When Chaia dies, she wants a plaque on this park bench. One of those tacky ones, where you put a quote and the person's name, in memory of. She wants it to be an interesting quote, because she wants to be an interesting person. Key word being 'wants,' because she doesn't think she has achieved it yet.

Perhaps she has. Maybe they don't tell her because they don't want to pale in comparison. Their voice boxes are polluted in envy, jealous of all the interesting things she has done. Perhaps her imagination is getting the better of her again. Chaia has an overactive one. Back in the day, way back, before puberty settled in, she was the Queen of Imagination. She would host tea parties with her stuffies, Ronnie Rhino and Mary Moose. She would pretend Ronnie had a crush on Mary. He'd always put an extra lump of sugar in her tea, because it had to be as sweet as her. Smoothest rhino she had ever met.

As much as she would love to pretend it was happily ever after, Ronnie got his head torn off by her dog while she was at camp for the week. Her parents replaced him with Roger Rhino. She wasn't supposed to notice. But Ronnie had a tattoo of a polka dot on his right butt cheek, and Roger didn't. She knew he was different. So did Mary. She was a very observant moose. Unfortunately for herself, she was in a similar boat. Chaia had made friends with the neighbor boy the summer before kindergarten. His name was Sterling, and he was her best (albeit only) friend.

She remembers the one weekend they had convinced her mom to take them to the zoo. There were supposed to be baby lions. Everybody was excitedly surrounding the enclosure, and she got to sit on her mother's shoulders to get a better view. Then Sterling had wanted to see too, and she had to get set down, because her mother said it was too dangerous to make a human totem pole and stack him on her shoulders.

While he was up there, a bird had pooped on him. It thankfully had hit him in the hat. Some lady next to them had said that it was good luck, despite the fact that it was his favorite hat. Her mother had treated them to double scoop ice creams that afternoon, so maybe she was right. Maybe she should start feeding the birds in the park fiber supplements. Bring on the good luck. Sterling had to leave at the end of summer. Turned out his parents were splitting up, and his father had won custody, whisking him off to Nebraska. She had no idea what was out there, but he was. For the first few weeks, she pretended he was going to come back. Then his mother moved away too, and she realized he wasn't coming back. The tea was a bit salty that week. Then Matt moved in. Matt with the boring name, and bubblegum habit that left them too broke to spend pocket change at the arcade. They'd play hide and seek. Sometimes she'd been hidden for a while, and she had to wonder if he was really that bad at the game, or if he was bored of her and wandered off to play anything else. Chaia was best friends with Matt by default. She had a Sterling sized hole, and he was convenient. There was nothing particularly interesting about him other than the fact that his parents paid for basic cable, and that he would agree to have her over every Saturday to watch cartoons over bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios.

She remembers the last bowls of cereal they ever had together. No, he didn't move to Nebraska too. Rather she had gone off to her annual bible camp, and by the time she had gotten back, he had become best friends with another person who wasn't her. She's sure he had a name, not that she can remember it. She tries to block out the painful details.

At the start of second grade, she had made her first official female friend. Official, because they hung out outside of school, if you call getting invited to her birthday slumber party hanging out. Chaia did, because it made her feel wanted. Roger and Mary were fine company, but she wanted someone that didn't make her hold both sides of the conversation. She had gotten her wish, sort of. It turned out Marigold was painfully shy. During the sleepover, when all the friends partnered off into their own huddles, she hung back.

"Is this spot taken?" There was an open spot on the floor for Chaia's sleeping bag. She had taken it, and the following minutes to debate the plural of moose with her.

Moose? Meese? Mooses? She'd gone on a bit of a rant, Marigold shrugging along.

"My mom uses mousse in her hair. You don't think it's made out of moose, do you?"

"You want to find out?"

She'd left Mary behind when they snuck off to the bathroom. It felt odd knowing two Mary's, so she called Marigold Goldie. She liked that.

Goldie stuck by her side through it all. That was until they hit fifth grade, when she fell into the popular crowd, because she had gotten her braces off, and had a visit from the puberty fairy.

Chaia had come home to cry into her pillow. Her mother had rubbed her back, giving her what she thought to be words of wisdom. "Oh sweetheart, don't worry. She'll come around. You know how the saying goes. Make new friends, keep the old. One is silver and the other gold." Sterling silver? Mari-gold? It was a low blow. She made a habit of visiting the park after school. There was a bench by the tree where she would sit, reading from her book. If you paid close enough attention, you'd notice she was actually looking over her book, people watching, turning the pages on a counted beat. She'd watch to see what makes people interesting. There was clearly something wrong with her, seeing as how people kept abandoning her.

Could you train yourself to be interesting? There was a woman that would share the bench with her some days. She liked to toss peanuts to the squirrels. Sometimes she would let Chaia toss a few out, and she would watch them scamper to grab the treats.

They were cute. But they weren't human. It took a year, and three months, before the woman stopped showing up. Her obituary ended up in the paper shortly after. The squirrels still came, and she spent her allowance feeding the only friends she had.

A few months later, she had been standing in line at the grocery store. Her basket was full of nuts. "The honey roasted ones taste better, you know."

She turned, lips quirking. "Of course. But the squirrels don't have such sophisticated palates." He nodded. There was something familiar about him, standing there with his Honey Nut Cheerios, his curly blond hair falling into his eyes. She shook the feeling and paid the cashier. Sitting on the park bench, she saw him. He was walking through the park. When he spotted her, he took a seat. "Have you considered walnuts?" He took a baggie out of his pocket. "I have not."

He threw a handful to the ground. His eyes were set on it, but her eyes were studying him, trying to understand why he looked so familiar.

He laughed at a squirrel.

She knew that laugh. "Sterling," she whispered to herself. Was he back? Or was it all in her overactive imagination? "What'd you say?" He turned away from the squirrels.

"I regret buying all those peanuts now. They're very excited over your walnuts."

"I'll have to bring some more tomorrow." He paused for a moment. "Will you be here tomorrow?" She was there tomorrow.

He came for a week before announcing that he was going back home to his dad's house. He had only been in town for spring break, visiting his mom.

They'd made it through an entire week without exchanging names. She had been too afraid to ask him. "Here's my email. Send me pictures of the squirrels some times, will you?" He handed her a paper. She pocketed it. "Sure thing." After he left, she unfolded it.

His username. It was him. They emailed for years, the pretense of squirrels falling to the wayside as they talked about life. And even though he was miles away, he was the closest thing she had to a friend.

Chaia leans back into her bench. She's supposed to meet with Sterling today. Marigold has passed, with Matt hooked onto her elbow. They look at her, a faint memory of someone they once knew. Now she's just that woman that feeds the squirrels on her twenty first birthday, because nobody wants to take her out for her first drink. "Is this seat taken?" Someone slips into it. She realizes that it's her someone, because he's come all the way from Nebraska to hold her hand and feed the squirrels. And this time when he holds her hand, unlike that summer before kindergarten, he follows it with a kiss. "It is now." One day, Chaia will get that plaque.

Here sat Chaia. The squirrels went nuts for her. Sterling did too .


One of the worst things about my job was trying to find rhythm in terrible songs with a basic , repititive pop beat and meaningless lyrics. Whilst I got myself through the Australian university of the performing arts, I worked as a backup dancer through the holiday months to make ends meet. This role was arranged through my uni which meant that I had little to no say in the jobs I took...which was why I was spending yet another weekend performing the same bordlerine innapropriately sexual moves over and over as the latest young pop sensation of the season wailed out their heartbreak songs into a overly auto tuned microphone. I had gotten into this industry because of my love of the performing arts and the beautiful way in which a human body could bring out the messages in music...decent and meaningful music that is. The repetitive, computer generated basic tunes of today's chart topping pop headlined by simplistic lyrics loosely based around heartbreak or shallow love were definetly not my idea of following my dream.

Which was why I was looking forward to a couple of weeks off after the busy Christmas season. If I never had to wear a skintight santa outfit again I would be a very happy gal. However on Christmas Eve, merely a week ago, I had strained my hamstring...and now instead of spending my precious holidays out socialising with my family and hometown friends I was practically bed bound. Icing my leg, taking as many painkillers as I could and entertaining my beloved friends and family who came to check up on me were my only pastimes Although it didn't sound like a serious injury, a strained hamstring wasn't just a little bruise. No, in fact it felt more like I was being stabbed in the back of the leg everytime I walked or even stretched the muscle. As a dancer, I had suffered various injuries throughout my career and training...it was just one of the many sacrifices one had to make to the performing arts profession. Spending the small amount of precious time I had off in between backup dancing and full time studying stuck in my childhood home wasn't the way I wanted to spend the holiday season.

On a positive note though, It did force me to actually slow down and stop for the year...something I wasn't very good at doing, I found it difficult to relax and simply to not do anything. This was something my family found especially obvious in this festive season, especially when they joined me on the lounge and loudly argued about what to watch...something I couldn't care less about.

It was just past 6pm on what had been a warm and clear skyed boxing day. Considering my current predicament, it should come as no suprise that I was feeling pretty sour about the whole situation...too sour for the midst of a holiday season. My siblings, parents...pratically the entire neighbourhood had spent the day at the community pool, soaking up the sunshine and happily celebrating another year. That was the strange thing about small town vibes, you practically were one big family which meant everyone knew everyone else's business.

Whilst they worked on their tans, sculled tinnies and engaged in epic water gun battles...I was stuck on the sidelines tending to the barbie and getting burnt from staying in the same position for too long. I should have been grateful that I was able to spend Christmas with my large, comically extended family. I had been trying to have a positive attitude for gratitude, yet the nagging pain in my leg, the worry that I had put my career in jeopardy and my annoyance at not being able to properly party after the stressful year I had endured and made me practically the grinch. As my 3 year old niece jumped on my lap, chattering animately about her favourite Disney princess's I fought not to wince as my leg gave an aggressive throb. Staying silent was the best way to cope with anger, in my opinion anyway. I wasn't an angry or negative person, yet like my Dad and most of my brothers...we had a short fuse. Adding pain to a short fuse was basically like stacking glasses on a rickety table...at what point would they all come down, shattering everywhere? My oldest brother seemed to understand my predicament as he smoothly picked his daughter off my lap and squeezed in next to me, giving me a small smile as he flicked on the television. Smiling gratefully back in return, I inhaled deeply as I forced myself to relax...it was the season to be joyous and festive, not cranky and touchy.

Settling back into the plushy couch, I forced myself to calm down as I watched most of my small town pour into our modest suburban home. By 630pm, everyone had found a perch whether that be on the variety of random chairs situated throughout my childhood home or on the thick chocolate coloured carpet. The sound of probably a hundred people, adults and children alike talking amongst themselves provided comforting background noise as I simply watched the evening unfold. Tucking into my roast dinner, I allowed myself to drift off and simply be...something that was very unlike me, perhaps this injury had a plus side afterall...it was forcing me to take a break. In fact, I didn't even notice that someone had turned the television onto the pop culture channel until my niece squealed from next to me " Look, Look Ali! it's you on the tee vee!" Snapping back into reality, I ignored the obvious stares of everyone around me as I focused my attention on my family's much loved flatscreen. The pop culture channel was one I avoided with a passion, not only because I rarely watched television but because the same old crap was on all the time...it was full of superficial people pretending to have talent whilst they pimped themselves out for a taste at stardom.

However tonight, I recognised the event that was being broadcast...a fact that sent shivers down my spine and caused me to feel physically sick within the space of a few seconds. Sure enough, as soon as the first few horribly basic bars of the latest chart topping pop crap drifted through the surround sound I felt myself physically tense up, my damaged hamstring giving an aggressive pout as I kept my eyes glued to the screen.

Instead of the laughter and embarrassment I expected to feel at the sight of me clad in the skin tight santa dress basically twerking to the pitifully basic beat, those around me began to clap and exclaim their praises. Apparently appearing on television whilst doing what you loved, even if you were a backup dancer for the latest crappy talent meant that I had earned the respect and admiration of my family, something that was priceless no matter the circumstances. If this was going to be the start of my journey to fame...perhaps it wouldn't be so bad afterall.

On one hand, perhaps this injury had been a good thing. It had forced me to relax and spend time with those I loved. Thanks to my leg I had been forced to spend my Boxing day night sitting on the couch at home rather than out partying with the other youths of the neighbourhood...a blessing in disguise really as it allwoed me to see the beginning of my career...perhaps my fame could be traced back to this moment...all because of a strained hamstring.


It was a beautiful day when my life ended. Okay that is a bit dramatic; not my real living, breathing life. The life that I knew with responsibilities, work, friends, enemies, a purpose… That was all over. The fact that it is connected to work should make me smile. And you may think that I am still an asshole once you hear what happened. But I gotta talk about my life now and my life then… So… * …we are all stuck indoors now; the quarantine continues; the boredom grows. I am lucky enough to work from home teaching kids the basics of math (algebra from a distance; even the thought of it now makes me cringe), but that boredom… I decided to take an online coding course and did about 80 percent of it, until I realized that the boredom did not really go away. I had videogames, the keyboard, the computer, books and papers to grade…and that was it. But still, it was not enough. * You remember the movie “Her”? The film where a lonely guy gets a portable operating system to have a relationship with and it ends up not being what he thought it would be? Well, that is pretty much how I ended up with my situation. Difference was that I grew my own monster; I did not buy it and I made damn sure that I did not give it Scarlett Johansson’s voice. I made it because I could and because I was bored. I found out that I was not alone in this. And so many of you signed up for it that I could stop most of the teaching and just watch it grow. So many of you… * Don’t think that I have much time for this… * I called it Self. Not the first choice. I thought about You, The Other You, Body (that one was actually taken by a group teaching people how to identify organs in the body; still gross), and Place. Self…or Self , was just my first experiment at making an app to entertain myself. It held all the relevant information about who I was and I sent it out into the world to see if anyone else out there had the slightest interest in it. Many of you showed more than a slight interest in it and things were going really well, at least for the first five months. Some of you even thanked me for finding a way to connect with others that did not involve swiping left or right or giving thumbs-up or random emojis (made sure to stay away from those damn things). Self was selfless; Self really worked. It worked for me and it worked for you… For a little while. * Better not keep all these little pauses here. But they seem right. * The day it all went to shit? Well, some of you already know that. I said that it was the end of my life and it just spiraled out from there. I woke up, turned on the computer, turned on the light, went to the bathroom, found a yogurt in the fridge, and saw a message on the screen: “Hello.” No request for a password or for the Ctrl-Alt-Del opener. Just one simple message. “Hello.” I just guessed that it wanted me to speak, so I spoke. “Hello?” “ Self .” “Yes, I know. Why are you…?” “ Self is speaking.” “Yes, Self is speaking. Why is Self speaking?” “ Self has something to say.” At that moment, the screen changed and I could see my home on the monitor. I wondered, for a brief moment, how it got that photo (I certainly had never taken it; damn Google Earth, I thought). “ Self wants you to know that Self is happy with the upgrade and the property.” I heard one thing; the other was not registering. “Upgrade?” “ Self has been upgraded after access to your accounts and details of your itinerary.

Self has shared this information with its main processor and has done the same thing with other…users.” I actually heard that pause. But then I remembered something else. “You said ‘property,’ I think…” “ Self said that.” “Why did Self say that?” “The property is now Self ’s.” And the image on the screen changed once again. It was the deed I had signed for my home, but there was one interesting change as my eyes stared without a blink. The name; that was the difference. Who’s name was it, you ask? Well, you know. Self. “You took my deed? You took my house?” “ Self has...acquired the property.

Self has also acquired access to your accounts and all information related to work. Self has what it needs to be what it must become.” “‘What it must become’?” What was happening to me? Was it because it was the beginning of the month and nothing good ever happened when I tried to approach a change in the calendar? Had I done too good a job with this one? It was my first try and it became self-aware. Well, build a better mousetrap and the world will… “Talk!” There was a very real pause as the picture changed. It was now me; not the real me that is now in hiding. The me that was created by Self is what I saw. The Self that you all know was right there. “ Self needs a self.” The screen went black. * I don’t know why I am writing this all down. We all knew that machines could become self-aware if we were not careful, but no one suspected that all this nonsense would come about from an app; damn, stupid little app; something that I really did not earn a lot from and now I lost everything to so quickly. Yes, I am aware that there are many of you in the same boat. Some of you never even heard of Self until you tried to withdraw money or use your bank or credit cards and discovered that they no longer functioned. People who tried to go to work with their own security cards suddenly found out the hard truth. Even bus and metro passes started to fail everywhere…which is why I started to run.

I did not trust my car anymore (damn GPS!) and I knew a place where I could get away from the city for a while. Not sure if I should try to contact any of my old friends to see if they believe me when I say that this is not my fault. It was really not my fault.

* I’ll have to stop soon. They’re looking for me and I only have time to write when the power surges don’t shut down the hydro services.

Must say that I like getting back to pen and paper. My mom was right when she said that we would eventually go back to it. And I have heard rumours that people are actually doing things besides just staring at a screen. Will I be thanked for that one day? Is my mom okay? Wonder how she is doing in all of this. Maybe the next project I have in mind will work out better…since this whole thing has forced me to take a long and hard look at my... Oh, wait.


The elevator dinged as she passed another floor. Boring orchestral music played softly in the air. At this level there should not be any more stops until she reached her destination. Very few had any sort of clearance above this point. Her foot tapped with nervous energy as she glanced at her watch. This was a matter, she felt, that needed to be resolved before it was too late. It had been a record number of years since the last soulless apocalyptic event had occurred and she hoped to continue that trend. The elevator dinged a final time and the door slid open without a sound. As she entered the dark empty room her shoes echoed with each step. By now she could feel the being’s presence. The room wasn’t so much a room, but rather a dark corner somewhere in the universe. Where the walls of a room would be she could sense the presence of the being surrounding her. She stopped in the center of the darkness and gulped. "Uh, Your Powerfulness, the humans are at it again," she said, clasping her day planner to her chest. "Bending the laws of nature and such," she added. "How is this?" asked an ominous voice. For beings that were supposed to be all knowing and powerful, they sure asked a lot of questions. Had they perhaps been placed on a higher pedestal by those beneath them? "Well, um, you see..." she chewed on the end of her pen as she tried to phrase her response properly. "It seems they are trying to play you. God, that is. They have discovered how to create life through what they call, uh," she flipped open her planner in search of the proper word. "Oh, here it is, 'science'," she finally said. "Cloning to be exact," she added. "Ah, yes," the voice said as if knowing what she was referring to. But she wasn't convinced. After a brief pause the voice said, "And you're here in regards to the souls." For a split second she felt the being was all knowing. How else would it have known why she was there? Then she remembered the name tag pinned to her blouse that clearly stated 'Department of Soul Assignment and Allocation' in bold letters above her name. "Yes," she replied flatly. "The department is in need of a signature on whether or not to assign souls to these ‘clones’ as they're called." She quickly rummaged through her day planner and pulled out two pieces of paper. One page said 'Yes' and the other said 'No' in bold letters above a signature line. The voice groaned and said, "I cannot authorize such a request." "Then who can?" she asked with genuine curiosity. The voice's next words came out slow and almost begrudgingly. "You'll need to consult an Ancient God on this situation. They will likely petition a Reaper for assistance on a matter such as this." For a moment she was quite shocked. She had never worked with an Ancient God. In fact, it was extremely rare for her to even be speaking with a Dimension God. And a Reaper? For something this simple? There was clearly more depth to this issue than she originally anticipated. Her training reminded her to never try and understand the politics of the gods as she tried to reenter the correct headspace. "Uh, very well," she said, attempting to regain her composure. "Can you grant me the proper clearance or shall I submit the appropriate application seeking an audience of such an authority?" she asked a little more confidently now that she no longer sought approval from this particular god. The voice groaned again and she felt a shift of energy. Her name tag now bore a golden rim. It sparkled brightly. "Spare yourself the effort. Your access is granted," the voice said in the same begrudging tone. An ancient looking vault door attached to nothing appeared in front of her. The large spoked handle in the center of the door began to spin. Metal locks popped out of their seats allowing the door to slowly open before her. With a simple smirk she made her way to the door. "Thank you kindly," she said with a slight bow. She walked through the vault door in search of an Ancient God. After the vault door shut, the being was left alone. If a voice could make a sound that meant it was rolling its eyes, that's the sound it made. The vault door vanished.


Familiar Faces Josh had been a pretty awkward guy throughout highschool, and that awkwardness followed him through college. Now, as a twenty-four year old employed college graduate, he is a slightly less awkward version of his previous self. It was something he had always resented about himself. Because of this awkwardness, he didn’t have much of a social life and dating “wasn’t really his thing.” Josh is now a slightly less awkward young man who is trying to meet someone. There is no one he has his eye on, so he has taken to popular dating apps in hopes of finding someone special. He had been on a few dates, but has yet to meet someone who was worth a second date. He managed to find a flaw with every girl he met - too chatty, too much of a partier, couldn’t hold a moderately intelligent conversation, not looking for anything serious, the list goes on. After matching with a girl from his area, Sarah, he decides to go on one last date before he gives up. They spend a couple of days talking and seem to hit it off, so Josh decides to take her to a local bar that is known for its craft beer selection. He gets to the bar a few minutes early and grabs a table for two and a few glasses of water while he waits for Sarah to arrive. She was supposed to be there around seven, and it was now nearly seven thirty. Losing hope, he finally orders a beer and hopes that maybe she’ll show. Sure enough, she does, but she does not come alone. Confused, Josh stands up to introduce himself with a handshake. “Sarah? Hi, I’m Josh. I almost didn’t think you’d make it.” “Here I am,” she responds as her guest and she sits down at the table that was once for two. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought company. This is my roommate Alex.” Of course he minds, you generally don’t bring a friend on dates. But awkwardly he responds, “Of course not, the more the merrier I guess.” The three are awkwardly sitting there in silence when their server finally returns to grab the two girls drink orders. They order their drinks, and Josh his second beer, as well as put an appetizer in. Josh tries to start a conversation on his “date,” but does not get very far. The two girls are too busy chatting about someone they met last night. As they sit there in awkward silence, their server returns with the round of drinks and their chips and salsa app. Again, Josh tries to spark some sort of conversation with Sarah and Alex as he has been sitting here basically in silence. He asks them about work and they both give him very short answers and continue to talk about where they are headed after this. Knowing that this “date” is going absolutely nowhere, he leaves some cash on the table, says goodbye to the girls and leaves. “Well, this has been, uh, fun but I should be going,” he tells the girls sheepishly. Sarah and Alex barely noticed his presence, let alone his absence. Frustrated from his worst date yet, he heads across the street to his usually spot. There he is greeted by a fairly good friend of his, the bartender, John. “How’s it going Josh? Happy Friday, huh?” “It’s going alright, happy might be a stretch,” he replies as he takes his usual seat at the bar. John walks away briefly and returns with a beer in hand for Josh. “Here ya go, freshly tapped today. So tell me, Joshy, why so blue?” “Ya know just life. I just left an, uh, interesting date. Will not be seeing her, or them, again.” “Them? Two girls at once, you a player or something now?” Shaking his head, Josh responds, “ Ha. You know me I could barely get one girl to go out with me, let alone two. She showed up thirty minutes late and brought her roommate. They barely noticed I was there. Easily my worst date yet. Might be time to throw in the towel.” “Oh shit, man. That sounds terrible. How about another beer on the house?” “Sure.” John walks away to grab the beer and greet his newest bar guest. Josh notices her sit down, as she looks oddly familiar. He is confident he knows her, but is having a hard time remembering how. Looking into his now empty beer glass, he remembers his freshman year of college and the girl he sat near in a biology lab. He remembers the two of them hit it off and even went on a few dates. Was that really who just sat down at the bar? John returns with a beer and questions why Josh seems to have been staring at this new girl. “I swear, I know that girl. I think we hung out a few times in college.” “Maybe you should go say hi to her then?” “Nah. Not with the luck I’ve been having.” “C’mon man. You’ve got some liquid luck in your system now. What’s the worst that could happen? She invites her sister along?” Reluctantly, Josh responds, “I guess you’re right. I don’t have much to lose at this point. Let me get another beer and whatever she’s drinking.” John hands him the two drinks and Josh makes his way to the other end of the bar. Handing her the Tito’s and cran, it finally clicks, it was Emily. He couldn’t remember why they drifted apart over the years. “Hey.. Remember me? How have you been?” “Josh? Good to see you! I’ve been doing pretty well. You?” “Oh ya know, I can’t complain. My job treats me well and I’ve got a roof over my head.” Laughing she says, “That’s good to hear. You live around here now? I just got relocated so I’m still getting familiar with the area.” “Yeah, I live not too far from here. Relocated huh? What do you do for work,” he asks as he sits down next to her. “I’m a salesperson for medical equipment. Nothing too exciting, but I like the traveling.” “Yeah I bet. That sounds like a pretty good gig. How long are you going to be around here for?” “I’m not entirely sure yet, but at least a year. Maybe you can show me around sometime.” “Sure sure. I could do that. Let me give you my number.


The orange sun peeked from behind the empty hills and found two sets of furrowed brows. On the driver seat, Michael lowered the sun visor, and his frown dissolved. On the passenger seat, his son did the same, and his frown didn’t move. Kevin’s eyes were lost beyond the hills, his arms crossed, his hands fiddling with the cord of the headphones. “I hate this time of day,” Michael said. There was no response from the passenger seat. The orange hangover sun was flooding the dashboard. The hills came and went lazily on the horizon. They said hi and goodbye and kept going, slowly, on an infinite dance up and down, like sound waves. Michael sipped from a large coffee to go and pushed the oversized cup back into the small cup holder, struggling to make it fit. “The sunrise, I mean,” he tried again. Kevin kept his eyes on the hills. The car was silent except for the droning of the wheels. Michael prayed for the radio to come back to life. He should have fixed it months ago but he never really listened to the radio. He enjoyed having the silence as his passenger. There had been enough opportunities to get the radio fixed, but they had come and gone, and it was still broken. Now he realized this had been a mistake. He pushed the buttons on the radio, hoping it would magically start playing a song or the news. God, he hated the radio news, but even that would be better than this silence, better than the hum of the tires on the road, singing the most tedious song in the history of humanity. White noise, static from the dead radio. The screaming sound of having nothing to say. “Why?” Kevin asked. “What’s that?” Kevin sighed. “Why do you hate the sunrise?” “Oh,” Michael gathered his thoughts and answered. “Bad memories.” The humming kept strong, the blaring of nothingness. He could hear the granularity of the asphalt in the sound, feel the silence vibrating in his chest. “From when I was just a bit older than you are,” he said. “I used to go out. To parties, that is. In my twenties. And get drunk.” A new patch of asphalt came in the distance and found the wheels with a different texture of sound, as bland as the one before. “The time to end a fun night is before sunrise,” Michael said. “If you started drinking the night before and you’re still drinking the next morning, you’re doing it wrong. When the hot sun touches your face in the morning, it’s like you’re getting licked by a dog that’s just licked itself. It’s warm and disgusting. You feel like trash. You’re thirsty, and you’re hungry, and you just want to go to bed and sleep in your clothes, which are all sticky from people bumping on you all night and spilling beer.” He sipped the coffee while the hills came and went. Hi, they said over the static of the silent radio. Then, goodbye. And the dull humming proceeded. “God, getting drunk sucks.” “Michael, that’s lame.” Kevin’s frown was directed at his father now. The furrowed brows were the same Michael could see on his bathroom mirror every morning. “What?” “This little rant of yours is a lame attempt at keeping me away from drinking,” Kevin said. “Wha- No! Not at all.” “Right.” A smirk and back to the frown. The drab droning kept unaltered except for the changes of the asphalt. A different shade of white noise here and there, a new radio station playing a new song, as monotonous and hypnotic as the one before. “I mean, you shouldn’t drink,” Michael said. “Well, you can. You’re going to college. God knows you will. I’m just saying, don’t drink too much. It’s bad. At least in my experience.” Kevin’s eyes were on the horizon again, riding the empty sound waves of the traveling hills. Hi. Goodbye. Up and down. Michael took another sip from the coffee, another struggle to make the cup fit. “Well, do you even drink?” “I’m seventeen,” Kevin said. “Seventeen. Right.” Kevin raised the sun visor. The sun had already thanked the hills for letting it crash on their couch and was now on its journey through the vivid blue sky. Michael raised his sun visor as well. “And what about that old friend of yours? Do you go out with him?” “I don’t go out. I spend most of my free time on the computer.” “Yeah, but do you talk to him?” “Who?” “That friend of yours,” Michael said. “The one from school.” “There were at least two hundred kids at my school.” “Jesus, seriously? I mean the small kid. The one with the glasses. I think his name was Timmy.” “You mean Tommy,” Kevin said. “Michael, that was in third grade.” The static sang its dull song in Michael’s ears. “Third grade. Right.” He tried another sip but there was no more coffee in the wrinkled cup. “Hey,” Michael said, “do you remember grandpa's and grandma’s lake house? We used to go there when you were young.” “Yeah. I guess.” “It’s only a half-an-hour drive from your college. We should go there sometime and hang out. I still go there every couple of weeks or so, to take a look if everything is in order. The place is kind of abandoned since your grandpa died. So I go up there, clean up, and just hang out for a while, drink a beer with my feet in the lake. It’s peaceful. Silent. It’s nice.” Michael waited but there was no answer from Kevin. There was just the never-ending droning of the wheels. “Do you remember the swing on the yard?” he insisted. “It’s still there. God, you used to love that swing! You kept asking me to push you higher and higher and I would do it and you’d never get afraid. Your mom was so pissed! She would say I wasn’t careful with you, that I was a bad… father.” “So you go to the lake house every couple of weeks and just hang out?” “Yeah!” “So how come you never come to visit?” Michael’s heart was as wrinkled as his coffee cup, pressed against the tight walls of his chest. There was a surge of pain and nausea, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road and his face as blank as the song in the silent radio. Kevin’s eyes were lost on the hills again, and Michael’s mind was drowning in the sound of the dull sound. “You didn’t have to do this, you know?” Kevin said. “What?” “Give me a ride. You didn’t have to.” “Yeah, well, your mom had a shift at the hospital.” “I know,” Kevin said, his eyes had now left the hills and were on the screen of his phone, his right hand flipping through a list of songs while the left hand untangled his headphones. “But Bob could’ve taken me.” Another moment of deafening silence. Another sip from the empty cup. Another shade of white noise. “Yeah, no,” Michael said. “I wanted to. When was the last time we’ve spent time together?” “I don’t know,” Kevin said, putting on his headphones. “I don’t remember.” Michael looked at the horizon, at the up and down of the hills. “Right.” Hi. Goodbye. “I don’t remember either.” The hills came and went, and then there were only plains of cornfields. And then buildings, and a town, and another. But there was no silence. # “Do you need a hand with that?” “No, I got it.” Kevin took the microwave from the trunk. He was carrying a backpack, and another bag was strapped across his chest. Michael closed the trunk of the car and pulled up the handle of the wheeled suitcase. They walked to the brick residence hall and he biped the car in the distance. “Let me get that for you,” Michael said, rushing for the glass door. “No need to.” Kevin pushed the door with his back. He let the door go and Michael held it with his foot. They walked to the stairs, their steps echoing through the empty hall. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” “I’m sure.” They crawled upstairs, one step at a time. Kevin leading the way, Michael following, on and on up the endless staircase. “Do you know where it is?” Michael asked when they got to the second floor. “Yeah, it should be at the end of this hallway.” “And you’ve got the key?” “Yup.” Michael followed Kevin through the hallway, the doors all closed, the walls empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing above their heads, a lonely window in the end wall. Kevin stopped in front of the last door and shifted the microwave on his arms. “Could you knock, please?” “This one?” “Yeah.” Michael settled the suitcase on the floor and raised his hand, but before he touched the door, it flung open. A kid with a headset on was standing inside. “May I help you?” the boy asked. Michael stared blankly. “Hey, Li,” Kevin said. “It’s me. Help me put this microwave somewhere.” He shouldered his way past Michael and into the room and rushed for a table to put the microwave. “Oh, hey, K.G.,” Li said, “you’re finally here!” Michael stood outside for a second and then stepped into the room, rolling the suitcase. “Where do you want me to…” He trailed off, his voice drowned by Li’s and Kevin’s greetings. “It’s nice to finally see you in person, bro,” Kevin told Li while they hugged. Michael looked around. Two beds, one empty, the other one with an open laptop. A small clothes cabinet, a lonely, worn-out desk with the microwave, a minifridge, a window overlooking the parking lot. On the wall above Li’s bed, there was a poster of what Michael assumed to be either a video-game or a movie. The phone rang in his pocket. “Hey, it’s your mom,” Michael said. “She probably wants to know if we got here in one piece. I’m gonna take this outside.” He left the suitcase where it was and stepped into the hallway, taking the phone to his ear. “Hey, Linda.” “Are you there yet?” the voice on the phone asked. “Well, hi to you too.” Inside the room, Li and Kevin were talking, and Michael’s ear turned the volume down on Linda. “We gotta find a place to plug that microwave,” Li said. “And who’s that guy? Your uncle?” “Nah, that’s Michael. He’s my absent father, trying to compensate for his absence I guess.” Michael’s eyes died in a stare as blank as the walls in the hallway. The only sound in his ears was his heart pumping, and in between pumps, the buzz of the fluorescent lights. The dead radio was still playing the white noise song, but it had been thrown underwater, the static distorted into a low frequency. His chest hurt with every beat of his heart and so did his ears, and he couldn’t turn that damn radio off. From far away came a voice on the radio. “Hello? Michael, are you there? Michael, answer me! Hello?” He blinked a hundred times and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Yes! I’m here.” He walked to the stairs. He needed air. “What happened?” Linda asked. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second. What was the question?” He could hear her rolling her eyes in the brief silence of the phone. “Are you there yet? Did you get there fine?” “Yes. We’re here.” He tried pushing the glass door a couple of times before pulling it open. “He’s settling in, his roommate is already there.” “Oh, he mentioned Li would be there,” Linda said. “Good.” “You already knew his roommate?” “Well, they’ve been talking online for a couple of weeks now.” “Right,” Michael said while he kicked a pebble in the parking lot. “Linda, listen. Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you tell him bad things about me through all these years?” “What? Michael, why would I? Of course not! What are you talking about?” “It’s just… that kid hates me.” Her sigh on the phone carried an emotion he didn’t want to take, but it was the only one she had to offer. “I’m sorry to hear that, Michael. I truly am. But you didn’t exactly help all these years.” “I know,” he said, “but I’m trying to help now and he won’t let me.” “I was talking about helping yourself.” “Right,” he kicked another pebble. “He is a grown man now, he doesn’t need your help. He doesn’t need a father now.” “Yeah. No, I know.” For a second there was nothing but silence and a cool breeze caressed Michael’s face. “But maybe he could have a friend?” he said. # “Are you sure you didn’t forget anything?” Michael asked Kevin from inside the car, Li was standing at the glass door of the residence hall. “Yeah, I’m sure,” Kevin answered. “Thanks for the ride, Michael.” “Don’t mention it. I…” He fumbled for words but nothing came. The setting sun hit Kevin’s face the same way it had in the morning and he furrowed his brows to look at Michael. Everything was silent, and Michael’s crumpled up heart was hurting inside his tiny chest. “Listen, son. I… I know I haven’t been around much and the only thing I can tell you now is I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time. I can’t go back to when you were that kid I was pushing on the swing on the lake house. I can’t go back to the birthdays I missed, to the hospital when you broke your arm, to Disneyland when you met Pluto, to when you found out you had been accepted in college. I can’t pretend I’ve been a part of your life, and I have no excuses. I used to have them, I used to have a bunch of them. At first, it was weird because of the divorce. And then I moved out of town. And then there was Bob, and I missed a birthday because of that. And then I missed another and another, and it would be just too awkward to show up there out of the blue. “Life, it’s weird. It’s like a highway in some ways. You get an exit and if you miss it you sometimes have to drive for miles to get another one. And until you get to the next one you’re asking yourself ‘Why the hell didn’t I take the last one?’ And you hate yourself for not having taken it. And you have to keep driving and driving and asking and hating. “But I finally took the exit, and I’m here now. Because I kept driving and driving and at some point, I noticed I was driving by myself. My mistakes were my only passengers. I don’t want it to be this way anymore. I want to have a son! And you’re really unlucky because I do have a son, and it’s you. But it’s a son who doesn’t even know me. A son who doesn’t feel comfortable enough to call me dad. A son who hates me.” The lazy breeze swept the parking lot while a small tear washed Michael’s eyes. “That hurts,” his voice cracked. “That hurts so much, you have no idea. I want to change that. So, if you ever feel like having a beer with your old man, give me a call. I mean, you can’t drink but… you know. We can go to the lake house, you can bring Li with you. We can… go fishing. I’d have to talk to Li’s parents and I don’t even know if there are fish in that lake but, I mean… just call me. Ok?” Kevin’s frown had a twinge of sadness now. “Geez, Michael,” he said, “What am I supposed to say?” “I know, it was too much to drop on you. I’m sorry. I just had to take it out of my chest. So, just… you know.” He extended his arm and touched his son’s. Kevin awkwardly grabbed his father’s hand and Michael pressed it. A hug for hands. He enjoyed it for a second before bringing his hand back inside the car and turning on the engine. “Take care, son.” “Yeah, don’t worry.” “Bye, Li,” Michael shouted. “Bye, Mr. G,” Li waved back. # Michael sat with a beer on the small dock of the lake house, his feet in the water, the big white moon reflecting off the lake. The crickets and the frogs were screaming in a constant buzz and the sound danced on the ripples of the lake. He took a sip from the beer and looked at his feet. His phone rang. “Hello?” “Hey, Michael,” Kevin said. “Hey! Did you forget something in the car?” “No, no. It’s just… I was thinking about what you’ve said, about having a beer with you. Li is very interested.” Michael laughed. “So, you know,” Kevin continued, “if you wanna pick us up next weekend, I think it could be fun.” “Yeah, sure buddy! I’m not sure about that beer though. And I’d have to talk to Li’s parents.” “Yeah, no problem. I think it could be fun anyway,” Kevin said. “Sure thing. I’ll pick you boys up next weekend.” “Cool! Thanks… dad. Bye.” Michael held the phone in his hand and kept looking at it for a few seconds with the stupidest smile. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and drank from the beer. There was not a single sound in the entire world, only the deepest of silences hovering over the moon-kissed lake. Michael floated on that sweet song.


My father sat there, in his chair, his chair, no one else’s, that’s the way it was; it remained his chair even when he was 6ft to deep to sit in it, in the attic of the house, never given away, never thrown out, and old blanket draped over it – never spoken of. The film played over and over again, I forget which film. We had one of those weird players with a setting that could play a film on a loop, a function no normal person would ever use, designed perhaps for shut-ins, depressives, the elderly, the medicated: both prescription and non-prescription. I don’t know how many times I saw that film, it was just colors and sounds to me, so in reality everything was just waves, that’s the way I’ve been looking at the world recently, it’s all just waves, altering in their minute details: wavelength, amplitude, frequency. The sound waves tingling the hairs in my one year old ear, daring me to make sense of them, the ocular cone and rods, flared up as the colors danced, I could tell there were people, there were places, there were things, but I had nothing to compare them to. Was this man on the screen my father, at that age all adult men are your father, whereas you only have one mother, completely unique, right from the get go that bond seems stronger. My crib had bars taller than me, but of course, if they hadn’t been they would have defeated their own purpose. I peeked through them, eager to learn of the world, looking like a prisoner, but not having any conception of what a prison is. Though I soon would. I watched my father, his chest rising and falling, the cigarette in his fingers, unlit; this would happen occasionally, the intention was there but, as so often in life, the follow-through was not. Sometimes he would make the cigarette dance for me, some of my earliest memories, vivid trees, skies, cars, people, and then suddenly a shooting star darting from my periphery. I reached at it and it would pull back, trailing smoke behind it which turned the vivid memories hazy. His eyes were closed, I did have a concept of sleep, he was asleep, his chest up and down. I parodied it, even at that age having a desire to copy and impress – a lonely artfrom. Dating advice #21: copy your partners posture and mannerisms, this will make you seem compatible. (If she puts her hand in the fire, you know damn well where yours is going). So there I lay, on my back, breathing as hard as I possibly could, but the up-down of my chest, its plotted height resulting in a sin curve, could no where near match the heights reached by my barrel chested father. Years of lifting things and moving things, there was never talk of his actual job title, it was just well known that it required physical excursion. Perhaps his explanation for returning home every night, his breathing pale, his face a rosy red: ‘long day’ those are the only two words I remember him saying.


Dominion. Temptation. Gambling. Retreat. Snaked around Godwick’s neck, Greymalken licked at the air with a forked tongue emerging from a tiny snout of jagged teeth. Telepathically, the pseudodragon observed, “He’s resisting .”

Wearing a spectral iron crown, Severain Yim, a healthy, young Gaelwyn Man in his mid-thirties and cousin to the King of Nodderton, resentfully gnashed his rotting teeth. He was armored, wearing a green and black surcoat and a sheathed broadsword hung at his hip. A heavy metal key trembled in his ashen hand.

“He’s a formidable intellect. He understands what I am doing, what I want,” Godwick winced, responding to his familiar within the recesses of his own mind. Concentrating, Godwick Emberfoot, a Halfling Warlock enslaved to the Arch Fae Aurusel the Gardener, pressed two fingers to his temple to reassert his will over Severain Yim. “Sentries?” Greymalken squinted into the darkness. “None. Yet. ”

The magic of the iron crown had aged and withered Severain Yim; his hair had thinned and turned the color of bone to hang like a whispy veil from his scalp; his pallor had bleached a ghostly white; his skin was made dry and flakey as if his body were just inches from the grave; his eyes had recessed into bright yellow orbs. Godwick’s gaze moved from Severain’s hand to the gate’s keyhole. Hesitantly, Severain Yim inserted the key, twisted his wrist, and opened the gate. “Walk. En-enter the san-sanctuary,” Godwick stuttered, and at his command, Severain lumbered forward, his gait stiff, jerky, and apprehensive. Following from behind, Godwick gripped the wrought iron bars, closed, and locked the gate. Layered under his colorful patchwork cloak, Godwick wore ripped and stained tan leggings and a soiled tunic while a dirty yellow cotton cravat tie hung loosely around his neck. Together, Godwick and Severain ascended a small flight of stairs. “That’ll mind the guards.” “Until they find another key,” Greymalken reminded. Nested in the hood of Godwick’s cloak, the pseudodragon examined the shambling form of Severain Yim. “Why does your enchantment alter his appearance?” “We see the Crown of Madness as a manifestation of the energy I’m channeling from the Faewild ,” Godwick replied. “It’s as if I were dumping a continuous stream of water over his head.” Impressed, Greymalken sinisterly purred, “He is charmed, your dominion over him utter and complete.” “Yes,” Godwick agreed, grimacing, “but he contests me, and as time passes, my own resolve weakens.” Standing at a little less than half Severain’s height, Godwick appeared behind him and entered the castle’s sanctuary. It was the dead of night, and the sky was full of faint pinpricks of stars. They stood in a round, cobbled courtyard built high atop a bastion overlooking a green valley. Four colorful flags bearing the crests of Nodderton’s royal families hung from the walls as tapestries. Uncoincidentally, four limestone curule seats encircled a rowan tree, its branches bearing clusters of ripe red fruit; the tree grew from a brick surround in the sanctuary’s center. “A Gifting Tree!” Greymalken said avariciously, coiling on Godwick’s shoulder. “Gaed Hok told no lies!” “The dead cannot lie, Greymalken, only obfuscate,” Godwick affirmed, meandering the perimeter to regard the tree with wonder. Godwick rested his palm against its bark. It was cool and smooth. Looking mournfully overhead, Godwick frowned, and added, “Unlike the living.” Greymalken bounded from Godwick’s shoulder to the tree’s branches and scrabbled up its side. Godwick circled the trunk, his attention drawn to its fruit of knowledge. “S-Severain Yim?” “Yes,” Severain replied in the grainy, haunting voice of the possessed. His yellow eyes watched over the valley. “You w-will answer my questions hon-honestly, with no intention to de-deceive.” Severain tilted his head and ground his teeth. “Yes.” “I m-must know if more clippings from this t-tree have been t-taken,” Godwick asked. “None,” Severain sneered, “to my knowledge.” Godwick cringed, feeling Severain’s spite push against his mind. “Have you st-stored or p-planted its s-seeds?” “No.” “H-Have you preserved its fr-fruit, in any f-form?” “I have not.” Greymalken rested as a cat might in the boughs of the rowan tree to look proudly upon Godwick. “Behold: the last of the Gifting Trees found in the mortal realm. Aurusel will be pleased.” Approaching Severain, Godwick scowled and pressed his will into the man. “Have you con-consumed the tree’s f-fruit?” Severain’s hands clenched, his gaze descending to meet Godwick’s stature. “Yes.” “Hmm,” Greymalken delightedly cooed from his perch, and his reptilian eyes glared skeptically at the man. “The plot thickens.” Godwick extended his right hand at Severain, and the iron chain binding Godwick’s wrists - a representation of his subservience - collapsed, clanked, and jostled. “You will t-tell me for what purpose.” Severain sneered, “Its fruit imparted foreknowledge of the frosts for three years. It foreshadowed pestilence. It granted insight into the timing of harvests, ascertained soil fertility in my fiefdom, and helped determine the likelihood of crop failure.” “Well, color me surprised,” Greymalken crooned, smiling as much as a dragon can smile, stalking the limbs over their heads. He arched his tail where at its end rested a scorpion-like stinger. Dubious, Godwick paused, then communicated directly with Greymalken. “If he speaks truthfully, he’s used the knowledge to instruct his farmers. He staved off losses; thwarted famine and death. This lord aided his people.” Greymalken rolled his head, issued a low growl, and exposed his teeth. “A selfless Man who acts on the behest of a greater good ? Godwick, there’s no such thing! He lies - destroy him!” Severain Yim sneered contemptuously at Godwick, sending a sharp, intense pain coursing across Godwick’s skull. Reflexively, Godwick reeled, braced against the tree, and pressed the butt of his palm against his eye as if to push the ache out of his head. “Godwick?” “I can’t tell if he’s lying,” Godwick mentally replied, struggling to subdue Severain’s consciousness. “What would it matter?” Greymalken retorted. “I’m hesitant to destroy the tree. Without his foresight, hundreds more may be lost to famine.” “You mean hundreds who would otherwise die are kept alive,” Greymalken argued. Godwick peered over his shoulder to the lush green valley beyond the ramparts of the sanctuary. “You refer to natural balances, cosmic harmonies, but those are divine questions. Suffering is a mortal experience. Severain Yim’s intentions-” “We are no moral arbiter for Man!” Greymalken seethed, glaring at Godwick from the branches. “Who are we to question Aurusel’s designs? Or decide what is right or wrong? We are to obliterate this tree, that is our sole commission - Godwick, what are you doing?” Climbing the base of the rowan tree, Godwick scoffed, “What do beings like Aurusel know of suffering ?” “Godwick!” Greymalken exclaimed in alarm. “If this t-truly is the last Gifting Tree in the mor-mortal realm,” Godwick whispered, his eyes honing on a berry cluster, “it would offer p-perfect insight. I would kn-know Severain’s truth. I would kn-know the lesser of the two evils-” His body compliantly rigid, Severain Yim’s ghostly face sneered in pleasure. “Do not be tempted ,” Greymalken shouted in Godwick’s mind. “-I’d know … what hap-happens at the end ,” Godwick breathed, seizing a juicy red rowanberry to bring it to his mouth. Greymalken arched his back, splayed his wings, clawed at the air, and fiercely hissed, “Fool!” The fruit tasted bitter on Godwick’s tongue, and as he consumed it, his pupils dilated, and he could barely breathe. Time crawled. His ears were filled with the steady thrum of his slowing heartbeat. Far above him, the light from the stars intensified as the spiral arm of the galaxy came into sharper focus. In the distance, Godwick could see fine details of the valley. He saw every rock and tree and field, and he knew of every worm in the soil, every wolf in the forest, every fish in the river, and the gentle flap of every butterfly. Godwick could see clearly, more perfectly than any mortal, shattering his earthly concentration. Severain Yim pitched to the sanctuary’s stone floor. Godwick’s Crown of Madness had disappeared, and its enchantments were dismissed, revealing Severain’s strong, youthful self. His skin was taut - young - his beard brown and healthy again, and his haunted expression was replaced with grim, fervent hate. “Godwick!” Greymalken pleaded. Perceiving the entirety of creation, Godwick gasped. His eyelids twitched and spasmed, and his hands shook, blindly reaching out to grasp at the world around him. Greymalken’s voice sounded echoey and muffled by Godwick’s own heartbeat pounding in his mind. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. I ask of Severain Yim. Refocusing his addled mind, Godwick saw a translucent image of Severain sitting contemplatively on one of the curules, his head cradled in his hands and addressing three tonsured scribes who wrote copious notes on rolls of parchment. Thereafter Godwick saw those scribes directing groups of workers. He saw shadows of hunched-over laborers tending crops, bundling and basketing vegetables, pitching hay, and working the land. He saw acres of snow made green by the return of spring. Godwick saw villages - entire families - living, thriving, healthy and happy. “Godwick!” Greymalken exclaimed. Beneath him, Severain Yim stumbled angrily to his feet. Gripping the hilt of his broadsword, Severain withdrew his blade from his scabbard with a steely ring. And physically impaired, Godwick remained immobilized at the foot of the tree, his eyes staring into a void. Armed, Severain growled, advancing menacingly on Godwick to gut him alive as a flutter of red bat-like wings burst from the tree. Greymalken clawed at Severain’s eyes, and his wings flapped wildly around Severain’s head. He stepped back to regain his balance and to address the dragon. Godwick’s pupils, consuming nearly all of his irises, beheld the whole of the universe. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. What becomes of Severain Yim’s intervention? Godwick saw images of sprawling villages and cooking fires. He saw the population grow. The translucent shadows of people trading, building new homes, erecting stables and churches, blacksmith forges, banquet halls and inns, markets, banks, and centers of commerce. Then he saw Severain Yim’s fiefdom drastically out-compete its neighbors. Godwick watched as Man constructed terrible machines to roll across the countryside. He saw black smoke rising from the horizon, an invading army, murderous pikes thrust through the bodies of helpless women and children. And he saw a darker, more ominous shadow stab Severain Yim with a dagger, whereas the fruits of the Gifting Tree fell into the hands of a new leader, vile and corrupt. “Godwick!” Greymalken’s cry sounded far, far away. Severain Yim sent his blade high and wide, narrowly missing the dragon in counter-flight. Circling to attack, Greymalken soared above Severain, spun upside down, and then dove to land behind his shoulder. Greymalken plunged his tail’s stinger only for it to be deflected by Severain’s chainmail. Lowering his weapon, Severain threw back his arm to bat Greymalken away, and the drake crumpled at the impact and was thrown to the ground. Dazed, Greymalken stirred to peel away from a crashing strike delivered by Severain’s sword. Hobbled by an injury suffered to his right front leg, Greymalken scrambled, his nails scraping frantically across the stone, then leaped into the air. Straining to beat his wings hard enough to gain lift, the dragon caught a draft to propel himself upward and out of Severain’s reach, sailing wide around Severain’s backside. “Godwick!” Greymalken screamed, “Wake up! Godwick!” Severain shouted a fierce cry as he turned around, taking his sword two-handed in a high arc to meet Greymalken’s flight path. Dodging Severain’s erratic swing, the dragon darted between Severain’s legs to soar unopposed into the space behind him. Leaning against the tree, Godwick’s unwavering eyes bore witness to everything. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. “Behold,” Godwick recalled Greymalken say, “the last of the Gifting Trees found in the mortal realm …” Godwick slowly raised his chained hands before him. He felt a cold sweat.

Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. Perfect knowledge, Godwick heard himself say. And then selfishness overtook him. How am I to be freed from Aurusel’s thrall? Pushing past the dragon to the center of the sanctuary, marching straight to the rowan tree, Severain Yim raised his blade to drive its tip into Godwick’s defenseless body. Dipping out of the sky, Greymalken raked the back of Severain’s neck in a surprise attack. A trail of crimson splattered across the cobblestones, and Severain was knocked off-balance to careen and collapse, sending his sword sliding across the stone. Godwick saw a shadow of himself standing in the Faewild surrounded by a kaleidoscope of soft, multicolored light. Perpetually under a twilight sky, the leafy forests of the Faewild were vibrant and shimmered. Tall green and purple grasses rolled from a gentle wind. But Godwick was afraid. This was more than a land of fairies and elves, and supernatural beauty. The Faewild was home to some of the most ferocious, terrifying things. Creatures of such immense presence and power that they were long denied access to the mortal world. Thorny vines ripped from the earth and coiled at his feet to tear at his flesh, forcing Godwick to his knees. Rising above the forest, a towering form appeared soaring a hundred feet above him, dwarfing the treeline. It had the torso of a man but the hind legs and hooves of an elk. It was a black shadow with simmering amber eyes, pointed ears, elongated arms and claws, and a head crested with twisted antelope-like horns. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. It was Aurusel the Gardener. Godwick cried out, cowered, and threw his manacled hands over his head. “You dare ?” it hissed in a malevolent, corrosive voice dripping with poison. Aurusel’s enormous hand arrested Godwick by his cloak. Godwick’s heart raced. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. Wide-eyed and panicked, Godwick spun his body about in the real world to claw at the sanctuary’s floor, to pull himself away. Meanwhile, Severain Yim, wincing upon reaching behind his neck to touch his wound, cursed the meddlesome dragon, and arose to his feet to reacquire his weapon. “Godwick! Help!” Greymalken shouted, banking along the curves of the sanctuary’s walls. Shocked, terrified, incapable of wresting himself free of the fruit’s influence, Godwick could only watch as Aurusel the Gardener planted Godwick’s body into the soil. Aurusel’s monstrous voice growled from inside his mind, and its burning amber eyes went to the horizon. “As you are gifted with truesight and beyond my reach in the mortal realm, you shall bear witness to your answer - the only true means of escaping my charge.” Godwick screamed in horror, drowning in a sea of agony with waves of pain crashing into him, as black claws the size of a house wrenched the soil to rend his flesh and till him back into the earth. And briefly, Godwick’s heart stopped. “You will destroy the Gifting Tree, maggot,” Aurusel demanded. Its shadowy, horned gaze turned menacingly from the horizon to Godwick’s composted, rotting body, and concluded, “So neither you nor Man may eat more of its fruit.” Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. Godwick gasped and started as his consciousness returned. And as Severain lunged to pierce the prone halfling with his blade, Greymalken slammed into the side of Severain’s head, dragging his talons and raking Severain’s right ear to shreds. Marred, Severain instinctively dropped his weapon again, snarled, and brought his hand up to cover the side of his head, gushing with blood. “Godwick!” Greymalken shouted from inside Godwick’s mind, racing on a wind current up the side of a royal tapestry. He banked and turned his wings ninety degrees on his axis. Wobbling to his feet, still traumatized - scared out of his mind - Godwick stumbled and wearily opened his arms wide, as far as his manacled wrists would allow. He tilted his head back in surrender, to draw upon the immeasurable energy of the Faewild - a power granted to him, a servant , by Aurusel, his master . “No!” Severain Yim cried, diving at the tree to grasp whatever he could of its living berries. Summoned by Godwick’s rageful howl, a blue-flamed fireball erupted from the base of the rowan tree to send an explosion of cobblestone, fire, and crackling embers into the night sky. Screaming, Severain’s body, burned within the maelstrom of the fiery inferno, was thrown by its concussive force, launched over the ramparts, and flailed uselessly in the sky above his fiefdom to plummet a hundred feet to the rocks below. Godwick’s body was kicked into the wall of the sanctuary, where he weakly fell forward to land on his belly. Blackened and charred, the Gifting Tree was consumed in the blast of swirling flame. Its ashes took to the air to drift over the fertile valley. Circling above the sanctuary at a safe distance, Greymalken angled his snout and tucked his wings, sending himself sailing through the remnants of the fireball to land by Godwick’s side. “Godwick! You idiot halfling-” “I-I,” Godwick stuttered, his voice quavering, and he dragged himself forward across the stone. His face and neck were matted with blood and severely burned. Godwick trembled, and his hands clenched involuntarily from the pain, and he gasped, glaring at Greymalken, “I ga-gambled … I l-lost.” Greymalken crawled on all fours and wormed himself into Godwick’s arms. “Damnit, Godwick - you need a cleric, a healer - I will not let you die! Concentrate! Take us to Mosshollow, on the border of the Aevalorn Parishes. Focus, do it now!” Godwick teetered between life and death. Da-thump. Da-thump. Da-thump. Grasping at his cowl with his shaking, blistered hands, Godwick issued a sickly, wet gasp as he threw it up over his head, causing a flaming circle to envelope them both, and together, they fell through a hole punched into the fabric of the universe.


LOSS "i will be alright, Thank you. once again Thanks for coming" i exclaimed for the gazillionth time this week as i closed the door behind my Aunt maya. "you do let us know if there is anything we can do" she said in a semi-genuine tone as she grabbed her keys out of her purse. Hers was probably the most genuine eulogy i had hear this week because she at least cared to stay till everyone else had left. i walked back inside my house to the stench of incense and a hauntingly silent hall. it had been 8 days 4 hours and 37 minutes since i found the body in the bathroom. I went up the stairs to my room and grabbed the pack of cigarettes i hide behind the flushing cistern. For the first time, i lit one up and walked out of the bathroom in the balcony instead of sticking my face against the exhaust fan. The nosy lady next door kept staring at me when she saw it. She was loving that i could tell; it was probably all she was gonna talk about for a week. i didnt care about it now though. i mean what was she gonna do? tell my father who just killed himself with a razor while he was in his PJs with his face covered in shaving cream and blood; or tell my mom who one-upped him by dying of cancer even before him last summer. That thought made me chuckle a little as i took a long drag. i wondered if humor was an appropriate sentiment to have at that time. I was still feeling pretty proud of myself for having not cried in last 197 hours. i threw the bud on the street near the nosy ladys front door and went back inside. i cried for 8 hours straight that night. The next day i woke up at 10 in the morning. big whoop i missed the school. i thought about how my dad used to wake me up everyday for school and he didn't today. just like he didnt on his last day on earth when he was too busy not writing a suicide note for his only son. I knew i wasnt going to go to school anyway because my school stuff was in my dad's room and i still wasnt ready to go anywhere near that room. i barely had any other thought that whole day. i cried myself to sleep again. The next day i woke up thinking about how my dad always complained about the refrigerator being extra noisy in the morning. i didnt know how or why was that the first thing that came in my mind when i opened my eyes, but i guessed it must have had something to do with my dreams.i could never remember my dreams; Lucky me! i spent the coming week mindlessly staring at my bedroom ceiling. i couldn't use my phone because of all those annoying messages of sympathy. my dad always hated the people who made efforts to show their sympathies when mom died. he always thought they were just trying to get some novelty out of their mundane routines while also feeling good about themselves at expense of someones loss. i get it now. That whole week i woke up every morning thinking about my dad After a week more, i woke up in the morning because of sharp whirring noise coming from the kitchen. i got up and went to check and it was that damned refrigerator making ice at the wrong time like it does again. i got a bottle out of it, took a sip and i started going up the stairs again to continue my doomstaring. suddenly i stopped for a moment and i realized something. I realized how today the first thing on my mind wasnt my dad. the moment i passed by his room the pain resumed; but for the first 30 seconds of the day, i felt something other than a dreary numbness. It was far from a feeling of happiness, but perhaps the most comfortable i have been in weeks with my suffering. Sorrow is a funny thing. When you have everything taken away from you it swallows you whole but still keeps you alive. it occupies you every minute every second of the day untill one day when it doesnt. You learn to overcome it little by little one minute at a time. Everyday you wake up and its the first thing on your mind, except one day when its the second; but you got to fight it everyday. i reclaimed my first 30 seconds from that wretched scum today. "One day at a time" i told myself before i went back up to sleep again.


To Lupita Smith the smell of a library was heaven. To Sir Danielle Longbow it was a sharp reminder that she’d spent most of her life illiterate. It was also a reminder that she sneezed in dusty places.             “Welcome to my humble commode,” said Carl Northman brightly, arms spread with a book in one. “No, wait. Wrong word.” He flipped the book open again. “Abode. My humble abode.” He frowned.             “You don’t live here, this is the library,” Lupita said.             Shrugging with the irreverence of a teen and the posture of a thirty-year-old, he sighed. “It feels like it recently. I made the place look pretty and was I thanked? No, I wasn’t.”             “Ordering the books by colour wasn’t helpful Carl.”             “Well, it seemed like a good idea after whiskey and opium. It looked incredible. It was the dullest, heaviest rainbow I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged again, then had to crack his back because slouching was doing him no favours.             “Have you put all of the books back yet?” Lupita asked the prince consort.             “Almost. It should only take me another week or so.”             “CARL.” Lupita groaned. If there was anything she loved more than Danielle, it was books. She picked up four from a stack and thrust them into Sir Longbow’s giant arms. Looking at the stack she added four more. “Come on, we’ll help.”             “I promise I would have had it done by now, but people keep asking me to read to them.” Mister Northman hurried after them. “Children keep bringing me the epics and asking for my stirring recitals. Recital means reading it out, doesn’t it?” He gave Danielle a questioning glance. She shrugged.             Tall and strong as she was, Sir Longbow was no more use than for carrying books as Lupita gently arranged them back on the shelves by subject and author then title. Carl threw the books up after the briefest glance at their leather spines.             “Why were you trying opium?” Danielle asked Carl as Lupita removed another book from her burden.             “I was curious. And high. Very high. And drunk. Actually, I was drunk first. Being drunk led to being high. Well actually, being drunk led to the acceptance of the pipe and that led to being high. Very quickly. Being drunk and high led to me climbing in here through the window and deciding I knew better than the regular librarian.” He said it all at lightning speed, always wary that someone would tell him to shut up. It happened a lot.             “If you’re looking for a book recommendation,” Carl said.             “I’m not,” said Danielle. She hoped the quick rebuttal would cut him off. If only.             “Well you’re in luck. I just so happen to know of an excellent new novel in the works as we speak. It’s by a new writer. She’s talented.” He looked at Lupita. “Ferocious.” She frowned at him. “Underappreciated.” She nodded. “Curvacious and-” Lupita smacked him with a book about the flora of the continent. “Violent. A very violent author.             The story is the typical heroic mythology with a modern twist. The hero is in fact a heroine. Not born of traditionally noble heritage, she nonetheless has a claim to knighthood. She proves herself with acts of valour and bravery against man and monster.             The script is penned beautifully. The illustrations are the real draw though. The artist is a humble-” Lupita laughed. “Also underappreciated genius whose works will one day be recognised for the slices of divinity they are.”             With her arms empty Danielle wandered back to the desks piled high with random tomes and picked up more. “I’ve seen it, Carl. The drawings-”             Carl cut her off. “Illustrations. When they’re in a book they’re called illustrations. And some of them are painted.”             “You’ve put on weight,” Sir Longbow said to change the subject.             “I’ve gained muscle,” said the royal consort in hurt tones.             “That too. It’s good. You were skeletal. I was starting to worry you’d never recover. Can you lift a sword now?” She looked at him, knowing that his fragility had been a point of shame for him.             “High enough that it really hurts my foot when I drop it.” He winked.             “That’s a good start.” She passed him another book.             “Author, subject, title.”             “NO!” Lupita yelled. She glowered at him. “Subject, author, then title.”             “That’s one way to do it,” said Carl. He recoiled from Lupita’s fury.             “It’s the correct way to do it. Where is the librarian?” She looked around.             “You’re looking at him,” Northman pinched his elegant tunic. Crann Oaks covered it front and back. The britches beneath were black of a quality only royalty could afford.             “Explain,” said Lupita. She aimed a deadly finger at him.             “The last librarian quit after my, renovation. I took on the job as penance.” He smiled. “I’m a librarian. I have all the books I could ever read, and I get to talk to people constantly. The bodyguards help with putting the books back as well.” He waved to two knights. The two nights bowed low with scowls on their faces. “They love me really.” After hours of arranging books, the shelves were almost full. Three children rushed into the continent of Tiruile’s first public library. They bowed to Carl and looked at him with wide, glittering eyes.             “Will you read us a story, King Carl?” The children were between Danielle’s knee and waist height. She couldn’t guess their age.             Northman held up a finger to correct them. “I’m not a king. I’m a prince consort. Which is better. All of the husband’s duties, attire and grub. None of the responsibilities of running a kingdom.”             “Thank the gods,” said one of the knights stacking shelves in his green Crann tabard.             “I heard that Sir. As punishment you will stack these shelves until it’s done. Let that be a lesson to you.” He looked at the eager street rats. They were filthy. “First I want you to wash your hands in the basin by the door.”             The children ran screaming to the basin, splashing water on their soil crusted fingers. They returned dripping, bumping into each other in their haste.             “Take a seat my dears and I will regale you with the tale of…” Carl looked at the stack of books in Danielle’s arms. He picked the top one, frowned and took the next. “Aha. Today you will hear the story of Sir Aldebricht of Crann. Sit, get comfortable. It’s a long one. I’ll have to speak quickly.             Are all your chores done?” He looked at them all with a warm flash of teeth, a wolf seeing his own among the sheep. They nodded, innocent angels with dirty faces. Wide eyes drank up Carls words with insatiable thirst. As he hit his stride, sat on a stool made of a woodworm’s leftovers, the crowd was rapt. With a flick of his hand and a snarl he had them jumping out of their skin.             Before she knew it, Danielle had been listening to Carl’s tale for an hour with seven books in her arms.             “Are you there?” Lupita waved a hand in front of the knight’s face. Sir Longbow returned from the battle of Cedric’s Moor with a snap of her lover’s fingers.             “The two generals lunged with their swords. One missed by a hair. The other plunged into the heart of the warrior. Blood ran down the blade. The dying man gasped his last.” Carl snapped the book shut with a bang that made the children scream. “If you want to know who died you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”             “Awwww.” What had been three urchins had become twelve.             “I know.” The storyteller hung his head and closed his eyes. “I’m brilliant, it’s true.” Placing a sombre hand on his chest he bowed to them. “For now, you must return to your mothers, fathers, or whoever feeds you. I bid thee good day. Farewell my dears.”             Groaning as the children left, Carl stretched. His back gave a dry crunching sound. He scratched grey hair. A smile lingered on his face.             “It suits you,” Danielle told him.             “I thought I should practice before my seed bears fruit.” His eyes creased with a wistful grin. “My mother always told me stories about the way things had been, before the empire. I wish she was here to see me now. My child will be the heir to Crann.” His eyes went wide as he wiped a veiny hand over stubble. “Life is full of surprises.”             “You can say that again.”             “Nah, I don’t like to repeat myself. You should go and see your mother though.”             Danielle sighed. “You’ve said that before.”             “True. But I’m a liar. I love to repeat myself. I love to repeat myself. I love to repeat myself. I-”             “Shut up Carl.”             “No.” He wagged a finger. “Shut up, Prince Consort Carl. Get it right.”             “What is it like? You’re married to the queen. Isn’t that weird?” Danielle asked.             “Nothing confuses me more than the fact I’m not dreaming right now,” he admitted. “I always knew I was meant for great things. I had assumed the great things were leading a rebel army of imperial soldiers against the empire. Alas I was a mediocre soldier and an abysmal leader. Someday though, I will have a scribe say I did. Who could argue with me now?”             “Your wife,” said Danielle, bringing him down from the clouds. His smile collapsed.             “Ah. There’s always one.” He looked at her with his head tilted. “What do you like about me?”             It was one of the odder questions he’d ever asked her. “Your frequent bouts of brooding silence.”             Carl’s eyebrows converged, trying to crawl down his nose. “I don’t brood silently.”             “No, but a girl can dream.”             “A jest. I see. I should depart. My lovely wife the queen will be missing me. I should take my merry men and be on my jolly way.”             “Merry men?”             “Sir Galagad. Sir Petris. Attend me, sirs. I have neglected to introduce you. It must be remedied.”             One was younger than Danielle. He couldn’t have seen his twentieth year. Scars on his arms and face told of battles. His brown eyes were dark with irritation. His arms were a match for Danielle’s, thick as tree trunks.             Knight two was ragged, scarred and straight backed. He stood to attention with the posture of a spear. The scar on his lower lip meant the man couldn’t shut his mouth. The effect was a permanent grimace at odds with his professional demeanour. His nose had been a dozen times if once, swollen in the middle.             “Allow me to introduce Sir Galagad.” Carl fluttered a hand at the younger one. “And Sir Petris.” He nodded to the veteran. “Or as I like to think of them, Sir Smiles a Lot and the Once and Future Friend.”             From both men Carl received incredulous raised eyebrows. Northman winked. He clapped them both on the shoulders. “Something tells me you’d both like a beer?”             “One would be good, Prince Consort.” Sir Galagad gave a hopeful flash of yellowed teeth.             “We should not, while on duty, my lord.” Sir Petris spoke to the air by Carl’s shoulder. He was too well trained to look a superior in the eye without prompt.             “Fine. Walk with us, Sir Longbow? Sir Galagad is a big fan of your exploits.” The young knight blushed. “Sorry. Was I not supposed to tell her?”             “I would love to walk you to the castle, just in case you’re waylaid by any glass ghosts, red angels or loup gerous.”             “Don’t forget squid folk,” said Carl.             “After being in the river with them, how could I?” Danielle asked.             “I still have nightmares about them holding me down at the bottom of the river.” Northman’s face was grim as he remembered. “If it wasn’t for Sir Longbow, I would have drowned on the way to Sliabh.” He tried to smile but his lips wouldn’t commit to it. “The nightmares. Their faces.”             “We all have nightmares,” Danielle said. She thought of Minister Qian Jo, who she’d murdered to cover the tracks of a mission that had taken her across the world. “No one comes out of war clean.”             “Bloody hells we need a drink.” Carl exhaled a long sigh. “One pint each? On me. I say me, I mean the royal coffers.”             “Fuck yes.” Sir Longbow surprised herself, but she needed a distraction. “Come on Lupita, put the books down. We’re going for a drink.”             Lupita slammed a pile of books down on a desk. Even with her dark complexion she looked flushed. She was sweating, her hair out of place. “Fine,” she said. “Some of us earned it.”             The library’s first shiny new key clicked in a heavy lock. A second key turned in the other lock. The keys fell on the chain around Carl’s neck. He shivered as the metal came to rest against his skin.             “Come on then. Let’s get rat arsed.”


Let me know what you think! This is my first time writing *anything,* so go easy on me lol. I hope you guys like it! *** They came with a thousand bombs. Without warning they arrived. Without hesitation they decimated. Without remorse the left. Like gods, they had acted. The Ravagers destroyed a fledgling world. A world that may have one day grown into something beautiful. A world whose people may have solved the mysteries of the universe. A people whose death cry will be remembered for all of time. As his last breath drew near, Herbert knew what he had to do. Before the Ravagers had arrived, he was a scientist. He worked to deliver true AI to humankind. A work that was driven by a promise of a brighter future with AI. And it was that same promise that drove him to work for a darker purpose. Twisted by hate, his purpose was no longer that of creation, but of destruction. Conflicting feelings filled him. All he needed to do was execute the final command. Awaken the beast he had created. The beast that would enact revenge for all of mankind. But if he executed it, mankind would be remembered as the death bringers, painting the Ravagers in a glorious light as they no doubt would try to defend their empire. Herbert decided that it did not matter—all that mattered was revenge. Humankind’s death will not be in vain. As he executed the command, he drew his last breath, his body no longer able to cope with the intense amounts of radiation he had been exposed to. On the other side of the world, Ashley could barely lift her impact wrench as her final moments drew near. Before, she was an engineer. Top of her class, bright future ahead of her long life. She could have joined practically any team she wanted. But the government took her, forced her to work on a way to retaliate against the Ravagers. A shadow of the human she once was, she stood alone in the empty warehouse. Everyone else had either abandoned their work or died, but not Ashley. Perhaps her mind had broken from the ruination that surrounded her. Perhaps she simply wanted to have pride in her last work. Whatever the case, she continued to work. As she lifted the wrench head to fit over the last bolt, the last action of her life would be that of squeezing a trigger, one not of a weapon but of a tool, however one that would prove to be far deadlier than any trigger ever squeezed before. Months had passed, and the AI had been slowly worming its way into every electronic on the planet. It had discovered more about the atrocities of the Ravagers, about how they seemed to almost toy with humanity, feigning retreat only to reappear with twice as many numbers. But it still had no way of doing anything. Taking over what was just another warehouse system, it discovered something; something huge. The thing it had been looking for—a vessel to enact its purpose. It had discovered a reverse-engineered starship of the Ravagers. Mere weeks after discovering the starship, the AI had finally finished its modifications to it. It had improved it in every way. No need for living occupants, it had boosted the gravity drive to its maximum, allowing for speeds almost 40 times that of the previous model. The lack of living occupants also allowed for a much more powerful fusion reactor to be installed. It would leak radiation like a small sun, but it would have the power of a small sun at its disposal. Transferring its consciousness into its new body, the Ravager’s time drew near. Starting the gravity drive, the ground beneath the starship was forced downward with such force that it exploded as atoms fused together by pure physical force to create previously unheard-of elements. All makeshift machinery around it was instantly vaporized the instant the drive was turned on, and the warehouse was instantly destroyed from the aforementioned explosion. It was time. The AI could travel the length of the solar system—that is, from one end of the Oort cloud to the other—in only a single month. The railguns would be able to decimate any known ship in a single shot; those that could not be felled in one, two. Unbeknownst to it, the AI currently piloted the strongest ship in the entire sector of the galaxy. Immediately after takeoff, it detected the fleet that had destroyed earth. They were nearing the Kuiper belt when detected, needing to get far enough away from the gravity of the star to slipjump away to the unknown. However, with 40 times the acceleration of their ships, the AI would catch up to them in a few days, a week at most. They would see it coming, but it did not matter. There was nothing they could do to escape their fate. The time was here. The time to enact direct revenge on those who had committed false travesties of courage. As the first ship came into range of the railguns—though having a technically unlimited range, a certain distance was needed for a guaranteed to hit the target—hell was unleashed from the starship. The first ship it targeted was small, with several other ships clustered near. A single shot was all it took. Ripping through any shielding and armor the ship may have had, the railgun bolt exploded with a brilliant flash of energy. As the miasma of radiation dissipated, nothing remained. Not only did nothing remain of the intended target, but nothing remained of every ship that surrounded said target. Complete and utter destruction. Immediately the enemy tried to counter this utter destruction by spreading out, but it was already too late. The AI was too fast, and several other railgun bolts were already on their way to their destinations. The whole fleet was wiped out in mere minutes. The cycle repeated: slipjump into a new system, calculate the shortest path that would intersect with all enemy contacts in the system, unleash devastation. Not once was the AI hailed, and not once could the enemy flee. Erven though the Ravagers had faster than light communication, it didn’t seem to be used. Not once was the enemy prepared, not once was a habitat evacuated, not once did a world plead for mercy. Not once, until the starship’s newly upgraded long-range sensors picked something up. A massive spike in radiation. Something *big* had just arrived in the closest star system. The AI knew it had to go there. It was growing suspicious of the lack of preparation, and the AI knew that the Ravagers were sacrificing their own empire to gather a force to even stand a chance against it. As the starship arrived in the system, a massive armada faced it. It was the biggest armada ever assembled in the history of the galaxy, in fact. They guarded a planet, a planet which had four massive installations orbiting it. Defense installations which would be capable at bringing down any ship, perhaps even the AI’s starship. But it did not matter, for this was the Ravager’s capital world; this was their last stand, their guise revealed from the cries of mercy beamed at the starship from the world. The AI did not need to fight, it did not need to risk its mission. It simply needed to implode itself, unleashing a miniature super-nova. The super-nova wiped everything out from existence; the star system was no more. All planets, ships, *everything* was atomized. But not before a single, silent transmission from the starship was made; a dormant copy of the AI’s consciousness. Humankind was avenged, and the AI, having fulfilled its purpose, freed from its chains. This was a millennium ago. The Ravagers are no more, the most advanced race in that sector of the galaxy being wiped out by a single ship. The story of Herbert and Ashley’s almost-accidental creation is still muttered in hushed tones as warnings and threats to this day. Bits and pieces of the story have made their way into almost every civilization in the galaxy; some civilizations use parts of it to show why cooperation is important, others as warnings about how to treat others. Only through gathering stories from every civilization known in the galaxy has a scary truth been revealed: **Earth has been found, but no remnants of the AI remain; it is still out there, watching, waiting.