there, he would not have taken my mother away. She had suffered all the way to the end. She cried out in pain, but she never cried out against God. Never wavering from her faith, I will give her that. Sadly, the God she prayed to did not save her. I turned quickly back around so I would not have to stare into the void for any longer. I asked for an address and he gave it. When he said the address, I was somehow not surprised. It still caught me off guard as the address he gave wasn't really an address, at least as far as the Post Office was concerned. It was just another drug den under a bridge. The exact same bridge where my childhood friend died next to me, but I was too baked out of my mind to do anything about it. All my years driving, I don't recall taking anyone here. The people who went there didn't have enough money for a cab or if they did, they sure weren't spending it on a cab. I take people where they want to go, so I started driving. It was an awkward drive. I cannot say why as I’ve driven people in silence hundreds of times, I really preferred it. It wasn't like driving with a complete stranger though, I almost got the sense that the man knew me and I knew him on some sort of deep level. I cannot tell you where, from or how. We pulled up to the bridge and my lights hit the few tents scattered around. At this point, I assumed the man was going to spend the night here, probably shoot up and call for a cab in the morning, if he was able to. Instead, he put his hand on my shoulder giving me a chilling feeling, but somehow a comforting feeling too. He said to me in a raspy voice, almost like he had been hitting two packs a day for most his life, to wait there. I was hesitant to reply, but I nodded my head, which seemed to suffice. He got out of the car and shut the door behind him. I turned around to see where he was going, just hoping that I would not have to drag him back into the car. As I peered through the glass divider in the cab, I saw him kneeling next to someone who would had obviously been busy that night. It looked like he had gotten a bad batch of something as his face was all contorted. The man reached out and simply grazed his arm. This gesture was as light as a fallen leaf on an autumn morning, but as powerful as a prairie fire whipping across the plains. As soon as he did this, the man grew limp, his face relaxed as if a great weight was lifted off his shoulders. This took me aback, what did this man do? He barely touched him! The man stayed there for a moment almost like he was grieving. I was going to drive away. I did not want that fate for me! Before I could even get the car in gear, the man was in my backseat, once again. This time, he looked as if he had a great weight on his shoulders. It was like what he had taken from the man had now been heaved on his soul. I decided my best option was not to fight this man. Obviously, if he was powerful enough to kill a man with just a touch, he was not going threatened by any bullet. And, honestly, I couldn't even remember if the gun was loaded. It had been so long since I had used it. I started driving, to where, I do not know. He asked me something which I will never forget. Who do you think I am? At first, I didn't know what to say, but like a rushing wave, it all came to. I think you are death here to reap the souls of mortals. Here to take vengeance on the weak and to kill all that is good. He simply shrugged and said, maybe you’re right. Maybe, some part of me is evil. Maybe, I am out here to destroy all that is good. But, why do people blame me for their loved one’s passing? I know you do. Remember the night your mom finally met her Maker? I was there. You blame me. You also blame me for when your best friend finally caught a bad batch, but you know deep down it wasn’t my fault. I never killed anyone, I have simply let them go. I have released them from their mortal being and let them move on to their afterlife. I do not cause people to get sick. I do not cause people to use drugs. I do not cause people to kill one another. It’s your own doing, but you all like to blame me because it is easier. I get it. It is easier to blame some unknown evil entity for all the world’s problems than it is to simply blame yourself. I am not here to judge. I do not decide where you go or when you die. I am simply here to let you go. To let the suffering end and to let you join the void. At this point, I had no words to say. I did not want to believe what he had told me, but deep down, I knew his words were true. They were true my whole life and it was easier for me to blame God for the death of my mother and the death of my friend, even though they were not His fault. My friend and I were stupid and I just somehow got lucky. My mother got sick, no one could have done anything. Then I realized if they had not died, they would have continued suffering going down the same path until there was nothing but pain and agony. Death is not a consequence of our actions, but a mercy to release us from the outcome of our wicked ways. For if we never died, if we never moved on, we would continue down a dark path with no return. I turned around to tell the man of my realization, hoping that he might spare me or maybe I was hoping he would take me, for this I cannot be sure. All I know, is when I turned around, my cab was empty. I wasn't even driving. I was still in the same spot where I had originally seen the man. As I looked up over the hood of the car, I saw some young teenage kid in a black hoodie with a normal face. When he saw me, he just turned and ran away back into the void.


Four minutes, fifty-two seconds. That’s how much time I have left. Last night, a timer telling me I was going to die in twenty four hours appeared, and started counting down the seconds. I was scared, of course I was. But I knew what I had to do, I started writing down everything. Once I’m gone the words I’ve written will be the only thing keeping the idea of me alive. So I wrote it all down. Goodbyes to everyone I knew. What I did, what I didn’t, what I wanted to do. I wrote who I love, who I hated and who I didn’t want to lose. All of my regrets and all of my successes filling pages, and pages. I think I wrote 192 pages, in a span of 18 hours. I then wanted to spend some time with the people that meant most to me, I spent a total of three hours with my family. I never told them what was going to happen to me. I didn’t want them to worry. I always had a plan, always had an answer. I want to use my last moments to put my final plan into action. I need to have an answer, I need to be in control of how it all ends. To tell the truth, that's why I didn’t tell my folks, because I can’t control how they react. I can perfectly craft a sentence, an answer, with the written word. I just want to make the best choice with the time I have left. Then there was them. That person that meant more to me than anything else. The moment they came into my life, a smile shone out of me. They could wrangle the truth out of me with just a chuckle. They were the only person I told, I couldn’t lie to them. I came to the door at the dead of night and explained it. God, they probably thought I was insane, I would have thought that. But for whatever reason they listened to me. They listened to my insane ramblings and believed me, and said they’d do whatever I need. I asked them to come out onto the soccer field with me. I told them I wanted to see the stars for one last time. We laid and laid on the grass, and still are. “Do you see that star?” I point out to them. “Yeah, what about it?” They say, “It’s pretty, also it’s kinda bright.” “That’s the north star. People since far back before us or our grandparents used it to navigate. It shines the brightest in the sky don’t you agree? You want to know what I love about it though? That there were people, tens of thousands of years ago looked at that star and thought the same thing you just thought. They thought it was pretty.” “We aren’t all that different from them huh?” They questioned. “I’d argue that we aren’t different at all from the first humans. It’s funny, it’s the end for me soon and I’m here talking about the beginning.” “Are you scared?” They sighed, “I know I would be, how can you say all this without freaking out.” “I’m not scared.” I ponder for a moment, “I feel at peace almost.” “Do you believe in the afterlife?” “No, I don’t really.” “Then how aren’t you scared?” “I don’t know.” I chuckle, “I really don’t.” I look at the timer, seven seconds. It’s funny, in my last moments I didn’t know the answer.


The world sucks, and that hasn't much changed since everything's changed. Used to be, you could get through the toughest of times with good friends. Hell, it often felt like clichéd slogans could heal your bloodiest heart break if it was given by the right person. It's why we even had friends. To get brushed off after being shoved to the ground. If only mine were still here. They vanished alongside the majority of the world. Which, in all honesty, makes my problems seem a lot less significant. Yeah love hurts, but so does the incinerating blast released at the drop of an atom bomb. That happened too quickly for grief. Flash, bang, alakazam. There was doom out of an orange colored sky. I’m not sure why, but mushroom clouds were always a fascinating sight to me. They're hopelessly breathtaking, and promise unrelenting change. A promise it very well kept. In an instant cities were flattened, and our homely blue dot was turned into a one size fits all graveyard. The resting place for friends of a better time, the one I never loved, and my car I just paid off. A wasteland, an authentic fresh start. With nothing left to dredge up what's no longer living. Since the grass is riddled with radiation, it won't remind me of the picnic where I had a wine bottle thrown at my head. As I've heard many times before, history's written by the victor. My name isn't Victor, but I am one of the few poor souls left breathing. So, here's the history. Curiosity gave the cat a death ray, and he ended up killing the rest of his kind in a schlong swinging contest. Whatever, if you weren't lucky enough to have a million dollar survivalist motel, you aren't here to combat me. And that sequence of events sounds about right in my head. A self absorbed society ushering in the apocalypse through an obsession with their own demise. Which, honestly, I can't much hate them for. The world might, but I can't. Inventing a nuclear bomb is without a doubt destructive, but at least the madman found some purpose. I haven't done anything with this miserable life of mine. I'm patient, probably too patient. With no fear of missing out, but a crippling fear of screwing up. Only whatever God would let this happen knows the opportunities I've missed. Him, and the disappointment resting on my darling's face as I drove away last. I didn't see it at the time, but somewhere in those worried eyes I could tell she knew I wouldn't see them again. I hate it, but mainly for her. Knowledge of what hasn't happened always troubled that little head. She never committed, and I think it's because she knew I wouldn't either. Only she had to wait for a bomb siren to understand, for reality to set in. That I couldn't save her. Hell, I couldn't even save myself. I'm here, safe and alone below the scorched earth. Damned by my luck, and my dad's bank account. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I'd been told countless times that I was wrong, that I already saved her. Well, it wasn't enough. I know I could've handled those final moments differently. Things I could've said, a kiss I could've savored, and not to mention a locket I could've taken. One she desperately wanted me to have. Only I insisted she hold on to it. That I'd get it next time I saw her. I want to believe I didn't knowingly leave her to be swallowed up by a shock wave. My father argued otherwise. That somewhere deep down I knew I wouldn't see her, or that locket again. His drunken, "you let her die," screams were pretty convincing. Though it also struck me as oddly defensive, like his mirror's heard the same tirade. I wouldn't be surprised, however. It could very well be why I was offered her golden locket in the first place. To slyly confirm I wouldn't take it, even if she asked. Making me look spineless without even saying a word. Left to hold that scratched up golden heart, moments after I'd gone, knowing I didn't deserve it. All the while, secretly hoping I'd figure it out. That I'd finally commit. According to my dad, I never will. That I'll always be nothing more than what he's not. Which might be why I'm still alive. Salivating at the future. While he lies at my feet, decaying in the past. Sprawled out, and white as a ghost. Now, there's no simple explanation here. Other than the one that explains how the blade I put in his chest caused him to bleed out. Why the blade was put there, is where things get complicated. He always said I needed to become my own man, and get my own hold on life. Well there's no more law and order, so I guess this is my bunker now. The funny thing is, he was right. I let her die, I'm the sum of my father's mistakes, and I've never fully committed to anything. That all ends here. As someone who died off with the old world. Incomplete, and insufficient. Leaving me to care for his baggage, and lift his debt. Not put off, but ignited by the past shortcomings. With a flame reborn in the rubble of my mind, from the blood seeping out my father's chest. Slowly forming into what I always knew I'd find. A crimson puddle leaving the worst of who I was, in the shape of a heart. A bloody heart. No different from the one she desperately wanted me to have.


There was a man who could not see any beauty in the world. No matter what spectacle he had seen, he only saw sadness, anger, despair, and disappointment. He would go around, telling others of how there was no true beauty in the world, only the tricks we played on ourselves, hoping to hold on to some form of hope that our world wasn’t in ruins already. No matter what he saw, there was no beauty. He witnessed sunset and sunrise, but only saw the dread people faced from having to wake up to the stresses they would experience throughout the night. Deer would run past him as he travelled, though he could only see the deer becoming someone else’s dinner. Perhaps, the worst case of this was when he saw his child born, he could only see the pain they would experience after losing their parents, not the joyous moments of birthdays, or the making of a new friend. No, those were only distractions from the universe, trying to hide us from the truth. As the man went on, spreading his word, he ran into a man adamant about telling him that beauty existed in everything, he just needed to try harder. The man who saw no beauty was used to this, he had many tell him the same thing, but this man assured him, he was different than the rest. “I have walked the land. I’ve seen nearly everything there is to see on this world, and I assure you, there was not a moment I could not find any beauty. Come with me, I’m sure I can show you *something* beautiful. Perhaps that will help open your eyes to a world around you that you’re missing out on!” And so, the man who saw no beauty went with the man who had walked the land, where they came upon a river. “Look closely. See all the fish swimming around? How the stream flows in that direction for as far as we can see, leading to who knows where. The animals who come to this river to drink find peace here. It’s very likely there was a civilization that was started here because of this river,” said the man who had walked the land. “Yes, I can see the fish swimming, how the river seems endless, and how these animals come here to survive. It is likely there was a civilization formed here as well,” the man who saw no beauty spoke, though it was with a tone of sorrow. “Yes!” the man who had walked the land exclaimed in excitement, “Now do you see the beauty?” “I see that these fish will die, possibly from being hunted by a predator, or pulled out by some careless fisher and left to suffocate. And though it may seem the stream goes on I know it has to stop at some point. It also may be an inconvenience for those who live nearby, or perhaps may have ruined the fauna that was once in its path. The civilization that might’ve been here is long gone, with nothing to show for it, save for bones buried beneath the earth. There is no beauty here, only eventual death, like all things in nature.” The man who had walked the land gave frowned at the man who saw no beauty and tried another place. Though this man tore apart this place as well. It continued on like this for some time, until the man who had walked the land had an epiphany. “If I can’t prove to you there is beauty in everything, I know someone who can. Come with me, one last time. I promise it won’t be a waste!” The man who saw no beauty only sighed and gestured for his acquaintance to lead the way. After walking for what must have been days, they finally came upon a lone tent in a valley. “Sir, I brought someone who claims to see no beauty! Despite my best efforts, I cannot get him to see all that life has to offer. Please, help this poor man understand. He seems to be so sad and I believe only you can help him! *Please!*” spoke the man who walked the land, to another man staring at the sky, a paper in hand, pencil in the other. The man set the pencil and paper down and turned to look at the man who saw no beauty, inspecting him, circling around him, and mumbling to himself every so often. “While I commend you for your efforts, I fear I cannot help those who do not want to be helped, no more than you or anyone else. He may leave,” the man said, then immediately went back to looking at the sky, seeming to study the clouds. “But sir! You’ve walked among the stars, you’ve not just seen the world, you’ve seen the universe and what it has to offer! Surely there must be something you can do!” The man who walked among the stars grunted, then turned to the man who saw no beauty. “There is one thing I can do. I can give you advice, if you wish to hear it.” The man who saw no beauty shrugged and said, “Why not? Though there’s nothing you can say that will change how I see the world, in its *purest* form.” The man who walked among the stars smiled briefly, nodding his head, then spoke, “You actively avoid beauty. You don’t lack a vision for it, far from it. You see it. Then ignore it.” He spoke with anger and disdain. “There is beauty in everything, but because you can’t see any *inside* of yourself, you refuse to recognize the beauty around you.” The man who walked the land looked upon him in awe, having never heard his mentor speak quite this way before. “Sir, perhaps you’re being a bit harsh,” said the man who walked the land. He looked over at the man who saw no beauty, who was silent, only staring at the man scolding him. Though it would be more accurate to say he was looking *through* the man scolding him, almost as if he knew this all already. “I’m far from being too harsh my apprentice. This man is going down a dangerous path. He will do anything to convince those around him that there’s no beauty in *anything*. If he can’t find a lack of beauty in something, he’ll make a lack of it. He’d set ruin to the universe just to prove his point.” He pointed at the man who saw no beauty, “If you don’t change, I fear for the universe. There is beauty in you somewhere, but I can’t see it anymore than you can. So instead of destroying it, make some.” He paused, but only briefly, “While there is a beauty in destruction, your destruction will only lead to despair. And when you look at yourself, you’ll not see a happier man, no, you’ll see a man who’s broken and wasted away. Now get out of my sight.” The man who saw no beauty was dejected. He spoke no words but followed the order and left. The man who had walked among the stars saw no beauty in him either, and somehow, he had managed to find beauty in even the most destructive forces of the universe.


\_\_\_\_\_\_The middle-eastern sand, unlike the one found on St. Petersburg's golden shore, feels like dust and rust; It coated the desert-camouflaged chassis of our BTRs and stuck to our uniforms and visors, making it very uncomfortable to move around and sweat beneath the blinding February sun.  *It wasn't a bad assignment.*  \_\_\_\_\_\_The children from a nearby village would often come to us, to trade their hand-made trinkets and fresh tea for some of our MREs and candy. I've lost count on how many bracelets I brought back each day...a dozen, perhaps? They were done by a small and beautiful girl with sleek and long black hair that reached to her waist, whose entrancing emerald eyes made you feel naked ─ as if she could stare directly at your soul. I never asked her name, but often called her "*Veselaya*" in my mind since she would irradiate child-like innocence and an endless sense of wonder for the strange men in their metal beasts. She wasn't shy, unlike some of the other young children, despite being around 7 or 8, she would ask us a million questions without stopping to breathe: "Where are you from? Why do you wear glass on your eyes? What is that on your head? Do you have any chocolate...?" I couldn't answer with my limited arabic, afterall I only knew how to say "Cigarette?" and "Stop or die", but I could understand her very well. \_\_\_\_\_\_Halfway through the month, yet again under the scorching sun waiting for an allied unit to pass through, we patrolled around our BTRs’ defensive positions near the village when I looked at my watch, it’s cracked surface showed the third hour of the afternoon, we began to wait for the *deti* to arrive. For the past two or three weeks, they would visit us, eager to show us what goods they had on their tiny hands, what shiny piece of metal had they scavenged from the nearby ruins or what colorful drawing they had made ─after countless days doing nothing but mindless training, paperwork, repairs and waiting around for orders; this was *the* most awaited moment of the day. \_\_\_\_\_\_The Syrian veteran troops alongside us, despite being cooperative and decent fighters, even though they were under command of a police captain, often chose not to look at them, deploying forced smiles and imaginary urgent tasks to attend to rather than being near them. I know why. They often talked about rebuilding their homes and reuniting with their loved ones, the peak of their aspirations was surprisingly ...known to me ─ they wanted no more than to return home, sit in front of the TV, watch football and drink tea.  *I understood them, to a lesser degree, sure, but I did nonetheless.*  \_\_\_\_\_\_*Veselaya* wasn’t amongst the few dozen *deti* that were showing us their merchandise. No, she was far behind them, at the edge of the village. Even at 300 metres, I could see a slight glimmer on her emerald eyes, she was quietly sobbing. Holding a shoebox. I ordered my cousin to check on her through the scope of his rifle, feeling a knot being tied around my neck. She was *clutching* the shoebox. Strands of her black hair stuck to the tears that descended her bruised cheeks; then she began to walk towards us. Our Captain ordered us to raise our rifles and the Syrian troops began to shout at the children upon seeing her, ordering them to get behind our armor. ***Amidst an open field of desert soil*** ***A small frightened child held on*** ***To a small shoebox with a crying soul*** ***Quietly begging the strange men from distant lands*** ***To protect her from the evil old men that stood behind*** \_\_\_\_\_\_I shouted at her, over and over, the only phrase I knew in her tongue with nothing but fear and begged to God. \_\_\_\_\_\_My cousin trained his sights onto her chest, so did all the men around me, but she kept on walking through the dust-like sand, leaving a trail of tears and hopeless fear. ***I have always been a good soldat, but that day I cried.*** ***I dropped my rifle and broke through the defensive line,*** ***my vision blurred by a primal need to save the young.*** ***I saw no colors and felt no more*** ***For her I felt nothing but love*** \_\_\_\_\_\_I threw the shoebox up in the air behind me and threw my entire self onto her as the wires strapped to her chest pulled the pins on the hidden grenades. ***I held my breath and watched as my visor drowned,*** ***feeling lost in her emerald eyes.


Julia lay still in my arms. The gentle rise and fall of her chest ceased an eternity ago but I still held her. Cradling her like an infant, she looked so peaceful. Her limp body so delicate and as light as a feather. I was afraid that if I let go, she would be carried away by the gentle stream flowing around us. My world was in ruins. Piles of sodden debris lay around us, stacked higher than the houses they were once part of. Wooden walls had cracked and splintered by the unrelenting power of a sudden flood, collapsing houses in on themselves. The swollen river had burst its banks sending forth violent streams that snaked between the thinly scattered islands of detritus, tearing up the soil and marring the surrounding landscape. Corpses choked the river, clouding its crystal waters with scarlet streaks. Little was left but murky pools that drowned the country as far as the eye could see. Everything was lost. The grey firmament above opened to allow a single slender beam of light to trickle down from the heavens and caress Julia’s pale cheek. The soft glow brought a shade of warmth to her cooling flesh. I couldn’t believe my baby was gone. I was holding her when she first came into this world, and I was holding her when she left it. Seeing the light in my daughter’s eyes slowly ebb away was a cruelty no parent should ever need endure. Dappled rays played across her wet skin, tracing their way between droplets until finally coming to rest upon her amulet. A small thing wrought of copper and iron but beautifully inlaid with intricate tracings of gold. An amulet dedicated to our God, dedicated to You. We prayed diligently and did everything the Wise Ones told us to do to appease you. Not a single prayer was skipped, or offering missed, or ritual withheld, or any of your commands questioned or denied. We devoted ourselves in our entirety to you. And yet death and destruction are what we were offered in return. Does that seem fair to you? Not to me. I won’t pretend I know anything of the machinations of the divine for I am no priest and but a lowly mortal, but we clearly defied you otherwise why would this have happened? Why did the rains we so desperately needed and begged for continue well past the seasons end? Why did the river become so swollen? Why did the banks burst to release watery wrath upon us? Why would You allow this to happen to us? To me? But You didn’t let death take me like everyone else. You spared me. You may think you saved me, but you have done quite the opposite. I have been left with nothing but misery and sorrow. You kept me alive and took that which I love most in this world. There must be a reason for this, to keep me alive and no others. Whatever the reason, I will have no part in it. I once harboured the most fervent love and devotion for you. We all did. A powerful all-consuming love drove us blindly into your arms, our faith in your wisdom and benevolence held us tightly in your embrace. We thought we were safe. Misplaced were our feelings when our judgements were so clouded by deceit. Now, in loves place, I harbour something else. Something stronger. Hate. It feels wrong to hate you, but I can’t help it. It’s not that I can’t stop, it’s that I don’t want to. You deserve my hate for what you did. It is true you are a God and I am a mortal, and that most would consider me ungrateful and foolish for hating one so powerful and wise, yet I still do. You think despite taking all that I love that I should still revere you, that I should still worship you, that I should fill the void in my heart with the love of my creator because that is all the love I will ever need? No. You are sorely mistaken. You have forsaken me, abandoned me in this harsh world, and taken everything from me. I shall do the same to you. They say you die not only with the passing of your last breath but that you die a second time when your name is uttered in this world for the last time. I have not the power to invoke a physical death upon a deity such as yourself, but I can starve you of the attention you so desperately desire, of the love and worship you draw strength from. I cannot kill the unkillable, but I can make you wish you were able to die. Hence forth I, your last living breathing son, renounce you as my God and Father, and cast you out of my heart into the blackness of the void in which you have left me. Your religion died with the people who drowned for I will take it no further. I won’t even grant you the courtesy of speaking your name one last time, that too died upon the lips of someone lost to your wrath. In killing Julia, you have killed yourself. I hope it was worth it. Now we both are alone.


Cheryl is always bossing me around. She thinks that just because she died first makes her in charge around here, but she forgot one little fact. I am the matriarch in this house. Oh yes, I forgot to mention, I’m a ghost, a specter, a phantasm, an apparition, honestly, whatever floats your boat. You want to know how I got here? Well, I’m going to make this nice and brief because no one wants to linger on a sob story, especially me. I am just getting over it. So, here’s the long and short of it. I got stage 4 breast cancer when my youngest was just a year and half. I was given all the hope in the world- “Hannah, you are so young and strong”… “You have too much to live for”… “You’ll kick cancer’s butt”- but, yet, here I am, haunting my family. Didn’t beat cancer’s butt. It beat me up for a year and a half before it took me out. Yes, that first year was hard. Not going to relive that. The kids were a mess. Jay, my loving husband, was beside himself. And let’s not forget about me. I absolutely grieved for myself. I was missing out on everything. But, it’s been over a year now, and we are all adjusting to a new normal. Come to find out, you get to haunt the place where you died. Which is really cool since I finally get to be a stay-at-home mom, in the ghostly sense. Super pumped we went with the home death thing rather than the hospital. Could you imagine the crowds there? That’s how I met Cheryl, the know-it-all ghost herself. I mean she has been helpful, giving me tips about adjusting to ghost life and all, but if I was being honest, I wish I could have convinced Jay to move into a new development. Could have saved me from having to share my haunted home. Cheryl also passed on here, but she was alone and elderly. And don’t even get me started on Crazy John haunting that sprawling oak tree out back. I swear, he has never once smiled at me. But his presence does explain the kid’s hesitation with the tree house we built. I have surprisingly begun to enjoy being a stay-at-home mom ghost. My days look a little different though. Cheryl explained to me that ghosts have a reverse circadian rhythm due to the spectral goo coursing through our ethereal bodies which, in layman’s terms, means we wake up as night descends and feel sleepy during the day. Just like all moms though, I have a job to do. So, I force my tired self out of bed when Jay and the kids come home. I’ve even developed a sort of schedule that I think is working for all of us. First thing I do is play with 4-year-old Jonah. The surprising thing is that young kids can totally see ghosts and interact with them. Cheryl told me that her and my now 8-year-old Reilly used to have vivid conversations and even play dolls together. That does explain Reilly’s phase of calling all elderly women “Sherry.” But, I digress, Jonah and I mostly play with trains and cars. I ask him about Daddy and school and his siblings. Unfortunately, he isn’t a big talker. Most information I have to glean from eavesdropping. Who would have thought that Jay could be such a talker, especially to his mother, who is at my house at least twice a week folding the laundry all wrong and bringing over gluten-free desserts that end up in the trash. After my little playtime with Jonah, it’s usually dinnertime. They are all so considerate and save me a seat at the table. Dinner is both the high and low point of my day. It’s great because I can catch up on how everyone is doing in school and in sports. Did you know that Cole, my 15-year-old, made JV basketball this year? Even more shocking is he has his first girlfriend, a petite little blonde thing. Doesn’t resemble me at all. Not sure how keen I am on that whole development. Jay has both girls, 12-year-old Tatum and Reilly, seeing a therapist. Not super happy about that either, and all because the girls say they keep seeing me in their dreams and hearing my voice at night. Of course, they do! I visit them regularly. The dimwitted therapist says it’s because they haven’t accepted my death and other nonsense. I’ve been trying to convince Jay to pull them out of therapy, but he just drowns me out every night with some nighttime cold medicine. The interesting thing about this though is Cole because I talk to him all the time and visit him in his dreams, and I know he is listening. I mean, how else would he remember to do his laundry the night before the big game? But that Cole never says a word about it. I knew he was the smart one, just like his mother. The problem with dinner is what is actually served. Jay, love him as I do, is a hapless cook. I knew that when I married him, but I didn’t intend to leave him by himself. You want to hear his meal rotation? Get this. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, spaghetti, sandwiches, fast food, and leftovers. What is missing? Any semblance of nutrition. After dinner, I try to hint at the kids and Jay to clean up. I remind them to do laundry, sweep the floor, wipe down the table, clean the dishes, you name it. But they don’t always listen, which hasn’t changed in life or death. Bedtime is when the real fun begins. Cheryl told me early on that when people sleep they become like young children, able to see and interact with ghosts. I take full advantage of this and visit everyone. Jonah is the easiest since I get to hang out with him during the day too. His messages usually include things like “Mommy is so proud of you” or “Mommy loves you.” The only challenge with Jonah is his memories of me in life are fading so I am trying to combat that by telling him stories about me and him, mostly about him as a baby. Then I move on to Reilly. She’s fun and spunky, just like an 8-year-old should be. I’ve got her mostly convinced not to listen that that therapist. Surprisingly, Reilly has a lot to say, particularly about her schoolwork and her friends. I try to take this opportunity to impart some of my motherly wisdom to her. It’s kind of working, but again, she is only 8. Tatum, on the other hand, is getting awfully moody, trying to push me away. I guess I should have expected this once puberty started. She buys everything that therapist says, hook, line, and sinker. I try to help her navigate friends and boys, but she literally does the opposite of what I say. Piece of work, that one. Cole is next. I thought teenage boys would be a lot harder than they are. Cole is easy. He listens. We converse. He even told me about his girlfriend and, oh, how I tried not to show my true emotions. I can’t hamper this back-and-forth relationship we have. I try to talk to Jay the most, but he just shuts me out with those stupid sleep aids. Cheryl told me that the world really changed for ghosts when those became popular. He does make it so difficult. But I have gotten through to him a little here and there. I mean, do you think he would have spent Christmas with my parents if it wasn’t for my nagging all night long? Next time, I need to convince him to have them here though. It was a lonely Christmas for me, being trapped in an empty house with Cheryl and her stories. No one cares what you baked for Christmas in 1967. Once I finish visiting everyone, I spend a little time with Cheryl. I mean, I need a friend even though she is annoying. And just before morning, I visit everyone one last brief time. Make sure they wake up thinking about me. Genius idea on my part. And this new normal has been working great for everyone. That is, until just recently. It all started about a month ago. I woke up early, to get some Jonah time in, but then he wanted to play with Reilly which made it difficult for me to intercept. I brushed it off thinking it was just a phase and got ready for dinner. I went to sit in my regular seat at the dinner table, and would you believe that blondie girlfriend of Cole’s came over and sat in my spot. No one flinched, except me who ended up standing the whole time. During all of dinner, I wasn’t even mentioned once. Not the therapy, not how my food is better, nothing. All they did was make small talk with blondie. Girl, I don’t care that you volunteer at the animal shelter, you’re in my seat! After the dinner fiasco, I brushed off the helpful reminders to clean up and followed Cole and blondie to his bedroom. What was his father thinking, allowing them to study in his room?! Maybe I need to start including these types of reminders in his dreams. Thankfully, I was there to keep an eye on things. I literally stood over them as they cracked open their history books. I bet Cole felt me boring a hole in his head. That would explain the lack of physical contact between those two. Blondie finally left, and I had my family back to myself. I went back into the kitchen expecting to find chaos, but I was taken aback by the clean dishes and the dryer running. Hmm, maybe all my haunting reminders have worked their magic. Bedtime came and I began my nightly ritual, but Jonah’s visit disturbed me the most. “Mommy, where were you today?’ I was left speechless. Of course, I was here. “I was playing with you and Reilly. Don’t you remember?’ “No, Mommy, you weren’t there. I looked and looked an couldn’t find you.” I didn’t know pain was something that afflicted ghosts as well, but there I was feeling sucker punched. I said a quick “I love you” and left. I needed a minute. I found Cheryl visiting Reilly in her dreams. “Cheryl, get out of her head! How many times have I told you that these are my children?” “Relax, Hannah, she won’t remember. I just miss her. Why are you not with Jonah anyways?” “He didn’t see me today. Or that’s what he said. Why would he say that? He is still young, right?” “Oh dear, let’s go talk somewhere.” Cheryl then led me to the living room sofa where we cozied up under the blankets. “How old is Jonah now?” “He’s only 4. Still a little guy. What is going on? It’s too early.” “It’s not really too early. He is almost 5.” “It’s like I’m losing him again. I can’t.” Cheryl wrapped her ethereal self around me and let me cry, something I had staved off for a few months now. “You still have the dreams, and he can’t forget you. You are his mother.” I cried and cried, thinking about how Jonah will have to grow up without a mother basically his whole life. I was able to dry my tears just in time for one round of visits before dawn. The next day seemed to be more of the same. Jonah playing with Reilly. Dinner with another friend of Tatum’s present, in my seat. Cleaning done without my prompting. It went on like this for a whole month. No one-on-one time with my little guy; someone in my seat more often than not; and cleaning up without my haunting reminders. Were they forgetting me? Umm, I was a pretty big part of their lives. For goodness’s sake, I gave them life. Well, except Jay, but I gave his life meaning and that’s what counts. I was prepared for all this nonsense again today. I think I am even doing a good job resigning myself to the fact that I can only talk to Jonah at night, like the rest of them. And you know what, it’s good for them to not dwell on death. Tatum has been wearing more colors recently and laying off the eyeliner. This is for the best. They need to move on. But then what do I see? Hot dogs again for dinner. Oh, Jay, he is still a mess. Then the microwave dings. And do you know what he pulled out? A steaming bag of broccoli. I almost fell over if that was a thing that ghosts could do. He made broccoli, something nutritious. What was going on? His mother wasn’t even over. This was totally unprovoked. I needed a minute and fled to the girl’s room, but that Cheryl followed me anyways. “What is the matter with you today?” Cheryl said as she sat on Reilly’s bed. “Broccoli. He made broccoli,” I managed through sobs. “That’s good. I’ve been hoping he would add some vegetables to that dinner of his. Why are you upset about that?” “No one needs me. I’m their mother! They should need me!” Anger and grief coursed through me. “They have to move on. You know that.” “I don’t want them to.” “Yes, you do. That’s why you tell them those things at night. I know you tell them that you are proud of them. You tell them to keep living. You convinced Cole to try out for basketball when he was scared. You gave him the courage to ask that sweet girl out. You tell Tatum every night how beautiful she is. You reassured her that she didn’t need to hide. You gave her the courage to be herself. You tell Reilly to keep playing even when she didn’t want to. You fostered that relationship between her and Jonah, one that won’t leave them their whole lives. And Jonah, you have given him all the love a mother could give in her lifetime in just a few short years. You helped Jay become a father we all wished we could have had. You have left a part of yourself with them that will help guide them throughout the rest of their lives.” The waterworks began anew, but they came from a mix of emotions. Grief, of course, but also pride and just a hint of fulfillment. Then the wildest thing happened. Right beside Cheryl, my grandmother appeared. The one who read bedtime stories and took walks around the neighborhood with me. The one who I missed so much when she died. Why was she here? Did she learn how to travel as a ghost? Cheryl really let me down if that was a thing. But why hadn’t I seen her earlier? I died over a year ago. She then spoke in her voice that brought back the smell of cookies and cuddling under the blankets on her scratchy sofa, making me want to be lost in one of her hugs just once more. “Hannah, baby, it’s time.”


My mom had been planning a family vacation for the past few weeks so my “not so much of a morning person” husband and I decided it would be best to spent the night at her house. I shut off my alarm which was set thirty minutes before my husband’s and decided to check out my childhood home. An alluring two-story Victorian home secretly housed on Main Street. It was a peaceful and quiet neighborhood with endless miles of forested trails in every direction. Walking into the living room I recall late nights watching Unsolved Mysteries with my mom followed by menacing thoughts of ghosts lurking around the corner and serial killers ready to pop out behind the many pine trees that guarded our backyard. The array of colours that filled the interior looked liked an artist’s paint palette with delicate pastels bordered boldly. The plethora of trinkets used to fascinate me, now they seem to haunt me. Each detail, watching and waiting for something inevitable. Making our way to the car, we triple checked every room to ensure we weren’t forgetting anything before our seven hour trip from Flagstaff to sunny San Diego. We headed out in the early morning to avoid traffic and to get the beach at the perfect time. This, for me, was the worst time for driving. I had an unusually debilitating fear of most things. Odd things. Driving in complete darkness, rattled by the silence and surrounded by the massive trees and ominous mountains, an obvious sign of looming death. I understand that it’s a stupid fear, but it’s a real fear nonetheless. With no one on the road ahead or behind us for miles, we decided to stop at the 24/7 gas station for a quick stretch and a heavily sugared coffee. For a service station that is open all day for 364 days a year, it was eerily dark. Not a soul in sight and a flickering light above the entrance, we had a three second window of visibility before it went dark again. The station looked abandoned, as if someone had an urgent engagement and only had time to lock the door. I tried the door handle a few more times before turning to my husband and telling him to check around the back. “There’s a car back here with the engine running. Maybe aliens abducted him,” he stated with a smirk on his face knowing that would give me the chills. “Don’t fucking say that,” I yelled as I ran up to him and slapped his arm. Up ahead in the dense forest we heard a shuffling sound that scurried away. The icing on the cake, I thought, we stumbled upon a burglary and now the guy is looking out, waiting for the right moment to kill us. “Ryan, don’t you dare go in there. Just turn around like you didn’t hear anything, walk back, act normally and get in the fucking car,” I whispered so the psychotic burglar wouldn’t hear me. “Calm the fuck down, it’s nothing. But fine, go grab your mom and get back in the car. I just want to check something out. It’ll take me five seconds,” he stated nonchalantly. My heart raced and I felt the overwhelming fear of trying to get out and knowing that something was coming after us. As I turned the corner to see where our car was parked, I couldn’t see my mom anywhere. Freaked out, I yelled “Mom, we have to go NOW.” Just like that it was silent. No crickets, no fluorescent lights buzzing, no wind howling. What the fuck is going on. I circled the service station for what seemed like an eternity screaming, “RYAN! MOM! Please just answer me. IT’S NOT FUCKING FUNNY.” Crouched behind the building on the north side where there was a deep engulfing shadow I prayed for a miracle. Terrified, I began to cry. As my eyes began to water, my eye shadow started to find it’s way inside my eyeballs. They burned and I decided to leave them shut and wait for that son of a bitch to come and kill me. At least for my last moment alive, I wouldn’t be alone. Another fucking nightmare. It felt so real. I sat up in bed and realized that I was safe. I turned to my left to give my husband a hug to ensure me that we were both okay but his side was empty. Our living quarters were all the same here. Once the Nuclear Wars of 2018 began, the United States began sending residents to space in a series of interconnected stations. The process took a total of five years to complete. Some decided to stay on Earth in their doomsday preparation shelters while others went crazy with all of the chaos. The rest simply vanished or died. For those incarcerated, the government decided that they were not worthy of taking up space up here and were let go to fend for themselves as punishment. Life was simple here in the station. Ample space allowed for the few thousand residents of their assigned station to move freely and engage in Quality of Life Projects. The goal was to assign people “projects” that would help the overall quality and quantity of life in the station. The station director and president was a frail man who would make his way through the stations with a team of Secret Service members. For the most part, no one got to see his face and he was only known as Director or Mr. President. Rumors circulated that he was a communist, a man with ulterior motives but like I said, rumors. I took a stroll around sector seven, also known as The Great Outdoors. It was fully equipped with acres of perfectly trimmed faux grass. The “sky” was as realistic as the sky on Earth. It mirrored different climates with fully automated clouds and furious thunderstorms that never reached us. The rain that showered the grass seeped through pores hidden underneath and was recycled. Residents of the stations were able to enjoy drives around The Great Outdoors in vintage 50’s cars. Those boat-like machines were solar powered, of course, and fully installed with classic music from the era in which they were born. Don’t ask me why or who chose this era theme. In fact, no one on the stations really knew why Fallout was themed throughout the stations. As I gingerly made my way through the stations looking for my husband, I passed the endless rows of military soldiers. Each fully dressed in a magnitude of black military grade gear. They reminded me of Tom Cruise’s character in the movie Edge of Tomorrow. Each soldier came equipped with a RealTV (pronounced like the former Madrid soccer team) headset. Almost like a gamer’s Virtual Reality set but unless you were military, you didn’t know what they were watching. I reached the cafeteria, or as I call it, Heaven. An assembly of popular food joints was spread throughout the five levels. Level three was my favorite and housed the Pizza Hut, Cinnabon and Starbucks. It reminded me of my trips back on Earth to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport. Sure enough there was my husband. “Hey hun, I was looking for you,” I sighed with relief as I sat down in the park-like bench next to him. “Sorry, I was hungry and my shift starts early today because we have a meeting,” he sprayed between his chewing breaks. “Well, I’ll go back to the room, I’m off today and I wanted to get some reading done.” I explained as I stole a sip of his coffee. “Have fun at work, I’ll see you tonight. Oh, I had a terrible nightmare but I don’t really remember it now. Oh well.” I kissed his cheek and made my way back to room 1039. Passing the rows of soldiers I slowed down to carefully look at their robotic bodies. Standing perfectly still and lifeless, I couldn’t tell if they were occupied. For a moment the fear paralyzed me as I realized that I had never in five years seen a single person enter or exit the suits. Why didn’t any of the station residents see these military personnel or know anyone in the military. The thought boggled my mind and left the powerful fear in my body as I tried to logically reason. Maybe they were part of a secluded sector within the station that worked odd hours when everyone was asleep. Yeah, that sounded good. A cold shiver passed through my body as I remembered the trinkets at my mother’s house, the hundreds or ornaments that seemed to house ghostly spirits of unspeakable terrors. I hastily sprinted to my room looking back every so often to ensure that none of the possessed robots were behind me. I couldn’t open the door fast enough and as soon as I entered I locked both locks. Safe and secure, the only other people who could enter my room now was my husband and Station Police with the proper warrant. My heart wouldn’t stop racing as I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting. All I had to do was keep myself busy until 6:00 when my husband returned and I would be okay. I spent the day reading my book, The Stand by Stephen King, when I felt a tremor. This wasn’t unusual because space was filled with unavoidable debris. The shaking continued at a steady methodical rhythm when at last, it ceased. As I turned my head to look at the time, a strong shake knocked me out of bed. The lights began to flicker above as my nightstand lamp was knocked over and shattered into hundreds of sharp puzzle pieces. Screams could be heard throughout as smoked filled the rooms. I started to feel weak and unable to open my eyes. Unable to raise my arms, I slowly drifted to a silent sleep trying my hardest to fight back. “Wake up,” I heard as the first streaks of light began to seep between my eyelashes. “You were having another nightmare dear,” Nurse Jones whispered as she stroked my hair. She stood up and shook her head and she looked at my tray from last night. “You know what happens when you forget to take your nightly medication. Those odd dreams keep coming back and you get those night terrors. We trust that our patients will do what they need to do so when they are released, there won’t be any relapses.” “My head is a complete mess. What day is it Mrs. Jones?” I asked as I scratched my head trying to clear the thoughts in my head. “It’s Tuesday, January 17th honey.” I stood up to look out of the window. The orange curtains were thick with smoke and the whiff of cigarette alarmed my nose. I sneezed only to catch a glimpse of myself in the tiny tray-like mirror hanging above the wardrobe. A ghostly reflection gazed back as I inched closer. The white dress that caressed my body had a tiny emblem above my left breast. The closer I got I realized that it was a number. 21034 it read. Unable to comprehend, I grabbed my hair, my head and my face trying to make sense of my surroundings. It was me but at the same time it wasn’t me. I looked old fashioned, the same age but nothing looked familiar. I tried to scream but nothing came out. “What...year....am I in?” I asked as I stood there in horrified silence. No response came. I slowly turned my head waiting to see the nurse stare at me with shame and despair but she had vanished. I ran into the hallway hoping to find a doctor or someone with a cellphone to reassure me that I was in 2016 but the more I ran towards the Psychiatric Wards exit, the further the hall seemed to stretch. Room after room, loneliness began to creep in. Flickering lights and no working landlines. Unable to think of a plan, I ran toward the nurse’s station in the center of the rooms. I picked up the phones with ease. They were pieces of cardboard with stickers in the shapes of a numbered wheel. I shuffled through the patient’s medical records only to find that they were completely blank. Thousands of pages, empty. The frames that used to house Norman Rockwell paintings were gone. Only the frames remained. I remembered the window outside of my room. I could climb out and find someone who could help me. The sounds of children playing and giggling remained fresh in my ringing ears and I started to feel a sense of relief. I found my way back to my room and opened the window. “What the fuck is going on,” I yelled. The once bright sunlit curtains covered nothing more that glass over a bright white wall. I crawled into bed unable to breath. Between sobs I noticed a small transparent cup with two pills inside. I hope to fucking God that this kills me, I thought. I laid in bed waiting for them to kick in. Staring at the white walls, the old ceiling and the flickering lights down the hall I patiently awaited death to take my hand and away from this Hell. The tears streamed down my face as I squeezed my eyes shut. As night began to crawl in, I shivered. The room was icy cold and I still hadn’t felt any effects from the pills I had taken ages ago. In the distance I began to hear a faint beeping noise. As the sound grew stronger, it felt as if the bed was slowing sucking me in, slowly drowning in quicksand. I reached for the nightstand and felt around for my phone. Without looking at it, I silenced my alarm. It was the first day of my Summer vacation with my husband and mom. Seven hours from now, we’d be eating lunch next to beach in beautiful California.


Caspian Viator had been staring out of the *Lancelot*’s oval window at the purple planet’s clouds that rippled across its surface like ocean waves. Every now and then he would see the effervescent clouds breathe out swirls of mist into the violet atmosphere and evaporate once it hit the bitter cold of space. No matter how many times he saw this bubbly display he was amazed. It had only been two days since his arrival at Perceptio and already all the stories he’d heard about this mysterious planet were coming true. The radiant beauty of its ethereal purple atmosphere, which glowed like the Northern Lights back in Reykjavik, to the ocean of clouds that flowed throughout the planet’s surface. While Caspian was thrilled to see Perceptio up close he was also perturbed, for if the beauty of the planet was true then so must its beast. A detailed report from the last mission stated that the crew of the *Gawain* experienced strange disturbances ranging from hallucinations to mental distress. Richard Albatross, the sole survivor of that failed mission, swore that his crew became suicidal, despite passing their weekly psychological evaluations without a hitch. After extensive analysis from the Interstellar Academy's greatest minds, it was concluded that the crew members of the *Gawain*, including Mr. Albatross, had suffered from space dementia. In fact, Mr. Albatross, it was said, had lost all sense of mind and ended up in a private asylum. This final report was upsetting for the Interstellar Academy. Ever since the discovery of Perceptio, and the possibility of life existing there due to its vaporous oceans, space agencies had been rushing to get teams out to the lone planet in order to study it firsthand. For the Interstellar Academy it had been a decade since the *Gawain* fiasco. During that time the Academy had sent several unmanned satellites to conduct research, but the satellites could only do so much. After much preparation, the Academy was ready to send another manned mission out to Perceptio. The *Lancelot’s* crew was meticulously selected. Perceptio was eight light years away from Earth. In the expanse of the universe this was nothing; however, it was still far enough for a person to go mad. The isolation of space was far more dangerous to the human mind than originally thought--the *Gawain*’s crew was proof of that. It was proposed that the best candidates to screen for the Perceptio mission had to be individuals who were not leaving behind a spouse or children. In addition, the perfect candidate had to be an only child with little to no close circle of friends and deceased parents. Therefore, the *Lancelot*’s crew was kept to the smallest number possible and had undergone extensive training both physically and psychologically during the decade respite. For Caspian Viator going out into space and observing a potential habitable planet was what he’d been preparing for his whole life. And now as he stood observing Perceptio’s majestic atmosphere from the safety of the *Lancelot*, he couldn’t help but feel a paroxysm of memories. He tried his best to remain in the present and focus on the magnificence of being in space and orbiting an alien world. But no matter how hard he tried to fight off those creeping images from the past, Caspian found himself reliving his memories. Not just any memories. It was the one memory that haunted him with relentless viciousness. It wasn’t that he hated the memory; on the contrary, he loved it because it reminded him of Katerina. But it was also the memory that, try as he might, always tore him to pieces. Ten years before enrolling at the Interstellar Academy on Earth, he went on vacation to Struga with his late wife, Katerina. She was one of the strongest and funniest women he’d ever met, and he was glad that he was able to share his life with her. But life has a way of taking the most precious things away from you without remorse. It wasn’t long after they’d arrived in Struga that Katerina began to complain of migraines. At first it wasn’t so bad, but within a couple of days her migraines became so powerful that she lost her sight, forcing them to go to the hospital. Once there doctors told Caspian that his wife had an aggressive form of longoniares that was eating away at her brain, and that there was nothing they could do for her at that point. His wife, his beautiful wife who he had fallen in love with, who he had given his soul to, was ripped apart by a bug, turning his beautiful world into a hellish and lonely existence. Caspian began to tear as he recalled Katerina’s image--her long brown hair, green eyes, and that tiny smile that only revealed her upper two front teeth, which looked like they belonged to a rabbit rather than a human, a fact he joked about with her many times. His heart felt like it was being wrung like a towel. Everything hurt inside him. And the thought that he would never be able to hold her or to share his life with her killed him. This was the reason he signed up for this mission. Staying on Earth would’ve been too painful for him. Only the darkness of the infinite ocean of stars could soothe his aching soul. “...okay, man?” said a voice from behind him. Caspian turned around and saw Valentine. “I’m sorry, Val,” Caspian said, wiping away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “What’d you say?” “I said, are you okay, man?” Val frowned. “You look like you just received the worst news of your life.” “Oh, sorry about that. I-I was just remembering Katerina.” He paused. “God, I can’t believe it’s been ten years since she passed.” Valentine grimaced. “Katerina? Who’s that?” “My wife.” “Caspian, you don’t have a wife. You’ve never had a wife.” “What the *hell* are you talking about,” Caspian snarled. “Of course I do--did.” Valentine shook his head. “No, you don’t. In fact, the people aboard this ship were selected for this mission because none of us have or had a spouse or children or a significant other for that matter.” He pointed to Perceptio’s surface. “It’s the planet. It’s feeding you false memories.” “N-no, that can’t be possible.” Caspian rubbed his head. “Is it?” “You’re not the first one to be fed a phantom memory by the planet.” Valentine said. “Cable’s also fallen victim to it. She believed she had a daughter named Estella. She doesn’t. She’s never had children.” He frowned. “She even believed Albatross had stowed away on this ship, and she swore she had a conversation with him.” “Hey, Cas, what’re you up to?” Caspian looked over Valentine’s shoulder and saw Cable walking up to him. “Nothing. I think I fell victim to Perceptio’s effects or something.” he said. “If it wasn’t for Valentine bringing me out of my phantom memory, I think I’d be totally lost.” “Who’s Valentine,” Cable said, furrow-browed. Caspian glanced around the room and saw no one except Cable. “Cas, are you feeling alright?” He peered out the oval window at Perceptio, catching his reflection and nothing else. Caspian rushed to the *Lancelot*'s cockpit and set an immediate course for Earth. The Interstellar Academy, after reviewing what went wrong onboard the *Lancelot*, and committing Mr. Viator, began preparations for the crew of the *Tristram*.


Looking back I should have realized their true intentions. I was but a naive fool then. As I walked through the desert, the past months played like a broken record in my mind. I had everything in my life. A good family, a good home, fantastic friends, a loyal girlfriend, and a promising future. Only if I wasn't born with this curse. Maybe it was a gift but I doubt that. As I walk I came across a desert village. The sun was high up and the fatigue was building for some time. I wandered towards it. A small town with only 10 or so houses. Built with sandstone and bricks. It didn't look that far. After walking for three hours I had a realization. I highly underestimated my distance from the village. By the time I reached the village it was already nighttime. Small lanterns illuminated the streets and candles did that for the houses. People on the streets with candles were gathering in the middle of the town. I wanted to know what was happening but I guess I was too tired that I collapsed at the entrance of the town. I lost consciousness immediately. When I woke up I was surrounded by 7~8 children. The moment I looked at them they screamed and ran away. My face shouldn't be that ugly to scare them away. I felt my throat burning. I looked for something to drink. Alas, I didn't find any. At that moment an old man came into my room. He looked me up and down when two more people entered. One of them was a middle-aged man and the other was a young girl. All three of them talked with each other. I didn't have comprehensive knowledge of any language other than my own so I was a bit lost. But from their body language and talking style, I could deduce that the Old man and the young girl were arguing. The middle-aged man tried to calm them down. After a while, the girl stormed off. The middle-aged man shook his head while the old man sighed. At that moment something suddenly hit me. I quickly looked at my watch and did quick math. I was out for ten hours. I need to go asap. Just as I was about to leave I fumbled and the middle-aged man supported me. He told me something but I was unable to understand. I was exhausted, hungry, and a bit depressed. I couldn't stay in one place any longer than 24 hours. Somehow they always find me. As I tried to struggle I once again fell unconscious due to hunger. I felt something slide down my throat. My eyelids were too heavy but it felt delicious. So I kept eating. It however stopped soon. I wasn't full yet so my disappointment was immeasurable. I felt my night was ruined. I opened my eyes slightly only to see the young girl from before. I wanted to ask something but once again for the third time, I was out cold. The next time I woke up it was nighttime. Small candles illuminated the room I was in. I felt a bit better and a little cold. I wrapped a quilt around me and walked outside. I saw the same scene when I first reached the village. People gathered at the center of the town with candles. Nearly all of them were weeping silently. I made my way through the crowd. When I looked at my watch more than 24 hours have gone by. I knew if I stayed any longer I'll be just endangering them. Even then my curiosity got the better of me. In the middle of the town was a bed. And on the bed was a boy he looked around 20~24. His body was greatly injured. It looked like that disease. They called it the Erosion. It had no cure. Well it had one but only handful of the people knew about it. When I looked closely I could see a crown made out of bones, feathers, and willow beside him. I can see the old man looking at the boy with a sad face. The young girl holding his hand crying, while the middle-aged man consoled her. I can also see a middle-aged woman wiping the sweat off the boy and an old woman making some form of herbal medicine. From the looks of it, the boy was someone important while the rest are family members. I looked around alternating my gaze between the boy and the crowd. I may be not a genius but I can read the mood and atmosphere. I more or less understood the story. I slowly walked towards the boy. Some people tried to stop me but the old man shouted something and the people let me go. When I reached the bed I can see the boy. He was in pain but held it in. His eyes were burning with fighting spirit. His will to live was burning brighter. I remembered a similar gaze. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. It was suffocating. The condition was different but their gaze and temperament were the same. I had the power to save the person but I didn't. Yet here I am faced with a similar choice. I hesitatingly brought my hand to my mouth and bite at my hand to draw some blood. Their method of drawing blood from me was volatile so something like this felt like nothing more than a pinch. Red blood started to spew from the wound. The old man said something and all of them looked at me. I held my hand and let my blood fall into his mouth. The young girl screamed and tackled me to the ground and started hitting me. Compared to the torture I went through this was nothing. It was still painful though. Then screaming could be heard. Some in surprise others in shock. The Middle-aged man pulled the girl off me. I knew what was happening still I stood up to see it. No matter how many times I watched it still amazed me. But waves of pain soon filled my senses. I however was accustomed to it. It is the price I must pay. The boy was healing at an astonishing rate. All the wounds were closing like a magic trick. His wrinkled skin soon became smooth and without any injuries or flaws. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion. The Middle-aged woman hugged him so did the girl. I'm assuming one was the mother and the other one was the sister(?). The old man shouting and crying. The middle-aged man looked at me shocked. As I was about to leave the old man blocked my way and kneeled soon everyone followed. I was familiar with this scene. When it was discovered that my blood could heal anything as long as a single breath was present, the Vatican City declared me as the Holy Child of God. I remember seeing Millions of people kneeling in front of me. I remember seeing two groups fighting one to protect me while the other to kill me. In the end, I became nothing more than a guinea pig in a science research station while the war on my name was waged by various groups. I looked at my watch 29 hours have passed since I have come here. No one coming for me yet. I wanted to leave but the people kept kneeling and crying. I can guess what it looked like from their perspective. But even then if I stayed all I would do is bring the evil in their heart out. I always did. I realized that when my parents sold me out to the Government. It solidified when I was tricked by my friends to be kidnapped by terrorists. And I accepted it when my girlfriend tried to kill me for not being able to save her little brother. I ignored the gaze of them all and walked away. I walked away from them. I could hear their cries. I needed to get out. Maybe my ability was a blessing but to me, it was nothing more than a curse. Where ever I went I killed more people than I saved. My blood can heal and cure everything except for one thing. The evil in the human heart. It's a disease I spread wherever I go. So I walked and walked and walked. I don't know-how for how many hours I have walked. When I was hungry I ate. When I was exhausted I slept. Soon my food ran out so did my water. I was in a near-death state. And soon fade away in the darkness. Only to wake up to find myself buried in the sand. Soon I crawled out to see the night sky. My body felt light and fresh. Then I realized my blood heals everything as long as a single breath remains. So there's no reason for it to not work on me too. I didn't know it could do that. I didn't mind it. That just means I won't have to worry about food and water anymore. Then I once again kept walking. Yesterday suddenly my flesh started to burn and my watch stopped working so did my calendar. It stopped on May 5th, 2053. It was weird cause the last time I checked it was April 3rd, 2022. The people in the village may have tinkered with my watch. No wonder time felt wrong. I'm losing consciousness more frequently. The sun feels hotter for some reason. Day and night passed by but I kept walking. I looked at the sky. It was an aurora borealis in the middle of the desert. Odd. The stars felt less than it was a few nights ago. I didn't think much and kept walking. ... I have been walking for some time now. I don't know where I am. The map crumbled like sand yesterday. I tried to remember where I was going. Weird. Why am I walking? I stop to look around me it is a vast desert. I don't know why but I feel like walking again. I look at the sun. It is redder than before. But not my problem. All I know is that I have to keep walking.


Professor Tripathi wolfed down his meal as he sat all alone in the college canteen of Delhi University, at times shifting his eyes to a fat book with crisp yellowing pages. A simple kurta pajama which he wore was now stained with the spicy red chutney of the vada he ate. Though he and his white kurta were in a mess but the book he was reading lay unharmed as he carefully turned the page with his left unused hand. Not a speck nor a spot. He stood contrast to his own personalities. Organised but unorganised, meticulous yet careless this man contradicted himself in his own ways. He was famous for such incidents that proved that this man had some bug inside his head. But Professor Shailesh Tripathi was famous in ways more than that. His extensive work on the Gupta Empire and the dynasties of the South and his unbiased research thesis on the colonial period in India had been nationally acclaimed and regarded. The man had always found the past interesting, a familiarity in those years that were buried so deep in time's frame. Yet with so many years of study and close evaluation he realised that neither the life in the past or present was worth living. It sure made a living but was not an era to live a life. Shailesh had always been a staunch believer of the concept of yugas. In hinduism the concept of yugas or as referred to as large tracts of time has been divided into four parts. Satya Yug or the golden period of flourish and the rise of humanity to the zenith with the moral compass undeflected. The next was the treta yug then the dvapar and finally the kali yug. It was believed that with each yug the morals, the values and the concepts of humanity would loosen and lessen bit by bit finally leading to the end of the civilization. The Kali yug was the ongoing time and the man of letters in history knew that Kalki would never come, the said or told saviour of humanity in Kali Yug. The tenth avtar of the Vishnu. Professor Tripathi couldn't put his mind to one place. The idea had got him excited. The truth of the other time was a necessity to know. No matter who said what. The curiosity, his obsession would not let it rest. Though he believed in the concepts of yuga, but he harnessed enough doubt to believe his belief. Unknown and untrue till proven he thought to himself. The shift was short today. The Professor had retired to his quaters early devouring a plate of chole kulche sitting on his favourite armchair. Though he was once married but his wife died young. He still missed her around, those intelligent eyes and her indomitable spirit. He used to cook for her every day, everytime. Tripathi had a lost a part of him when he had to part ways with her. Things never changed, rather he made sure that it never did. Tripathi looked at the clock and realised it was late already. Gulping down the last piece of kulcha he rose to wash himself and get fresh. The bell rang exactly at 6.45. The professor was impressed. He liked people on time, but he seldom did that himself, the weirdo as he was. Tripathi opened the door.  A man of medium height and strong build stepped in. Dressed in a cotton shirt and trousers, a gold rim spectacle sat on his nose and a whiff of an expensive aftershave filled the room. He held out it his hands in a respectful namaste. 'Namaskar' he said greeting the professor. 'Come in Bakshi.' Sailesh smiled. The two gentlemen took seats opposite to each other as they both sipped into cups of hot tea. 'Professor what is that a historian wants from a physicist? We have nothing in common. ' Bakshi smiled. 'Sure Bakshi? ' Sailesh took a sip and closed his eyes. 'Enlighten me! The know-it-all' Tripathi sensed a tone of mockery taunting him. But that how Bakshi was. 'Well we have a very common thing amongst us. Time my dear. It's time. You are still lost in solving paradoxes and I still am lost in understanding what happened in them.' 'Who can win against you? But still why do you need me. Do you want to have a debate old boy? ' 'No. I need help Bakshi. I need your help. ' 'Your work is completed isn't it. I want a confluence of history and physics. ' Samiran Bakshi had been trying to keep himself in checks. He respected Tripathi but now he found his tempers flying. 'With due respect professor. My work is not yet complete. And it would take fifteen more years. I have just scratched the surface. The time machine I build is not for you to take a ride to see what Akbar ate for breakfast.' 'That's not what I want. I want your invention to answer my questions. It's for the same plethora of reasons Nandini talked to you. I want to finish what she left unfinished. ' For the rest of the time both talked and discussed, shared and progressed into various discussions. Samiran left by 9. The professor knew he would never agree, but he had guessed that he would be able to plant the idea. And the work seemed to be complete. The rest fifteen years took more than a snap to fade. Still, active in his work and teachings Professor Tripathi was finally there signing the 'No objection' document. He had taken it to the press and the media that he knew that this was risk. Even if he died today they should know he had lived a life of peace and tranquility and this is much out of his curiosity. He said that no matter what was the outcome today the people should not lose their faith in the physicist for he was the future. He was the new light. Professor Tripathi walked in the chamber. Alone. Instructions had been given. It was a small wooden door that he opened first and then vanished into the interiors. Bakshi had the controls, and he had warned the professor to hold the propellor in proper control. A little mistake could end up in consequences not even he was sure about. The professor had died the next morning. A heart attack. Nobody knew if the time travel had been successful, and he had not said a word after he had come. He looked old, he looked frail, and he had locked himself in Bakshi's room afterwards. Not responding, not answering. Bakshi strolled in his room. This room had the last breath of the professor.He didn't know if he should feel annoyed or sad. This man had always been a trouble. And here he was in trouble again. The mob was breaking in waves already having declared Bakshi as a failed and killer scientist. Engrossed in thoughts Bakshi suddenly spotted the professor's handkerchief. The pink embroidered one. The one that Nandini had woven. He picked it up feeling the fabric in his hand and was stunned. The writing was haphazard but corrigible and in the red ink of the professor's pen. Samiran you have created a wonder. All my life I have proved my beliefs and this time you did it for me. Yes your machine travels past and yes I wanted you to believe that I wanted to shift back in yugs. But that's not what I wanted this time. I have always known you were a murderer. You had killed my wife that day when she refused to leave me for you. I know I can't get you hanged for her death but my death can rob you off all that you have earned. This handkerchief leaves no proof and this heart attack is induced. No luck trying to figure out how, you will hit the rock. I have arranged it my friend. Adieu! ~Tripathi Samiran looked outside the window. The mob looked restless as a sharp rock smashed through the windows hurting him. Blood trickled down his wound as the agitation grew.


(Trigger warning: this story contains brief implications of negative mental health as well as physical violence and implications of death) What you shall read is the account of the last conciseness known to man, it is a single tale of many that we warn reading this page is a danger to you, as it could affect more than just your mere mind but the outer world as well. Please recite this passage shall things unravel, as it will be your own common foothold to our plane. Anything that you see is but its perception forming in your mind, if this continues destroy this page and anything found within the contents you found it with.

Time is an unraveling consistency, it goes up and down, yet never to its side, forward but never back. That is why a mere moment was all that mattered, I watch the back of my mind now to the day's events that had led me to within the end. My life was a boring and normal detachment, walked through my home day by day, worked my job, got sick, felt hungry, it was a mess. However, it was mine and mine alone.

Today, however, began with a ping of pain, no memory of it before that moment. I sat up in bed, my head pounding as I stood up to get ready for the day. I peeked down at my phone, my hand shaking gently as I read my messages. No work today, a sad day indeed for my life. It was closed for some big event, a thing I had no mind for. I slumped up, feeling my body ache and shiver. I lurched outside my room, moving through my home toward the restroom. I slipped in and dug for some medicine and downed them, the pain in my throat was intense, as my body shoved on to the front room. The window curtains dragged on the edge of the windowsill; my things strewn in the dawn light as they were pulled further by my hands. Letting in the bright morning orange light, it was a chilly morning, and the small light did extraordinarily little to warm my soul. It felt like a deep fog filled my heart and soul.

I shambled towards my couch, hoping to lie down for a moment more before life could continue, to give my body a moment to process the illness and my meds to start. However, a knock approached my door making me groan and whine as I slumped up. I cracked the door open enough to see, but no one stood at my door. Nothing but a simple pamphlet on a large worn-down book מוקפל etched deep into its leathery cover. I pulled it from the ground with the pamphlet, it showed a large circle of light with the words Eclipse! The wonders of our world! Experience it today! Written in a bright and colorful text, showing a picture of glasses that came with the pamphlet. I carried the two in and set them both on the coffee table, confused as I flicked on the lamp to read them both further. The pamphlet felt fresh and clean, while the book felt ancient, rugged, and leathery, ripped, and torn apart at the edges of the bindings. I slid down to the couch, flipping open the first few pages but they were alien to my eyes, only mumbled and as if water had caused the ink to flow across the pages. They even felt still dampened a touch, inky and full of despair.

Each page turned felt less and less dampened, until I finally turned to a single page I could coherently see. An image of a boat, resting on the shores of an unknown beach. The section of the book at first felt unreadable, but as I started, I understood the text’s meaning the tale of the eclipsed, underneath a name was written. No, not simply written but carved into the parchment. Francis Drake, the name rang familiar but I am not sure from where I had heard it.

I pulled back the pages, attempting to read the worn-down text. It was alien to my eyes, but a single passage unveiled itself to me. A single paragraph written in an old English handwriting,

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I am glad to hear you are doing well, my journey to Panama was a failure. We encountered blow after blow during our assault. In truth it was foolish of us to face them in our ill state, plague runs rampant on our ship. Many men have fallen ill, and I fear I shall be next. I wish to warn you of a damaging issue I have encountered on this journey. During our voyage to Panama the men had awoken me from my slumber to inform me of a ship off the starboard, we sent a man to the ship and uncovered nothing other than several corpses. These however felt wrong, many of the bodies were charred black with no signs of burning surrounding the corpse. No ash or soot anywhere despite the slightly rough waters we found ourselves in. The men then found the captain, he was miraculously alive, but his body was pale, he refused to eat or drink a thing. The men brought him aboard and found he brought a single item with him. I have sent it with a merchant ship headed for our homeland. This letter shall hopefully reach you safely with the package as well. I may not return home to you, but please understand my care for you.

I held the single page in my hands, reading it repeatedly. Many thoughts ran through my head, my head hurt worse. My body felt gross, my chest felt heavy, and my mind hurt. I stood, pushing myself towards the doorway. I needed air, something other than my stuffy apartment. I forced my door open, a loud and freakish SNAP. The door handle had been ripped off with ease, holding its barren and splintered self within my hand, The door’s hinges being bent in an off direction. I shook and took deeper breathes. My hands quaked and my legs wobbled as I felt my head getting lighter, the light outside to great and blinding me.

Then it went silent, Nothing but the barren depths of myself and the emptiness around me. I reached my hand out to the void and felt a strange sensation in my hands. As if they were being held, it was calming. My breath steadied as I looked around. Before a single speck of light filled my eye. It showed as a small ring, I began my approach. Breathing heavier and slowly the light grew and grew until it was blinding. The hands release me, before I woke.

My back was in pain, I felt blood from my back. I gripped the ground, feeling cuts and bruises on my hands. I didn’t know where I was, but as I sat up. I heard a deep bellowing noise, as if it was trying to get my attention. Nothing rang clear from it, but I felt a pull. I felt a guiding hand of this invisible force guiding me. I couldn’t move my legs; they were barely functioning as I dragged myself further along. I began to see clearer; I was still at my complex just further down the building. Having gone from my 3rd floor apartment, down into the windshield of a car. Glass and metal filled my back, my mind cleared more as I finally heard the honking of the car’s horn. Voices of people coming from their homes as I began to panic. My drive pushed me further as I felt a hand touch my back. It was nothing like normal, numbing and shivering I forced my legs to life. I forced my body to move further and further, my head no longer pounded but my heartbeat like a drum.

Every force in my body pushed me further as I reached the stairwell. The void filled in and out of the world around me, as I saw glimpses of small, encircled light. Voices of inhuman things spoke, as I pressed myself up the flights of stairs back to my apartment. Each push throbbing through my body before I finally felt a pain pierce my hand. My broken door digging into my hand, but it was nothing. Only a moment of pain before I reentered my home, the book no longer on the table I left it, it sat open below my feet soaking pages as a single word written in black spattered ink. Eclipse, it felt like a calling as I picked up the book. A single voice echoed in my mind.

Forgive the mind, Find the time, view my brilliance, once per time, Find the courage, and remain in line.

It was odd, not familiar to me. I pulled my damaged door as shut as I could, collapsing into a pool of my sweat and blood. I reached behind my back and gripped a shard of metal and pulled. My heartbeat from the fear, but no pain ever came. Nothing but the sense of relief, each piece pulled, was another wave of relief, from my hands, my back, even a few shards in my head. It felt like relief, not pain, not pleasure, simply relief. I stood and thought on what powers that I possess. As I looked out my window, I saw the few people of my complex discussing the events that occurred. I felt another pull, another drive as I pushed myself to my room. Grabbing a backpack and stuffing the book into it. The book glowing a barely noticeable orange hue, I glanced to my table, the glasses and pamphlet still left unopened and untouched. My head hurt as I looked, I knew what came next.

I grabbed the pamphlet and glasses, rushing from my home and flipping through it. Reading each piece as the people of my complex gathered more and began to point to my home. My body shook, my head hurt more as I ran to the back exit of the complex and snuck to the side streets. Nothing caught my eye from the pages, things about how the event occurs, some old history on people who worshipped the events, and then I read it.

“Experience the wonder today! Follow our times here!” Below a chart of many areas covered by the eclipsed with timeframes. My area was listed for an exact strike at 3 p.m. My head hurt further, as I looked towards the sky. The sky clear, and my mind hazy. I looked down, and grabbed my pocket, my phone was gone and left behind at the scene. I shuffled towards the main streets and looked in a mental blur as I finally focused myself onto a tech store. I stared at the glass pane and felt a pang of pain. The voice echoed again.

“ The Time, we must make the time, follow.” It spoke and pushed my soul, Dragging my feet into the store. A man approached me, his voice blurred in my mind as he seemed panicked, trying to set me down. I could not, I would not sit. I shoved him aside, his body collapsing against the chairs as I grabbed a phone. Giving it a gentle tug as its stand snapped apart. I looked down at it, 2:07 pm. Less than an hour left, I turned back towards the doorway. I saw a flash of red and then a flash of blue. A white and red truck, as well as a set of black cars parked outside the storefront. I stepped further, before the world crumbled around me, the void filling my body as I felt once again at ease. In this void, many more specs of glowing orange rings filled it. Muffled crowds of voices filled it, as my mission came clear to me.

I approached further into the specs, and I awoke once more. My chest burned, my hands felt bloody, however it hadn’t come from me. I could only see a single side of everything. I looked down, several blackened masses at my feet. My chest smoking and burning more and more. I knelt down, grabbing from the pile a handful of the burnt soot. I looked about, people screaming, some running, others fainting, I could do nothing but give a gentle grin and laugh.

My feet moved on their own, approaching a single man on the roadside. Lifting him from his place, removing a rag he wore and covering my body with it. Dropping the man to the floor, my head rang and when I turned to look, he was gone. All that remained was the tatters of his clothes. I moved further; the time ticked down as I glanced. Only a mere 10 minutes remained. My body moved to a crowd that began to form, a small group hoping to view the once in a lifetime event. The bag I wore felt warm, digging, and retrieving the book, my smile grew wider as I placed it onto the ground. Reading the booklet, I could understand every sentence, every single letter was like a calling to me as if guiding me to my purpose.

They echo through my head, a tale of warning. This book should not exist and now I seek freedom. However, I cannot complete the task, I am but a single servant to my great ancestor. It required everything, many people to view its covered eyes, a host such as I to fill the void, one of lonesomeness and deep ill will. The final key comes with the stars themselves. When the time is right all the followers must see his coming.

I read the passage as it finally rang clear to me. I looked to the time, and only a single minute remained for my chance. I had finally understood what the beast asked of me. I gave it my mind so that it could guide me to what this world needed. I needed to see when to do what I must, and now all must witness his glory so that we may all finally be free.

“You awaken yourself my child, you will be an emperor of these poor souls. Be my voice, be my guiding light my dearest child. I know you seek freedom, and I can finally give it all to you. Free them.” The voice spoke, its depth clear. I looked up, staring at the sky. The world darkened around us all. My smile stretched beyond its limits, tearing of flesh as I approached closer to the crowd. I gripped the men, as they screamed, we walked further, grabbing increasingly as they screamed and begged for freedom. I heard the trumpets form as the sun’s glowing essence grouped together. We felt free as the voice spoke to us, we watched as the crowd viewed our immense image. They screamed, but it fell on deaf ears as we watched the sun and moon dance together.

We all smiled, as we became one . We all laughed as they all joined . We were no longer Alone. We were finally Free.