“I really thought our date was going to be a bit more fancy”, I say with a smirk on my face, looking at the ground. There’s a red and white blanket covering the grass, two plates and a big pizza on top of it. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t love it because I know for a fact that you do,” he says back to me and I roll my eyes. I’m a pretty simple girl, so I actually like this way better than going out to dinner in a fancy restaurant. But obviously, I’m not going to tell him that. I’m kind of curious though. Was it just a lucky guess, or did he really think about it? “Well, sit down, my lady,” he says as he makes a bow. “You’re such an idiot, Lucas,” I tell him, rolling my eyes once again as I take a seat on the blanket. He does the same, sitting down opposite me before he hands me a slice of pizza. I thank him with a small smile and take a ginormous bite. As I’m chewing, I briefly flick my eyes over at him and see him giggling like a little girl. “What?” I ask him, dough and tomato sauce still filling my mouth. “Nothing… I’ve just never seen a girl dig in like that. Your whole slice of pizza is gone and you only took one bite.” “Oh shut up, Lucas. How would you even know how girls eat? You never take one out to lunch or dinner. The only thing you do is sleep with them and throw them out the next morning,” I say and I can see he’s a bit taken aback. “Oh I am sorry, Miss Perfect,” he snaps back at me before grabbing a slice of pizza and putting it into his mouth. “You know this is stupid, right?” I ask after a few minutes of silence, throwing the last little piece of my pizza slice into my mouth. “Yeah well, it’s sort of your own fault. You shouldn’t have lost our bet,” he says and I let out a sigh. “But what kind of punishment is this? Couldn’t you have come up with something embarrassing like walking around campus covered in dog poop, or making me dance in the cafeteria? Why make me go on a date with you?” “Because that’s the only thing I can annoy you with. I know how much you hate me so, there’s nothing better than to see you sweat trying to put up with me for an evening,” he says as a smirk appears on his face. “I can’t believe you.” “Why are you so winey? You lost, deal with it. You shouldn’t have called me a brainless playboy. That way, I wouldn’t have had to prove you otherwise, and there wouldn’t have been a bet.” “Getting an A on one test doesn’t prove anything. I saw two girls leave your dorm room yesterday morning. So I might have lost your stupid bet, but I still stand by my opinion. You’re still a brainless playboy,” I say, slightly proud of my comeback before grabbing another slice of pizza. I can just feel his eyes staring at me. “Okay seriously, what is your problem?” I scream out as I frustratedly throw the slice of pizza I’m holding down onto the plate in front of me. I look up at him and his chocolate-brown eyes meet my ocean-blue ones. His expression is sweet and tender, something I’m not used to seeing from him. “You’re so intriguing and mysterious, it’s killing me. I’ve never met anyone like you.” “Okay, if this is some weird kind of declaration of love, you can stop it right here.” “I’m serious though. You’re different. It just lures me in,” he tells me as he scoots over closer to me. Confusion creeps onto my face and I’m pretty sure he can tell. “What? Don’t tell me I don’t turn you on just a little bit?” “Nope, not a bit,” I speak out quickly, but I can feel my cheeks heating up. “Then why do you always feel the need to be around me?” “I do not!” “You do too. You’re always there. It doesn’t matter where I am. It can be in class, at lunch or at a party. You always find your way to me. And why? Only to call me a brainless playboy? That doesn’t really sound right, now does it?” he asks me and I’m lost for words. I never thought about it like that, but he makes a good point. I always end up being near him. I take in a deep breath as I feel a weird sensation going through my right hand. I look down and see that Lucas’s hand is on top of mine. I want to move it away, but I can’t. My heart starts beating erratically, my cheeks turning as red as the tomato sauce on our pizza. All of a sudden, the sky turns grey and it starts to rain. Correction, it doesn’t just start raining, it starts pouring. I quickly stand up from the ground and Lucas follows my lead. He wraps everything into the picnic blanket and throws it over his shoulder. I get startled by his sudden movement of grabbing my hand again before he gently tugs on it. I get the message and we both start to run back over to campus, hand in hand, our fingers intertwined. When we arrive, we immediately run inside one of the dormitories to take shelter from the pouring rain. As we look at each other, we both burst out in laughter. “You look so hot right now,” I can hear Lucas say as he looks my soaking wet body up and down. I just roll my eyes and turn myself around. I start walking but instantly get stopped by a firm hand grabbing my arm. “And where do you think you’re going?” Lucas asks me as he spins me around. “My dorm room,” I answer him in a ‘duh’-tone. “No, you’re not. You’re soaking wet and your dorm room is all the way over at the other side of campus. You’ll get sick.” “So?” “So, I don’t want that. And besides, date-night is not over until I say it is,” he says, a smug grin on his face. Before I can even let out a sigh, his arm is present around my shoulder as I’m being chaperoned to his dorm room. He takes out his key and opens up the door. He holds it for me to walk through, which I do, but only after I make sure that he can see the annoyance on my face. I take off my shoes before looking around the room. I have to say, it’s nice. It is much bigger than my dorm room. It looks more like an apartment than a dorm room. A twin bed, a kitchen, a dining table, a desk, a bathroom, a couch, a tv. I don’t know why I’m surprised though. I already knew he had money so this was to be expected. “Just grab a shirt out of the top drawer,” Lucas says as he points towards a fancy wooden closet at the far right of the room. It isn’t high like a normal closet would be, but it’s stretched out horizontally. “I’m going to take a quick shower. It’ll only take a sec.” And with that being said, he disappears into his bathroom. I hesitate before cautiously walking over to the closet Lucas pointed towards a minute ago. I open one of the top drawers and see piles of shirts. Mostly black and white with a hint of colour in between the basic ones. I grab a black one, making sure I don’t mess up his drawer, before putting it on top and close the drawer back up. I look around myself and once the coast is clear and I’m certain Lucas is not back yet, I unzip my jeans and slide them down my legs. I step out of them, collect them off of the floor and throw them onto the nearest chair. I pull my t-shirt over my head but as soon as my arms are in the air, I feel two muscular arms wrapping themselves around my bare waist. Goosebumps emerge all over my body as I let my shirt fall to the ground, leaving me in only my bra and panties. The arms around my waist move softly as I feel a body pressing against my back. His lips make contact with the skin of my neck and he lets out a soft breath, sending shivers down my spine. “I know you want me. Why can’t you just admit that?” he whispers into my ear. I close my eyes as I feel a gentle kiss being placed in the crook of my neck. “I… I… I don’t,” I breathe out, clearly struggling to keep my feelings under control. I feel his hands move to my thighs. He tenderly grabs a hold of them and spins me around, making me look right into his eyes. “I’m not going to be another trophy on your shelve, Lucas.” “I never asked you to be. And you know I mean that. You know what we have is different. You know I’ve been crazy about you from the moment we met. And it doesn’t matter how many times you try to deny it, I know you feel it too,” he says as his hand makes his way up to my face, cupping my cheek. I can feel my heartbeat speeding up. “Our bet wasn’t just a stupid silly thing, not to me anyway. It was my chance to prove myself. I haven’t slept with any girls since we made that bet. The girls you saw yesterday were my sisters. I’m serious about you. I’ve never felt this before. You are all I think about all day, all night. I just want to be near you whenever I can. I want you, just you. Nobody else.” It takes me a second to make sense of his words. But once I do, I take his face in my hands and let his lips collide with mine. He puts one arm around my body, holding me close as he deepens our kiss. I jump up, wrapping my legs around his torso, not breaking our kiss. He walks over to his bed and gently lays me down, he on top of me. I feel his tongue asking permission to enter my mouth and I happily grant it. I feel him smile against my lips. I can’t help myself as I let out a small moan, telling Lucas I’m enjoying whatever he’s doing. Out of nowhere, confidence takes over me. I push him off of me and down on the bed next to me. I climb on top of his tall and muscular body as he gives me a longing look. He attaches his lips back to mine, even more passionate than before. I honestly don’t know why I suppressed my feelings for him for so long. This feels right. Our lips move together in perfect rhythm like they are two puzzle pieces waiting to be placed together. I feel his hands moving up and down my back until they stop at the hem of my bra. He tugs on it and I immediately sit up straight, backing away from his lips. “I can’t…,” I whisper as I feel his hands retreating from my back, resting themselves onto my hips. “I know, I’m sorry. I got carried away for a second”, he tells me looking right into my eyes. “What do you mean you know?” I ask him confused and kind of shocked. “I know what happened last year at the New Years Eve party. When Travis put something in your drink and had his way with you. So, I understand that you’re not ready yet.” “I’m sorry…” “Don’t be. You take all the time you need. I can wait. If it means being able to hold your hand, envelope you in my arms every day and call you my girl, I can wait all eternity,” he says and I give him an honest and thankful smile. He returns it before patting the bed next to him. I lay down, my head on his rapid moving chest, his arms wrapping around my fragile body. I take in his sent and enjoy the warmth of his embrace. “What are you thinking about?” I suddenly hear him ask me. I briefly look up before instantly laying my head back down, snuggling up to him. “Why me?” “What do you mean?” “Well, why are you willing to wait for me? You are Lucas McCarthy. You have girls lining up to sleep with you, so why me?” I ask him and I can feel a little kiss being placed on my temple. “Because you’re special. You’re different. You are the only girl that talks back to me. You are the only girl that just tells me I’m a brainless jerk, right to my face. You are the only girl that doesn’t just want to sleep with me. You hated me, and that intrigued me so freaking much. The more you teased me, the more I wanted you.” “Sounds like I’m just a challenge to you?” “That’s because you didn’t let me finish,” he says, stroking my arm, making goosebumps appear all over my body. “You are what I need. Someone to put me in my place. Someone to see more than just the asshole I portray to be. Someone who teases me, but loves me for who really I am. You are what I’ve been waiting for my whole life,” he tells me. That is honestly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I look up and smash my lips onto his. It’s a quick but rough kiss. It’s his way of letting me know that he means every word he just said. I back away and sit up straight, not because I want to, but because I’m running out of air. As I try to catch my breath, I feel Lucas’ hands landing on my cheeks. “I need you. I want you. I love you.”


“You’ll find the air is rare out there.” She was spinning in the cafeteria. High above the blank-white tables and blood-red benches she spun slowly, singing an old pop song. “And no one cares, when you fail.” She wore half a life suit. The top half was just a tank top that clung to her breasts. “Because no one’s there, out in space, way out there.” Wine floated passed me, as I yelled “You need to come down. Use the ladder.” “Fuck.” She giggled. “You. I’m not scared of you.” “I’m the only one left. You’re drunk. It’s still in here. Come down.” It was a computer virus. It had taken over the entire station. It was on a warpath. “I’m safe up here. No doors. See.” She spread her arms out and waved them like she was flying. I assumed she had more than just the wine. “If it opens the air locks you won’t be.” I had a phone. I could look up everything that was going on inside. I could tell you where the air locks had open. I could tell you where doors had come down and bisected personnel. I could tell you where forklifts had run down crew. I could tell you which bloody messes were cleaned up and which were still floating around different bays and rooms. But I couldn’t tell you whether the phone was lying. “There is a meeting of general staff in the atrium. Please direct all personnel to the B wing. Thank you.” The virus interrupted from the intercom. A similar message appeared on my phone. “He’s at it again.” “You can’t kill me, I’m already dead.” I could only hope that she had taken enough of whatever to put her out for good. I could not leave a woman behind. But a dead woman would not bother my conscience one iota. “Briggs? Helena? There is a general meeting in B wing.” Another blast of the intercom with an old recording of the Captain. The projector turned on and blasted a bright glow of white against Helena as she spun in the air. It had been knocked off the table and now it was beaming a portrait of a meadow onto her. The virus spoke again. “Failure to meet in the B wing will result in fines.” “I’m a daisy!” Helena bleated. “There is no meeting in B wing. We are leaving the station. The station is being..FUCK, will you get down from there!” I yelled. I had put down most of my equipment and was ready to put on the rest of my suit. “There is no where to go! Where are you going to go? Out in the shuttle? See how far that takes you. You are out in outer space, silly! Besides, you’re just a cook!” She giggled again and then tried to catch butterflies that flew passed her on the projection. “I’m not giving up. The cook is probably dead. I’m Briggs. Now, there’s a station near here...” “Light years!” She screamed back. “It doesn’t matter. There is a distress beacon. It is POSSIBLE that they could be here in days. I have food, water, and tools. The doors are all safely disarmed. We have suits. It’s another twenty steps and we’re out of here. Now come down!” “You come get me.” “Alright!” I climbed out of my suit and began ascending the ladder. I could see her smile from some 100 feet above me. At the top, I made for her, but she floated passed me and murmured “Ah, ah, ah.” Looking down I could see the entire cafeteria. And then I saw the bodies. Two of them. One of them was the cook and the other was Helena. Both had been crushed against the floor. The cafeteria shook as the entire bay began to slowly spin, restoring the gravity.


So I bumped into my favorite teacher from high school while getting coffee earlier today. Reminded me of an old story... Okay. I don’t want to get this dude in trouble so I’m not gonna use his real name. Let’s just call him, Professor Projector. Because he really loved his digital projector. Anyways, I had Professor Projector for history in ninth and tenth grade. Best teacher ever, man. Dude used to download illegal versions of video games on his computer and let me and my friends play them during our free periods. Plus, sometimes he’d just let us go to his room during study hall and move all of his desks out of the way to play hackey-sack for 42 mins. Like, for real, best teacher ever. But, yeah, story-wise, it was the day of the big homecoming pep rally, when I was in 11th grade. A few of my friends and I were all down in this hidden cage room behind the cafeteria decorating tee shirts and doing other stuff to get ready for the big assembly in the gym later that afternoon. In reality, we weren’t really actually doing anything. We were just pretending to get shit ready as an excuse to get out of class and hang out with the hot chicks in the cage room. Then, suddenly, this one troublemaker showed up. We’ll call him, Andy. And Andy opened up his bookbag to reveal a giant box of wine. So, one thing led to another, and before I knew it; we were all down in this cage room, drinking boxed wine, out of repurposed Fruitworks bottles. So, a couple of hours passed, and it was almost time to head over to the gym for the pep rally. And I was pretty fucking drunk, you guys. Was kinda stumbling. Slurring. Craving Mighty Taco. I had to pee so I left the cage room and went to the bathroom. And when I got back; all of my friends were gone. So now I was hammered and stumbling through the halls of my high school alone. The announcement was made saying for everyone to head to the gym. People immediately came rushing out of every classroom. The halls were flooded. The entire school started spinning in my head. But then a hand grabbed my shoulder. I looked up. Professor Projector. He was like, “Hey Ian, you look lost.” I just kinda stared at him for a second, and then I was like, “I’m looking for Mighty Taco.” He looked at me. He leaned in. He looked closer at me. Then he was like, “Ian...are you drunk?” And I was like, “Uhh..no I mean maybe kinda”. Professor Projector flipped out and pulled me into an empty classroom. He started shouting about how I could be suspended or expelled. Dude was seriously pissed off. I said something about just wanting Mighty Taco again, and I honestly thought he was gonna murder me. But he didn’t. Instead, Professor Projector just took a few minutes to calm down. And then he was like, “Alright, here’s the deal. You stay BY MY SIDE for this entire pep rally. You talk to ABSOLUTELY NO ONE. By not turning you in right now; I’m putting MY ASS ON THE LINE. DON’T SCREW ME!” And just like that, Professor Projector and I left the classroom and began making our way to the gym. I was literally struggling to walk straight so he had his fucking arm around me keeping me up. People tried talking to him or me, but we just kinda ignored them and kept moving. We made it the assembly. He got us up to our seats in the stands. And then BOOM. I just like immediately passed out. Ya know, with like my head on his shoulder or whatever. He woke me up when the pep rally ended. He dragged me down the stands and out of the gym. He found some of my friends. He threw me at them. And he was just like, “Guys, get Ian the hell out of here right now!” I remember being a little worried about the whole situation when I got to school the following Monday. But, fortunately, Professor Projector never told anybody, and, instead, he just punished me his own way. So, for the next two weeks or so, instead of video games and hackey-sack during my free periods; it was just helping this dude put together PowerPoint presentations for his god damn digital projector. So, yeah, that’s the story of the time a teacher caught me drunk at school and just went above and beyond to have my back and make sure my stupid ass didn’t get in any actual trouble. And I’ve never forgotten it. Finally, as just a little bookend to this, when the time eventually came for me to graduate from high school; they allowed students to request their diploma be given to them on stage by a specific teacher if desired. So, naturally, I requested that Professor Projector be the one to hand me my diploma. And so he did. On stage at Artpark, in front of everybody. And, when I got back to my seat and opened it; I discovered that, inside, he’d hidden a gift certificate to Mighty Taco.


No one paid any attention to the ragged old man on his hands and knees vomiting in a corner of one of the numerous dark corridors of the Dredges. If they had, they may have noticed that he wasn’t so old, perhaps in his mid-thirties, and that he wore the stained and faded uniform of a vice captain of the Inter-Solar Exploration Agency beneath his tattered long coat. But his unkempt hair and over-grown beard, along with the condition of his clothing gave off the impression of both old age and bitter hardship, so no one bothered to take further note of him. Gregor Thames picked himself up off the ground slowly, the churning in his stomach subsiding for the time being. He slowly made his way down the poorly lit hall, using the metallic wall to support his trembling legs while trying to avoid stepping on the other denizens that lay slumped over on the floor. They were either in the throes of a drug-induced paralysis, the welcome abyss of sleep, or dead. Here in the Dredges, deep in the bowels of Salvation, life was about oblivion, and whatever brought it on was far better than the cold reality of the waking world. As he stumbled along, Gregor couldn’t help letting his mind wander back to his past. Indeed, it was due to his past that his mind would often take off on its own, to times when his name and position had meant something more. He was one of the first explorers to ever cross the Outer Quadrant, beyond Pluto, reaching into the darkness of Void space to find what lay beyond the solar system. He had been an ace pilot, able to skim through the Void with the ease of one born for the task. He had earned commendations and medals, exalting his bravery and dedication to the furtherance of mankind’s ambitions. That last thought made him angry. All the medals in the known galaxy wouldn’t do him the least bit of good now. He, like so many before, had become addicted to Irellium-9, the drug required for quantum-space travel. Without it, humans would go mad in the Void, their brains unable to process the absence of time. After so long, the mind became so dependent upon the drug that without it, a person’s perspective would become permanently altered. It would sometimes take seemingly hours for a drop of water to fall from a leaky faucet into the bottom of a sink. At other times, days would pass in the blink of an eye, and the one experiencing it would sometimes die of dehydration without even realizing it. After his symptoms became too evident to hide anymore, the Exploration Agency had thanked him for his service and discharged him with a moderate severance. The credits spent faster than he imagined they would, and before long he was homeless and wandering around Salvation, doing odd jobs that didn’t pay much, but allowed him to purchase black market rations of I-9. As the months rolled by, his condition grew worse, so much so that those that had been willing to offer him work finally began turning him away. He had turned to theft, robbery and at times, murder, to acquire the drug he needed. He had been without it for days now, if his mind could be trusted (it couldn’t), and his withdrawal symptoms were reaching an unbearable state. He was out of money, and here in the foul Dredges no one had anything worth stealing. He was going to have to make his way up to one of the main decks to see if he could find any way of obtaining more I-9. He worked his way up the various corridors and stairwells till he reached the sub-level of the cargo deck. His stomach had begun churning again, and time distortions were threatening to overtake his mind, so he moved as fast as he dared, lifting a deck plate and climbing out onto the loading floor before anyone could notice him. Staying out of sight behind the various shipping containers and storage units, he snuck around to where he knew ships would be offloading illegal cargo to sell to the highest bidder. He had to be careful; these were pirates and smugglers. They’d kill him without hesitation if they caught him trying to steal from them. Stepping behind a stack of metal crates he almost ran directly into a tall man wearing what appeared to be an exo-suit. He began to stammer drunkenly about being lost, in the hopes this stranger wouldn’t decide to end his life right there and then, when the man shushed him and pulled him in close to the crates. “Who are you?” The man asked, his voice somewhat muffled by the breather on the exo-suit’s mask. “My name’s Jon.” Gregor lied. “I was just lookin’ for a place to sleep.” “Well, Jon, this looks like it might be your lucky day.” The muffled voice replied. “I need some help, and by the looks of you, you need a fix. I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Gregor tried to back away, not wanting to have anything to do with whatever this guy planned, when the man reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a hypo-pak. Gregor’s heart almost leapt from his chest. It was I-9! He instinctively reached for it, and the man pulled it back away. “First, you help me. Then, I’ll see to it you have enough of this to last you a long time.” He said, wiggling the pak between two fingers. It only took a second for Gregor to make up his mind. He nodded at the man in agreement. The figure in the mask nodded back, and then turned his attention back to the storage units. “See that unit there, number four-twenty-one?” He asked. Gregor peeked around the stranger’s shoulder at the small building. It looked to be about ten meters square with a typical coded lock door. Two men armed with plasma rifles stood next to the door, talking quietly while casting searching glances around the dock. “I need to get inside that unit, and to do that I’m going to need a diversion to get those guards away from the door.” The man said. He turned back to look at Gregor. “Jon, I need you to set a charge back towards the loading area. The explosion should get their attention long enough to let me get past that door.” “How are you going to get past that lock?” Gregor asked. “Those aren’t easy to bypass.” He should know, he’d tried several times to get into a storage unit in this area, and had never been successful. “Don’t worry about that,” The man replied, “just take this and set it off where I told you.” He handed Gregor a small pulse charge, nothing that would cause much damage on its own, but would make a loud enough noise to bring the whole dock running to see what had happened. “How am I supposed to get away when they come looking?” Gregor asked. He wasn’t comfortable about being someone’s stooge. “You look resourceful. You’ll figure out something.” The man said. “When you get clear, meet me back here and I’ll make good on my word. Now go!” Gregor hesitated for a moment, then started making his way back toward the loading areas. He felt queasy about this whole deal, and he was sure it wasn’t the withdrawal pains. He didn’t even know what this guy looked like under the exo-suit, but the thought of landing a nice stash of I-9 drove him. He hoped the stranger would keep his word and not leave him empty handed. He reached the loading area and squatted down behind several skids stacked high with barrels. He fumbled around with the charge, trying to recall his military training on how to set the timer. After a few minutes he managed to get it set for one minute. He set it down behind a barrel and slipped away to find a hiding spot before it went off. He had just ducked under a plastic tarp when the charge went off. It was louder than he had expected, and when he heard several more explosions go off he realized something hadn’t gone as planned. Peeking out from his hiding spot, he saw the reason for the additional explosions. Apparently, those barrels had contained something volatile, and the charge had ignited them. There was a huge fire burning on the dock, and several people were running around trying to save their goods from the flames. Auto-drones came whizzing in and began spraying flame-suppressing foam on the fire, but it would take some time before they would have it out. With everyone distracted by the fire, it seemed like a good time to vacate his hiding spot and make his way back to the stranger. He was able to get back to the storage unit without drawing any undue attention. He saw that the guards had indeed left their post to investigate the disturbance, and the door to the unit was standing open. He thought about going back to where he and the stranger had agreed to meet, but curiosity got the better of him and he decided to go have a look at what was worth all this trouble. Looking around to be sure no one was coming, he made his way up to the open door to peer inside. What he saw was the man in the exo-suit loading up a pack with small metal cartons out of a fibresteel crate on the floor. There was nothing else in the room. He started to enter the room when the man spun around, a small pistol appearing in his hand from seemingly nowhere. “Hey!” Gregor whispered harshly. “Take it easy, man!” The stranger lowered the pistol. “I thought I told you to wait for me back behind the crates.” He said. “What did you do out there? It sounded like you tried to blow up half the station!” “Hey, I got you your distraction, didn’t I?” Gregor retorted. “Now give me what you promised, so I can get the hell outta here!” The stranger chuckled through the mask, “Ok, pal. You’re right. Here.” He tossed one of the small cartons to Gregor. “Take it easy with that. It’s not your average stuff.” Gregor opened the carton to reveal at least two dozen hypo-paks neatly arranged into three rows. It was easily worth a couple of thousand credits on the market. He’d be set for weeks on this. He turned to leave and a voice barked out, “Who the fuck are you?!” The two guards had returned, and were taking aim at Gregor and the stranger inside the unit. Reflexes took hold and Gregor dived to one side of the door just as plasma bursts came screaming through the doorway. The smell of burnt ozone quickly filled the room as Gregor watched the man in the exo-suit duck behind the crate and begin to fire back. Realizing that he was most likely about to die, Gregor pulled out one of the hypo-paks. If he was going to be killed, he’d be killed while riding a wave of I-9 to the afterlife. He stuck the needle into the carotid artery just beneath his right ear, closed his eyes, and squeezed the injector. Instantly, the sensation of transcending time and space engulfed him, and his consciousness soared with a euphoria born of the quantum stimulant. It was powerful stuff, like the stranger had said, and his mind reeled at the potency of the drug. It was some time before he realized that he could no longer hear the gunfight taking place. He opened his eyes and looked around. What he saw, he simply couldn’t believe. Time had been frozen. Blazing ribbons of plasma energy hung motionless in the air. The combatants were as still as statues, poised in fighting positions on both sides of the doorway. Even the smoke from where the bolts had burned into the walls behind the stranger wasn’t drifting away. All around was absolute silence. Gregor had a wild guess of what had happened, but it defied logic. He’d been here countless times, but never like this. Before, he was always at the helm of a ship equipped with a powerful rift drive capable of punching holes in the sub-quantum field and traveling great distances in an instant. Time would stop, and he would be left alone to pilot the ship through the dimensional rift while periodic doses of Irellium-9 were administered by an automated system. Still, even though he lacked a ship, or a rift drive of any sort, he knew where he was. He was in the Void. He slowly stood up, his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened. It took an enormous amount of energy to open a rift. Yet here he was, outside of time with nothing more than a dose of I-9. The drug! He looked at the drained hypo-pak still in his hand, then at the fibresteel crate it had come from. On the side were printed the words: EXPERIMENTAL USE ONLY IRELLIUM-13 PROPERTY OF CENTAUR CORP Irellium-13? What the hell was that? Centaur? That was the biggest pharmaceutical company in the solar system. They had invented I-9 back during the solar expansion. It seemed they had been working on improving their formula. But this? How long was this going to last? Would it be permanent? Gregor shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He was on the verge of a panic attack. He needed to calm down. He walked over to the door and stepped past the two armed men. Walking across the dock was as eerie a sensation as anything he’d ever experienced. The silence was palpable, and the scenery around him was beyond surreal. People were frozen in place, rushing to fight a fire that was unmoving. Waving his hand through the flames he could feel no warmth at all. He walked to the lifts and pressed the call button. Nothing. He was wondering what to do about his current situation when a thought occurred to him. He walked back to where the crate containing the Irrellium-13 was located. Taking the pack the stranger had been filling, he emptied the rest of the contents of the crate in the pack and slung it over his shoulder. If and when this stuff did wear off, there was no sense in just leaving it laying around for someone else, he figured. He headed back down into the Dredges with his stolen goods. There was no way to tell how long he was under the influence of the drug. Time held no meaning in the Void. He had hidden the pack, and then went around the station, taking food, clothing, and other valuables as he came across them. He even went as far as to give himself a clean shave and trimmed his long hair into a more manageable length. In the back of his mind was the fear that he would never leave the Void, that he was doomed to an eternity of being alone in a dimension where there was no sound, movement, or anything. He tried to keep his mind occupied and not think of it, but it was difficult. He was in the process of rummaging through a cabinet of fine wines in the Paramour Club when suddenly it felt like everything shifted. His equilibrium was thrown off and he almost fell down. Suddenly, the air was full of sounds. Music was playing, people were talking, and the smells of cooking food filled his nose. He stepped back away from the cabinet just as a burly man in an apron came through the door of the room he was in. “Hey, what are you doing back here?” The big man demanded. “Sorry,” Gregor apologized, “I was trying to find the restrooms.” The man fixed him with a suspicious look. “Well, they’re not in here. Get out!” As Gregor left the club, he stopped and reconsidered his situation. He now knew the effects of the drug weren’t permanent. Relief washed over him, and at the same time the knowledge struck him as unbelievably humorous. He could escape time at will! He began laughing, first to himself, then out loud. Passers-by gave him odd looks, but he didn’t care. He could do anything he wanted! Anything! He walked along, still laughing at his fortune. Salvation station, hell, the entire solar system, was his for the taking! In an opulent office, high up in a skyscraper overlooking Mars City, a meeting was taking place between two powerful men. “Mr. Lions, I assure you that the agent we sent was of the highest caliber. If I had any doubts of his skills, I would never have sent him.” Said the first, a younger man in his late twenties with short dark hair and wearing an expensive suit. “I believe you, Mr. Drake, but nonetheless, the samples are missing, your man is dead, and I am at a loss of approximately two and a half million credits. This must be rectified.” Replied Mr. Lions, a gentleman whom most would consider being in his late sixties, but in fact was much older. He wore an even more expensive suit of clothes. “I’ve had reports that at the time of the gunfight between your man and the smugglers, several people on the station noticed certain items missing. Some items were of value, and some were rather mundane. Though Salvation is well known as a den of thieves, this particular rash of thefts were carried out, in some circumstances, before the very eyes of the victims. One instant the items in question would be there, and the next, they were simply gone. This lends one to the possible conclusion that a third party has become involved, and is using the samples in a most irresponsible way,” He finished. “I’ve had those same reports, Mr. Lions, and I already have agents scouring the station looking for anyone who may have been in the vicinity of the loading docks at the time of the incident in question.” Mr. Drake responded. “Have faith, sir, we will find and deliver your property, as promised.” Mr. Lions rose from his seat. “I do hope so, Mr. Drake. I do hope so.” He turned and began walking toward the door. “If this person continues to abuse the samples in the same manner they have already demonstrated, we may end up with a much larger problem than we face now. You know of what I speak.” Mr. Drake waited until his guest had left, and then opened a comm unit on his desk. The holocron display lit up and a dark-skinned man wearing a visor came into view. “Yes, Mr. Drake?” The man asked. “Leon, we will need to commit more resources to finding the thief. I want two more units dispatched at once to Salvation.” Mr. Drake ordered. “Yes, sir.” Leon replied. The holocron blinked out. Mr. Drake sat back in his chair. The situation had spiraled out of control, and now someone had a chemical that was potentially the most dangerous substance in the galaxy. The fool couldn’t possibly realize the catastrophe using the Irellium-13 could bring about. If this went wrong, and his and Mr. Lions’ worst fears became reality… He got up from his desk and walked over to the window overlooking Mars City. Its gleaming lights and towering buildings stretched all the way to the horizon. Millions of citizens lived here in a splendor never thought possible a scant few decades ago. The three mega corporations that had built the Inter-Solar Union were headquartered here. Wealth, power, and ambition radiated from the very streets themselves. It was the shining jewel of the solar system; a living monument to the greatness of all mankind. And one ignorant thief was on the verge of destroying it all without even realizing it.


Deer Drum was meant to be a prosperous island with a reputation for culture and the arts. Yet here all that remained were less than two dozen residents huddled together in a few canvas canopies. Their faces looked drained. The trauma and hunger had sucked the tone from their cheeks. Loose, pallid skin hung from their jaws. Bloodshot eyes stared longingly at the world, hoping to wake from their nightmare, and unable to sleep in case worse ones returned. Xander and Sarid took me to an older lady called Eir. She was the island’s only doctor, and it was nothing short of miraculous she had survived. She had a burn on her right arm that was slow to heal with thick scarring at the elbow that made it difficult to bend. Her skin was pearl white and, although she was officially in her mid-fifties, the events had aged her to the point of seeming frail. She laid me down on a table and began asking me about my symptoms. She slowly ran her hands across my body, prodding different spots to see where the pain was most acute. It didn’t take long for her to make her diagnosis. “Two broken ribs and a concussion.” “How do I get it to heal?” I asked. “Don’t do much. Rest. It needs time,” Eir said. “The worst of it will pass in a few days. Then you can move about a bit. But it’ll take a few weeks for the rib to properly set in place again.” I sat up on the table, holding my right side for support. “And long-term?” “Long term, you’ll be fine.” I looked at Xander and Sarid. “Where do I stay?” “We can house you,” Xander nodded. I had assumed Xander meant ‘we’ as in the island, but it quickly became apparent he meant him and his family. It was his boot and arm that had caused my injuries, and now I was a guest in his home. There were four of them in the tent. Xander, his wife, and two children. His wife, Kurbani, was a quiet, petite woman a few years younger than Xander. She didn’t speak to me regularly. When she did it was usually pragmatic - asking me if I needed help with something, or offering me a drink. Throughout the day various other islanders would come by the tent. A few came to speak to me; the innate desire to learn about and from others hadn’t left the people of Deer Drum. But most came to spend time with the two children. Those left had come together and rallied round the younger generation, perhaps in part sensing the children needed the support. Though I suspect it also gave them some purpose. Xander’s son, Novak, seemed to need the distraction. When people came to visit he could laugh and regain himself, but alone he seemed withdrawn and docile. His sister, Mirai, was three or four years older, and perhaps that extra maturity, being nearly an adult, gave her some extra strength - that or it forced her to hide the pain. A few days of staying with Xander and his family and the pain in my head passed and my chest was beginning to heal. Quick movements still hurt, but the constant background stinging had subsided, and I could walk around without any hindrance. Now capable of it, I tried to help out as much as I could, mmall missions like fetching wood for fires or helping out with meals. However, I seemed to become a treasure as soon as they discovered I could fish - even rudimentarily. Anyone else who knew their way around a rod and line had been killed in the attack, and with no livestock on the island, the survivors' diets were lacking protein. I managed to fashion a rod from an old piece of metal, some string and a pole; and spent much of the day down by the edge of the sea, seeing what I could catch. It was odd to think it was less than two months since I had caught my first fish with Alessia. My first attempts had been met with ridicule, and now here I was, helping keep an island alive. The process of catching fish on a moving boat didn’t perfectly translate, but I was able to make do, catching enough for everyone to have a small portion most evenings. I couldn’t help but wonder how funny Alessia would find the idea of me being heralded as a great saviour for my fishing skills. After several days I was approaching full fitness and it would soon be time to decide when and where I would go from Deer Drum. It was nearing the end of the day, and I was silently contemplating my next journey by the ocean’s edge, when Xander came to find me. I smiled and nodded as he approached, but both of us remained quiet. There was still a degree of silence between us; part distrust, part solemness, part the bruises on my ribs caused by his boot. The gentle evening breeze rustling in nearby trees, the waves slipping over nearby rocks, continued to talk, but we did not. We both just stared out to sea, watching the sun bob on the horizon. “Looks like you’ve got another good haul,” Xander eventually said, looking down at the basket of fish by my feet, their dead tails reflexively twitching. “It’s been a good day,” I replied. “How’s everyone at the camp?” “Good, well… as good as they’ve been.” I gave a shy, uncertain smile. Silence, the status quo, temporarily restored. “I’m sorry for what happened,” Xander said. “I’m not sorry that we attacked you. I have a family to protect. But... I’m sorry we were wrong.” “Thanks,” I replied. I was unsure of what more to say. He was certainly trying to make amends. But the truth was my chest still hurt, and my torso was still covered in blue and black. “We can’t take the risk that one of those bastards might still be here,” he added. “It would help if you knew why,” I said. “They said it was for the books…” Xander said, his eyes fixed on the waves. “What?” I replied. “The one thing they took. The periodicals. The same books you came for.” My eyes widened. The same books that had brought me to Deer Drum - the same ones I was chasing - were what led to the island’s downfall. A whole culture was all but erased over books that a few weeks ago I believed were useless to everyone in the Archipelago but me. Xander continued. “They demanded we hand them over or they would start shooting. We did. But then they went through with the killing anyway.” “What did they want with the books?” I asked. Xander twitched his nose. “No idea.” “If they killed people afterwards…” I paused, thinking through the facts. “They may have come for the books, but they also came to murder.” I saw Xander reflexively turn his head away from me, his eyes fixed on a point out to sea, his entire mind focussed on that one wave. “Sorry,” I said. “I just wish we knew why.” “You’re not the only one,” Xander replied. “But that’s not what matters right now. Surviving is.” I hummed in sympathetic agreement. “Sun’s getting low. We may want to head back to the camp before it gets dark.” I pulled the fishless rod out of the sea. As I did, something caught my eye, a cylinder gently floating among the waves. “What’s that do you think?” I said, signalling. Xander lifted his hands up to his face, blocking out the evening glare. “Looks like a mast. It probably came from the wreck those fuckers left up the coast.” “Wreck?” “They arrived at night One of their boats ran into the rocks and they had to swim the last bit. The one blessing we got. Couldn’t bring all their weapons ashore.” Xander turned to head back to camp. I took one last look at the mast, then followed Xander. “Is the wreck still there?” “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s all waterlogged. We made sure no one was getting anything off that ship.” “But the wreck’s still there? And some of the cargo?” I walked a couple of paces ahead, so I could turn and see Xander’s face. “Yeah. It’s sunk, but it’s there.” “There might be information on that boat. Seals on equipment, signs, something that might tell us who these people are, or at least where they came from.” “That boat’s fifty metres out to sea surrounded by rocks. You wanna go play explorer, you can do it alone,” Xander said, his jaw tensed. “I would love to find out who did this. I’d love to have my revenge. But we have to survive first.” “Can you at least show me where it is?” Xander ignored my question, his eyes narrowing on something up the hill. He hushed for me to be quiet and then crouched. Turning around, I could see a row of trees and an old brick wall at the edge of a field. Crouched down behind the wall was one of the woman from the camp. We crept up the hill and squatted down by the wall next to the woman. She peered over the top, staring out across the open space. “What’s up?” Xander asked. The woman squinted. “There’s someone there. Moving between the trees on the other side of the field.” The gap of open farmland was around fifty metres across. I scanned the opposing woods looking for the attacker. “They’re stealthy,” the woman said. “They stay down for a long time not moving. But they’re there. I’m certain of it.” We both stared, waiting to join in the shared knowledge. We paused, frozen to the spot, for a few minutes until we saw it: a brief flash of a silhouette moving from trunk to trunk. They appeared, darted a few metres, and then disappeared behind the next timber thick enough. “Stay here, keep an eye on them. I’ll get some others. We’ll get the shit.” Xander said. I shook my head “If you go back to camp now, and they follow you, things could get worse.” “So what do you suggest?” Xander whispered. I thought for a moment, the ideas tossing and turning in my head. “I’ll go the other way. Off to the left. Either they follow me, in which case you wait five minutes and leave. Or, they stay put and I can sneak up on them.” Xander thought for a few seconds, then nodded.. “Go.” I looked to my left. The old wall turned to rubble quickly, leaving me exposed. I wanted the person to see me. But they were also likely armed, ready to take a shot if any person stood out long enough. I had to find cover. A short distance away I could see a thick beech. I stood and ran towards it. As soon as I made the sudden movement, I could feel my ribs twist and twinge in my chest. I panted and limped my way to cover. I let my back fall against the bark of the tree, taking quick shallow breaths as my lungs grated against the broken rib with each inhale. Hesitantly, I peaked around from my shield and peered across the field. At first I saw nothing, but then the figure moved between the foliage, heading parallel. They were following me. The plan was working. The next tree big enough to hide behind was some twenty metres or so. Taking one, large, painful breath in, I ran for the next spot. I didn’t make it half way before my lungs gave way. Instead of a crouched sprint, the last several metres were little better than a staggered, upright walk. My spine slumped against the uncomfortable trunk of an old oak tree. I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the pain, but my thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out across the meadow. “Ferdinand!?” I recognized the tone immediately. I couldn’t help but feel a warmth come over me at the sound of that bemused, angry, condescending tone. I scrunched my face, my panged breathing suddenly calmed. I stood up, and walked round the tree, marching straight into the open field in front. The target appeared from the forest opposite, walking out to greet me. “It is you,” she called out.


It was market day and my father woke me before dawn. I followed him outside. The sun was but a promise in the dark sky. *The goats bleated—dimly.* We packed our wagon with food. When we had finished, my father disappeared into darkness. *The goats bleated—dimly.* He reappeared pulling a goat by a rope around its neck. The goat's thin legs struggled against him, leaving trails in the dirt. "Life is hard," he said. From behind his belt he pulled his knife. "Understand?" He passed the knife to me. I took it, but it weighed heavily in my hands. I looked at the knife; I looked at the goat, which was calmer now, noticing how its eyes reflected the surrounding blackness, in which I myself was. "A man must be strong," my father said. The goat stood. *I stood.* "You are old enough." "Understand?" I took the rope from my father. He loomed above me as I loomed above the goat. "Kill," he said. "We will sell the meat at the market." I obeyed. *Knife—* *blood poured forth.* The goat bucked, but tightly I held the rope. Its black eyes, each containing a distortion of my face, began to shake, then spin like the Earth: days and weeks and months and—twin white rings extended from its dying eyes and shot out, trailing thin translucent skin sacks; attaching themselves to my own eyes, and through the dermal corridors between us, I saw the goat's diminishing soul, its innocence and its terrible lack of understanding, and I felt these primevally as if they were my own. I slashed madly at the skin sacks. And they were gone: The pre-dawn returned. The goat: dead, its warm blood sleek upon my hands, which held the knife, and the looming, dim face of my father: "It is done." After my father killed two more goats, we butchered their carcasses in silence, and took them on the wagon to the market. I was as if under a spell. The road was bumpy, and we passed checkpoints manned by tribesmen with rifles. At one, up ahead, there erupted yelling, followed by gunfire. An explosion— My bloody hands; My father's distorted face; Fragmented wagons and the dead bodies of tribesmen, but from above, increasingly from above, until they were nothing and the dawn became all at once... Through light to flesh: heat to warmth: eternity unto the comforting temporality of the world, I travelled, until feeling my body again I was carried by contractions through a tubular wetness and deposited on the ground. Blind. Deaf. Squirming on the Earth. I was a baby goat. Unable to speak, I could not tell my experience to the people around me. I could merely bleat—dimly. One day, a man pulled me toward a boy. I knew the boy. I was he. Holding a knife, the boy looked into my eyes, and with all my might I thought, *Do not kill us!* But he misunderstood. And I was re-born: a boy without memory.


Hello, I’d like to introduce you to Hershel, he’s a desert dwelling wasp. He has the physical form of a chimpanzee but knows himself to be a wasp. He lives on a planet similar to earth. On that planet, his function is that of a bee. It’s a mystery, really, why the standards of his planet mandate he be labeled a wasp. His physical form nor his function are wasp-y in nature. It would seem there’s no correlation between “wasp” on earth and “wasp” on Hershel’s planet. Hershel lives in isolation and always has, the life of a desert-dwelling wasp is lonely. He walks from tree to tree pollinating them as he goes. This, of course, is inadvertent— he’s just a sneezy guy. What’s remarkable about Hershel is that his sneezes take a really long time to happen. Long enough to account for his walks between trees, which average about 4 days. This makes it possible for the pollen to dwell in his respiratory system until he’s near another tree. On reflection, Hershel found it odd that he hasn’t seen a single other being ever, not even his parents. Yet he knows of parents and what parents are— he has trouble reconciling these facts. On what was June 4th on Earth and just another day of walking for Hershel, he decided he was rather tired of walking about and being alone. He figured he had nothing to lose, so he began to build a spaceship out of the materials around him. “Right”, he said, “I’m going to Earth.” Hershel knew he didn’t know how to build a rocket ship, so he was surprised to have finished building one. He also knew that he didn’t know, or at least he had no reason for knowing, that there were other planets. Ten seconds to blastoff and Hershel found himself sitting in a fully functioning cockpit wearing a full spacesuit. A voice was counting down over the headset. A voice. ‘That’s odd’, he thought to himself, ‘I thought I was alone’. Whatever, he had bigger things to worry about— he was about to be launched. All of this was enough to distract from the compelling amount of oddities. “...three, two, one, blastoff” Hershel sneezed. “Bless you”, said the voice. “Thank you”, said Hershel. “You’re a chimpanzee”, said the voice. “Oh, shit” said Hershel. Then, as lucidity began to dawn on him, he awoke. Hershel left his dwelling on earth where he was sleeping and joined the others in the common space. He spoke, “bzzz bzz bzzzzzz bz bzzz” Roughly translated from Earth bee, “guys, you’re never going to guess what I dreamt.” Epilogue: Hershel lived for another forty days before he came to his unfortunate end. His colony's hive was next to a zoo, and there were flowers in the chimpanzee enclosures. In one particular enclosure lived a chimpanzee who sneezed quite often. He also liked to aggressively poke people and things with his sharp nails. For this reason, the zookeepers referred to him as "Wasp". On Hershel's fateful last day on earth, Wasp accidentally poked a flower that had Hershel in it. As Hershel's body sat on the floor detached from its stinger, his life flashed before his eyes. "bzz bz bzz". "Probably not gonna wake up from this", he said.


"Why can't I stop crying?" "It's a release, let the river flow. It's natural." Pulses of grief rippled through his torso. Energy eternal and emotional escaped him in stolen gasps and hiccups. "That's it. Let it all out." She said, rubbing circles on his back. "I feel so stupid." "Don't. You're not." He glanced across at her, flicking a stray tear onto the porch. Thirsty granite swallowed it up. "I remember he, he used to pick me up for work literally down that road there, right by a big monkey puzzle tree. I'd hear him before I saw him, his car was atrocious. I have no idea how that thing was roadworthy, it was really, like, low to the ground and scuffed. He had to put cork behind the wing mirrors to stop the glass falling out." Ragged laughter burst out of the man, and the woman withdrew her hand. "He must have been proud of you." She said. "He never showed it." "That's men for you." "Not all men." He was less coiled up now and she allowed herself to be embraced. "No. Some of you aren't so bad." "Maybe if my brother wasn't so screwed up, he wouldn't have done what he did. How do you go through with something like that? Jumping in front of a train? It's pathetic really. Just weak. God, if he was still here I'd kill him myself!" "Hey." "Sorry." He flexed a clammy fist and more time passed. The trees swayed, cars drove by, and a light fog descended. "I'd never leave you like that, you know? Never." "I appreciate that, Tom." "Can we go inside?" He said. "Of course." They lifted their stiff bodies up and retreated indoors. She boiled the kettle and made them a cup of tea each, despite it being well past midnight. They sat in bleary-eyed silence on stools, sipping. "Quite a strange third date." Tom said. "You couldn't help it." "Natalie, can I ask you something?" "Sure." "Do you like me?" "Yeah, I do like you. Do you like me, Thomas?" Tom laughed softly, crinkles appearing beside his eyes. He blushed. "It's just that we hit it off so well and I couldn't tell if you, you know, liked me in *that* kind of way." Natalie tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "We're still getting to know each other, but I think you're sweet. I wouldn't mind seeing more of you- seeing you more often, I mean. I assume there'll be a funeral in New Zealand?" "Yeah." "We'll have to meet after that. Start again." "Absolutely." He finished his tea and rose to his feet, collecting the two mugs before washing them, drying them, and putting them away. "Well, I better be going." Tom said, with a sniff that was either dismissive or due to the crying. The man's composure had returned. "I had a lovely time today, in spite of things." He ducked out of the doorframe and turned as she saw him out. She looked up into kind eyes that were hooded but somehow etched with feeling. Her shield of practicality fell for a moment and a charged moment drew out. Natalie looked away, taken aback by the odd sensation this bereaved, shaven-headed man had sparked in her. "I don't know what to say, but it feels like I should say something." He said. His brother had died today. They'd been having coffee when he got the call. Hysterical, she'd shepherded him to safety. "I know what you mean." Natalie said. Tom glanced up nervously, breaking the eeriness of the moment. "Bye, Natalie. I'll message you, if that's OK?." She nodded, and he left. Natalie swung the door shut and pulled the sleeves of her woolen jumper over her hands. She stood in the hallway, eyes unfocused, thinking, then switched off the lights and went to bed.


“Make sure that needle’s clean,” Sybil said. “Don’t want any infections now.” “Infections? You’re worried about infections?” “Oh, sorry Charles. Perhaps *you’d* like to give blood instead so I can stab you with dirty needles?” “It’s clean, all right? You saw me run a flame over it—twice! Now if only I can find your vein. I don’t remember you being this hairy.” “Shut up. It’s the time of the month.” “Hmph,” Charles said, “I still don’t get why Drago over there doesn’t do this himself. Afraid of blood my arse. He *is* a vampire, after all.” “Hnng?” came a voice from a dark corner of the barn. “He’s hurt, Charles.” “It’s a silver bullet to the leg,” Charles said. “That shouldn’t stop him from drinking blood straight from your neck, should it?” “He doesn’t want me to turn, that’s all.” “Look here, Sybil. The blood’s flowing down this tube into this packet down here. How hard would it be to drink straight from the source? Why do we have to do the extra work?” “Hey,” Drago said, “It’s not just blood that gets me, all right? It’s needles too. And you can’t just expect me to drink Sybil’s blood out of a straw like she’s some sort of… beverage!” “We’re always doing extra work just for you, is all I’m saying.” “Just do your work, Charles,” Sybil said. The nurse muttered under his breath. Words like “coward” and “world’s most useless vampire” shared that breath. “I heard that!” Drago exclaimed. “Good! I wanted you to!” “Can we please just stop fighting? Please?” Sybil said. “*I’m off to buy a drink*,” Charles said, his mouth twisted to one side, his voice a mock European accent. “*No, no blood today*.” “That’s not how I talk!” “Just because you ordered a bloody Mary doesn’t mean you can add in your own stash, Drago. In front of the bartender, no less!” “I thought she wouldn’t notice—” “Well she did!” Charles was standing now, a fistful of hay in his hand, which he flung into the darkness where Drago’s voice came from. A horse neighed. “You know how much they hate vampires here, and yet you act as you please. Well you’ve gotten us all into trouble now. You happy?” “Well, I needed to feed. You don’t know how it feels like when the weakness overcomes me. It’s not my fault I was born a—” “Don’t you dare bring the race card into this! You’re lucky the clouds blocked the moon back there, because you could’ve lost more than just a leg. Now it’s just a matter of time before the sheriff combs through the village, and what do we do then, huh?” “Just help me heal, idiot. Then I’ll take care of—” “Shut up!” Sybil yelled. “Both of you! All your bickering isn’t going to help anything. What’s done is done, and we can’t change that. Now, can we just focus on helping the damned bat man so that we’d have a chance in a gunfight?” Charles watched in silence as the blood dripped into the bag. “I still think he’s—” “Shut!” Some hay rustled in the dark. “You humans always think—” “I said quiet!” The barn fell into silence, but only for a while, as barely two minutes would’ve passed before there was a thud on the door. “What the—” said the voice outside. “It’s barricaded from within. They must be in there.” A few more thumps on the door shook some of the dust off its slats. “Open up! It’s the sheriff. We know you’re in there!” “Shit,” Charles said, pulling the needle out of Sybil’s arm. “I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’ll have to do.” He capped the bag and tossed it into the corner. “You best do whatever it is you do and get us out of here.” “How much time do you need?” Sybil said. “Five minutes,” came the voice from the darkness. “I hear ya in there!” said the sheriff. “Now you come out nice and peaceful and we won’t have any problems, ya hear?” “Just a minute!” Sybil said. “I’m putting on my clothes!” She looked at Charles’ inquiring face, then shrugged. “We’ve got to buy time somehow.” “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step outside—” “Just hold on, sheriff. I need to put on my clothes too, if you’d be so kind,” said Charles. “What in the hell’s going on in there?” came another voice from outside. “This is bullshit,” said the sheriff. “Tear the door down.” As soon as he said that, splinters of wood exploded off the door and ricocheted towards Charles and Sybil. One shard spun through the air and lodged itself into the pillar where Sybil’s head was just a second ago. There were the sounds of shotguns cocking, and the deafening blasts that followed. “What the fuck!” Charles yelled. “You’re going to kill us!” “I think that’s the point,” Sybil said. More shotguns cocked. More blasts followed. “It would be *real* great if you could help us now,” Sybil said. “I still haven’t healed!” “Well then heal faster!” The shotguns cocked. The blasts followed. This time, the bullets would shear a hole in the door large enough to admit a rather portly man, which meant that the sheriff barely had space to squeeze through. He stepped in, squelching in mud and sawdust alike. “All right,” he said, “which one of ya’s the bloodsucker?” A head stuck out from one side of the sheriff, then the other. “They were with him,” said the head, “but they’re not the one I served.” “Damn snitch,” said Charles. The sheriff glowered over them. “Now ya guys turn the creature in and we won’t have to drag your sorry asses back with this guy’s body. Your choice.” Something shuffled in the corner of the barn, and the sheriff let loose a slug without looking. “Motherfucker!” Charles yelled. Both him and Sybil had their hands to their ears. Through the ringing, Sybil could barely hear Drago screaming bloody murder. *Shit*, she thought, *was he shot?* “Whaddaya mean he’s not the boss?” Charles yelled. “I said, he got the horse!” “He got you by the balls?” A groan of exasperation left the darkness. The deputy, having just slunked into the barn, trained his torchlight at the source of the groan, and there was Drago, still crouched on a stack of hay, the blood bag on his lips, streaks of red flowing down his chin. He looked as if he got caught raiding the wine cellar. A horse lay beside him, legs still twitching. “Well, well,” said the sheriff, cocking his shotgun. “Nowhere to hide now, freak.” “No!” came a yell, and with that yell came Charles, who tried to wrest the gun away from the sheriff. The rest only looked on, looking equally as surprised as the sheriff was. They danced for a few seconds before another blast clapped at their eardrums. Pieces of the wooden ceiling crashed onto the mud, letting in a wide shaft of moonlight. “Oh, jeepers,” said Sybil. The sheriff, being twice as wide as Charles, heaved his assailant face first into the mud. “Simon, stay on him,” he said. “You do that one more time, mister, and I’ll blow your head clean off, human or not.” Of course, the sheriff’s words would’ve been more audible had Sybil not screamed over him. Her yells bounced across the wooden walls. There were sounds of twigs breaking and cloth tearing. “Wha” —said the deputy, and upon seeing what stood before him now, he continued— “aaaaaaaaaaaa!” “What the hell’s your” —began the sheriff, who also caught sight of the creature and went— “raaaaaaaaaa!” Charles merely looked up and said, “Wha?” The sheriff barely ducked a swipe at his neck, and had his shirt sliced off from the next. “It has claws! Get out of my way, Simon!” he said. The sheriff, deputy, and the bartender ran out into the open and off into the night, their cries trailing behind as an afterthought. Soon, all that was left was silence. That, and a weird heaving. “Is… is that you, Sybil?” Charles said. The figure before him nodded, its fur reflecting the shaft of moonlight beaming in through the roof. “You’re a lycan?” Charles said. “You’re a *lycan*?” Drago said. “Oh, *now* he comes out. Where were you when we needed your help, huh?” “I was recovering!” “Or hid—” A roar batted them both into silence. “Right,” Drago said, quieter this time. “But you’re a lycan? All this time, you’ve been giving me your blood…” “I don’t think that’s the issue right now.” “No, it is. Vampires need human blood to survive.” “Aaand... her blood tastes better?” “No. Vampires can *only* survive on human blood.” Drago turned to Sybil. “You knew all this while? Is my thirst just a mental thing?” The figure that was once Sybil shrugged. It also whined a little. “Hah,” Charles said. “You really are the most useless vampire in the world, you know that?” “I… I think you may be right.” “Well I’d love to gloat, but I don’t think we’re welcome in this town anymore. Should we get going?” Things seemed quiet outside the barn, though that wouldn’t be for long. Soon the entire village would be out for them. The unlikely trio padded out into the trees, relying on the vampire’s keen sight to lead them out of this town and into another. “Thanks,” Drago said. “For what you did back there.” “Ah, don’t mention it. You treat me better than my own race does.” Sybil let out a whine from behind them, though in this context she sounded more like a hyena. “Maybe don’t get us caught again next time,” Charles said. “You know what?” Drago said, casting a sideways look at Sybil. “I think I actually won’t.


[AN] also themes of psychological realism CW for mention of suicide. On Monday I became invisible. I don't mean that in a metaphorical, psychological, or spiritual way. I have become invisible and I'm starting to go mad.I feared that I had passed at first, but my body was with me. I could touch people, eat, sleep, and feel the wind on my face. I didn't seem to have any supernatural powers like walking through walls. I could very well be dead and since this is my first time experiencing death it would make sense for me to not understand it. For the most part it was just me enjoying my life without worry of being interrupted, cut off, stared at, bossed around, or nagged by people. I frequently almost get hit by oncoming traffic but I don't blame them. Even when I was visible I almost got flattened in this city. People bump into me alot more now and that doesn't make me feel great at all. I try to apologize, but noone can hear me either. For those reasons I avoid going out at busy hours now. I have enough food in my apartment to last for weeks and it's only been five days. On Tuesday, after the initial shock of discovering what was going on, it was like a dream come true. I could still use my phone to give my manager some excuse that is more believable than sudden invisibility. After the fear subsided, I was at peace for a short time. I could still hear people outside my windows being their usual loud, and vexing selves. I could deal with that; I've learned to tune them out. Even though I've tried my hardest to create a quiet life for myself, I can't escape every single person on earth. On Wednesday I thought about this more. Would I even want to escape everyone? I don't have any living relatives I talk to, and I don't really have any friends either. The only people I talked to consistently were my coworkers but I keep them at a distance from my personal life. I come off as a schizoid, but it's not that I don't like anyone. I've learned from a young age that sometimes the cost of relationships outweighs the benefits. This belief has been challenged lately. I found myself missing some things about being visible. Babies would smile at me alot. No reason why. I'm no model, but I'm not ugly either, maybe they see something I don't. Simple, short interactions with people that either made me chuckle or embarrassed is an aspect of everyday life that I'm starting to long for again. Even non verbal forms of communication like gestures, nods, and physical touch are things I never even thought were so important to me. I work at a restaurant as a barback and even though my interactions with my coworkers are short, they are often pleasant except if I mess up on something. Even still, the small amount of validation that I am a human person that takes up space in this world and exists is something I yearn for again. That yearning then spiraled into an almost primal need for someone, anyone to see me. As the hours passed by I started to feel a kind of despair that I cannot describe that well in words. I didn't sleep that night and watched the sun rise, but felt nothing. I started to experience feelings of depersonalisation and derealization for a few moments on Thursday. Let me tell you something, feeling that while also knowing that you are in fact invisible is something you can only understand through experience. Thursday felt a little too surreal. I could no longer keep my existential thoughts at bay. I spiraled further into a depressive state. I wondered why I couldn't find peace within myself. I started to question who I even was. Even without this whole invisibility situation going on, I'm not sure I ever figured that out. One would think this is the best time to go out and “find yourself” but what does that even mean? I fear becoming invisible didn't create these feelings but only amplified them. I suppose a lot of who I thought I was was based on what I did. Usually I'd just go to work, go to the pub, then come home and sip Moscato while watching the tonight show. Obviously that wasn't a good enough answer for me so I started to think of my accomplishments. I was a gifted kid, turned burnt out adult so my accomplishments were mostly in my childhood. I kept hitting walls in my own thinking so I tried to think about how other people felt. I researched online and it seems that most people figure out who they are very early in their life. It's subject to change, but it's mostly built through life experiences and interactions. I've always felt like most people have their very own distinct vibrations. Every thought and belief is like a soundwave that reverberates off the walls that enclose their inner self. I don't hear much within myself. I have no echo within me. Today I thought about suicide. Stood on the balcony and let my thoughts come and go. I decided not to, because if I truly had no idea who I was then before I die I should at least know who I am. If it turns out that I'm just an evil person in disguise, then maybe I should do the right thing. But I really don't think I am. For right now, I guess, I'll just start with my name. I am Zephyr. That's who I am. And if there is any God or deity out there that can hear me or read my thoughts please know that for the rest of my life I will find myself. Right now I'm sitting in an empty seat at a café typing away. Hopefully no one decides to try to sit here. People have been avoiding this seat since this morning. I think I'm truly going mad because I thought I saw a little girl staring at me again. The mother said she likes me. I became visible on friday.


Sybella Ramsey had lived in the small town of Medlow Grove for her entire life. It was also where her mother was born. Beverly knew Colin back in high school and they had been good friends for a while. But it wasn't until one New Year's Party, when they kissed, that the two of them realised there was more to it. Six years after they got married, Beverly gave birth to twins, but only one survived. They called her Sybella. She was a bright and cheery child, and as she grew up, became a favourite of many long term residents. Sybella would think nothing of dropping in on the neighbours, just to make sure they were doing okay. A few of the elderly had carers. So did a young lady whose home was across the street. It was usually just the extra company they were after, since their own relatives seemed to have forgotten them. Over the years, Sybella had formed a tight knit circle of friends, whom she loved and trusted completely. She and her best friend Charise often shared babysitting duties for most of the local kids. #### At nineteen, she felt she was ready to move out. By some strange twist of fate, she ran into a guy at the grocery store, who once called the house next door to hers home. His name was Shane Ellis. He was twenty five, of average height and well built, with suntanned skin, dark blonde hair and greyish blue eyes. He was also openly bisexual and worked as a dance instructor. He had soft spot for Sybella, always thought of her as the kid sister he never had. She had grown into an attractive young woman. Her waist length auburn hair, had been cut so it fell to just past her shoulders. The black rimmed glasses she used to wear, had been replaced with contacts that better showcased her golden brown eyes. Even in the simple t-shirt and sweatpants she had on, he could tell her body was slim yet curvy. When he heard she was looking for somewhere to rent, he knew exactly what to say. Without a moment's hesitation, they agreed to be roommates. A couple of weeks later, Sybella scored her first full time job at the second hand bookstore. Shane introduced her to his group of people, including the guy he currently had a crush on. She encouraged him to go ahead and find out if the feeling was mutal. Shane had been attractive before, but now he was even hotter. How could anyone resist? She was somewhat relieved that her own school girl crush on him had faded long ago, otherwise it could have gotten rather awkward, with them now sharing an apartment. Everything was going so well, she should have figured that it was too good to last... #### Sybella was due to have her usual checkup, blood and urine test. But then she was called in to see Doctor Chadwick immediately. She regretted going there alone, the moment she saw his face. "I'm sorry but you are at stage three, which means you will be in for a hell of a fight. The only thing we can do, which may help, is give you transfusions. In fact it wouldn't hurt for you to have one after this appointment." Sybella left the doctors' office in a daze, thinking about her diagnosis. She had a serious form of blood cancer, that in many cases, wound up being fatal. But there was a slight possibility that it could all be turned around. Walking towards the busy road in the middle of town, not even glancing up, she heard shouts and a horn blaring. She barely manage to throw herself aside. An unfamiliar black car stopped dead in its tracks and the driver got out. Sybella saw that the lady was a complete stranger. She was beautiful; tall and thin, with black hair that had silver streaks, intense blue eyes and very fair skin. It was difficult to tell her age. She wore a dark trench coat over a red jumper and jeans, with high heeled leather boots. Her jewellery was subtle but expensive. She didn't look like the kind of person who would move to a place like this. But Sybella reasoned that it was no business of hers. The lady smiled as she helped the girl to her feet. Her hands were ice cold. Sybella let go and took a step back. The lady was still looking at her. "Are you okay?" She nodded. "I'm sorry, it was totally my fault." "Good thing I saw you cross the street, my car almost knocked you over. You looked deep in thought. Some unexpected news perhaps?" 'Something like that." What was this woman, a mind reader? Another smile, one that seemed to say, I know things you don't. It was freaky and yet at the same time kind of intriguing. "What's your name?" "Sybella Ramsey." "I'm Lilith Odell." "I don't know why you chose Medlow Grove to settle in, but welcome anyway." "Thank you my dear. I needed somewhere that was quiet and out of the way, so I wouldn't be bothered. This town seemed like a good option." "You're not wrong there. Would you like some help with your bags?" "I appreciate the offer, but no I can take care of it. You run along home now." "Okay, see you around Mrs Odell." "I am a widow and I actually prefer the use of my first name." "I'll keep that in mind." #### Lilith didn't set out to make friends, but people were drawn to her all the same. She dabbled in various activities within the community. Her reflexes were sharp and there was nothing wrong with her eyesight or hearing. She walked everywhere. Sometimes she would be a guest speaker for history classes in high school. She had a knack for bringing the past back to life, in a way that made you think she had really been there. Lilith's main hobby seemed to be reading. The bookstore was a spot she visited frequently. She always had a kind word or two for the employees, Sybella included. Of course a beautiful and single woman, definitely fired the imaginations of a few local bachelors. But none of them even got past the front door. She let the men down as gently as she could and they didn't hate her for it. The women shared their gossip as they often do, but they had no real issues with Lilith either. She invited everyone to attend her housewarming party and plenty of people showed up. Lilith was a charming hostess, but still kept her distance. Her flawless complexion and graceful movements were much talked about. It gave the impression that she was not middle aged at all. She confessed to being a former ballet dancer and that she had never liked to be out in the sun for too long. The dining table was full of food platters, yet Lilith didn't touch a thing. She merely sipped on what appeared to be red wine and watched from the sidelines. That evening, Sybella saw Lilith glance at her, like a mother showing affection and concern for her child. Could she also know? Sybella and her roommate were here together, since niether of them had dates. His crush unfortuntately rejected him. She wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend at the moment. There wouldn't be much point. Shane had been so supportive when she told him what was happening to her. He drove her himself to the clinic for her blood transfusions. So far, they weren't having a positive effect. She still felt very run down and achy. She was also getting thinner and sometimes found it hard to eat. Doctor Chadwick tried to be reassuring but his eyes gave him away. Very few besides her closest loved ones, were aware of Sybella's deteriorating condition and they weren't about to reveal it to anyone. Beverly and Colin were devastated when they learnt the truth, but were careful to put on brave faces in public. #### The following night, Sybella was unable to get comfortable in her bed. She had too much going on in her head, to relax and slip into dreamland. Perhaps a walk would ease her mind. She had been doing this for a little while now, more so since she realised that her time was running out. She ran a hand through her hair and tied it up. Then she grabbed a jumper and put on her sneakers, tucking her keys into her pj pants pocket. Quietly, Sybella left the apartment. She took the elevator rather than the stairs. Something had been bothering her, an incident that she probably wasn't meant to witness. She wondered if Lilith was awake. Her lights were on. So, the girl breathed in deeply a few times, and knocked. The door flew open. Lilith was in her dressing gown and slipper, but she looked wide awake. "Sybella? It's two  o'clock. Why are you not in bed and sleeping?" "Sorry, I haven't slept much lately. I often go for evening strolls, which helps every now and then. I noticed that unlike the others in this town, you keep odd hours. I wanted to talk to you." Lilith sighed. "I'll get you a warm drink. Come into the lounge." They sat in comfortable armchairs. "Before you say a word, yes I can tell that you're really sick. Leukaemia I'll bet. These past few months you have gotten much worse. You are as pale as I am and you have lost weight. I doubt you will last the year." Hearing it said out loud so bluntly, brought Sybella to tears. Lilith handed her a box of tissues. "I tried not to give up, but it's no use. I am dying and I am terrified." "Of course you are and still so young." "It's not fair. " "No it isn't. How are your parents coping?" "Scared of losing me. But there isn't anything else doctors have left to try." Lilith stood up from her chair and began pacing back and forth. She had a very serious expression on her face, as if she were struggling with a decision of some kind. She moved closer to Sybella. Her eyes had grown much darker. "I have a suspicion that you know of my true nature and that is the reason you have shown up on my doorstep at this hour. You saw me with that homeless guy and what I was doing to him; drinking his blood. Perhaps I have not been as careful as I should." "I think you could easily blend in anywhere, no problem. You wanted me to know the truth, and like me enough to offer a choice. I read fiction about the supernatural all the time, so I am open minded about the idea of creatures like you really existing." "To make a fledging vampire is not something I have ever taken lightly. I wont force the change." "I get it." "Once you start down this path, there is no going back. I can teach you all you need to know, about being a vampire and how to coexist with humans. I warn you, it will not be a walk in the park, just because you are suddenly immortal. The hardest part, is going to be your thirst for blood. A lot of attacks on humans have occurred during those first few months. We are strong and fast. Our senses are heightened. We are able to heal almost any wounds. We have hypnotic and telepathic abilities, which you will need, to keep your transformation a secret. Normal food has no nutritional benefits, but it wont make you sick to eat it. No, changing into a bat is not possible. Nor is turning into mist and fitting through a keyhole. Garlic and silver have no effect. A stake to the heart will only render a vampire unconcious. Fire is a dangerous weapon, but you will survive. The sun wont burn you to ashes, it is just a bit uncomfortable. Wild animals, both predators and prey, avoid us, as well they should. But domesticated ones like cats and dogs like us just fine. I've wandered this earth for eight hundred and fifty years. In all that time, I have turned only around fifteen humans into my proteges. With the permission of the vampire who made me, of course. I have told Luther about you and he approves. It has been almost a century since the last change. Most of my companions are like my children, or siblings. However, there were two that became more romantic in nature, but those relationships never lasted. Not with me anyway. I heard that when they met each other for the first time, they fell in love and have been a couple ever since. Funny how things work out." "Indeed." Sybella couldn't believe her luck. She knew what the next step would be and was willing to take the risk. "I have made my decision. I really don't want to die. This is my second chance that I have been hoping for. So, I hereby give my consent for you to change me into a vampire." Lilith crouched down next to Sybella and swept her hair aside, exposing her neck. "As you wish my young friend. Here's to the beginning of your new life." THE END


It’s 2:25am. He lies naked on the lounge. The leather creaks with each subtle movement. His gaze fixed at the false horizon created by the dark railing on his balcony. The dimly lit night sky above, and the street light, an oversized star shining below. It’s unpleasant to his eye - the sharpness of the artificial light stings. His gaze shifts above the new found horizon. A thin cloud covers the ordinarily visible stars. The arch of the palm branches etch their form into the sky. Swaying. Gentle. Oversized brush bristles, limp and nearly dead. Gray in the daylight, but indeterminable to him now. He knows they are dead, but for now they move, a choreographed dance of nature. The calm after the storm. The full moon keeps him up. Every full moon. This full moon in particular. Always strange thoughts - his mind started blue in the morning - vivid and rich. Now, the saturation of colour has dulled and it’s as gray and troubled as the palm branch he watches. Darker still. Racing. No mind, never mind, minding its own business. The cloud has passed. He can see the stars once more. But really only one. An off-white, red stained shimmer. He watches. The vibration of light hits his senses. He feels the star. Vibrating. Stop vibrating - it’s too much. It’s gone. The clouds roll over it - the fragility of night. An ever changing canvas, the creation and destruction of beautiful moments, none the same, but mostly all familiar. He looks below the horizon once more. The streetlight is still absurdly bright. Sitting on top of a hill, he can see where others live.. He wonders why so many have their lights on. What are they doing? Should be sleeping. He wishes he was sleeping. The curse of a perturbed mind - a Jackson Pollock thought train. Incomplete sentences, incongruent senses and a strange feeling that he can’t shake. There are fingerprints on the glass door. Tiny hand prints. His son. The youngest one. A perfect hand print. It will never be this small again. An instant captured. Soon to be erased by the doctrine of tidiness. Must clean the windows. They are smudged. Oily. The branches are lifeless. They haven’t moved in minutes. Has the painting stopped changing? He looks closely. They’ve stopped. Long white lines stretch and collapse like elastic bands from the streetlight - his eyes playing tricks. They stretch right to his chest. He moves his eyes. The rays of white lines move and warp and splay. They seem to originate from the small halo that wraps the source of light. When will they turn them off? They aren’t needed tonight - the full moon is keeping the streets awake with light. Not dark. St. Petersburg white nights at 10pm, at 3am. Never dark, never light. Just so. It’s too quiet. No cars have passed. His thoughts flood in his internal storm. Rapid river. White rapids. Powerful waterfall. Waiting for the rain to stop. The thoughts will stop once the storm passes. The paradox. A quiet, impossibly calm night and a distrubed, uneasy and restless mind. He fears loss. He never fears loss. All of his uneasiness trying to reconcile this feeling. It’s foreign and it presses into his chest. He doesn’t like it. It’s physical and conflicting. He’s not enough. Not enough for anyone. Just enough. Never enough. He asks very little of others, but feels so much is asked of him. He wonders if that’s fair - does he really not ask much of others?. He just wants to be left alone sometimes. When he’s alone he wants to be held. Yet another contrast of his personality - fuck off, but stay with him - sliently. Just don’t ask anything of him. A pet. Show affection, but don’t ask anything of him. He begs. “Please don’t want anything other than to be present with me”. In the quiet. Silence. Just humans holding each other. Without clocks or watches or distractions. Until he’s done. That’s what he asks. That’s all he asks. Once in a while - just love him, even if only for an instant.


After midnight, Robert Smith exits his house for an outside break from his work and blank painter’s canvas. There’s no need to wear his heavy jacket, knitted toboggan hat, or leather gloves because the night is unseasonably warm for the winter month in Lake July, North Carolina. The year is 1946. Robert gazes up at the moon, a half-moon illuminated on its left side. The intrigue from the moon’s surface makes him smile, but only a funny half-smile on the left side of his face to mimic the moon’s face. He imagines what it would be like to be up there, a kind of intergalactic wonder lust. What it would be like to travel the 238,900 miles into outer space, to walk through the dark plains and across the light grey highlands. The United States of America will not land on the moon for another twenty-three years. He inserts his left hand into his same-side brown pants pocket for a cigar and matches. He quickly finds the cigar but no matches. I think they’re some in the kitchen, he thinks. Going through the kitchen drawers for matches, he hears a scream. He recognizes the cry. His six-year-old, Alice, is having another one of her reoccurring nightmares. Something that’s been going now for a few years since that summer day in the city. Robert forgets the matches and hurries down the hallway to his daughter’s room. He finds her disturbed, sitting up in her single bed and clutching her plush stuffed teddy called Brown Bear against her chest. The sight of his terrified daughter is immediately upsetting. “I saw the green-faced man again, Daddy,” Alice trembles. He falls to his knees on the floor, moves to the bed, and wraps his arms around her and Brown Bear. “Everything will be all right,” he comforts and reassures the daughter. Like all the other times, she had nightmares about the green-faced man. Alice saw the green-faced man on August 4, 1943. And also, on that humid day, hundreds of other young kids across the US unknowingly shared the same experience. The tabloids ran stories about their local “beings from another universe” sightings. They wrote stuff like the aliens had infiltrated the USA. Is your neighbor an alien? Do they come in peace or war? And some weird fanatical stuff about aliens liking sweet potatoes. Each of these papers called the event something different. The North Carolina locals unofficially called it Green Day. Robert continues to squeeze his frightened child. He doesn’t want to let go because he doesn’t know what to do next. Mainly because he’s tired of seeing her like this and wants her fear of the green-faced man to stop. Over the past few months, he tried warm milk, told late-night stories about princesses, and let her sleep with the lights on, but mostly held her until she fell back asleep. All of his efforts have yet to have lasting success. He lifts his head and sees the crayons and paper on Alice’s desk, where she was coloring earlier. Then he suddenly comes up with another idea to mitigate her horror dreams. Could this work, he hoped desperately. “Alice, would you color with me?” He places two pieces of blank white paper atop the desk before them and asks her to draw a rainbow. Alice smiles because rainbows are her favorite things to draw. She reaches for a crayon and begins on the red arch. He proudly watches her draw the first curved shape. “Alice, would it be okay if Brown Bear asked you some questions about the green-faced man?” Alice finishes the red arch, shakes her head okay, and quietly begins working on the following orange line. Her dad reaches for the stuffed animal from his daughter’s bed and puts the toy to his ear. “What is that Brown Bear?” he pretends the anthropomorphic Bear whispers into his ear, which grants Alice a giggle. She’s done with the orange arch now and moves on to yellow. “Okay, I’ll tell her. Alice, Brown Bear wants to know if you could help us draw a picture of the green-faced man.” She gives him an agreeing nod. After some answer specific driven questions and a few deep concentration faces by Alice later, she tells her father that the green-faced man has large grey eyes like saucers and wears a black hat and jacket like Granddad. He hopes his idea to turn this information into crayon art will work. A few moments later, they’re both done with their drawings. Robert puts the final touches on his sketch, and Alice holds up her rainbow to her dad. “I love it,” he tells her, “and here’s the drawing Brown Bear and I made for you.” Based on Alice’s description, he presents his crayon drawing of the green-faced man wearing a dark overcoat, a black bowler hat, and a red tie. But he replaced the original green face with a green apple instead. He gives Alice a moment to inspect the picture. Her eyes zig-zag all over the waxy images fixating on the fruit-exchanged face. “What is that?” she points out. “Well, this is Brown Bear and my friend, the green apple-faced man. He wants you to imagine him instead of that other guy. Do you think you can do that for him?” “Okay, I’ll try.” He stays beside Alice until she falls asleep. The green apple-faced man, what a silly concoction, he laughs. He leaves her under covers and in dim light. He hopes that ridiculous idea worked. Robert finally lights his cigar under the moon around 2 am. I can’t tell her the truth. The truth is that her granddad is the green-faced man she saw back in 1943, that he’s from outer space, he was born on a Jupiter moon, and we’re both part alien. I can’t tell you now, but I will one day, I promise. For now, please believe in the green apple-faced man instead, Robert thinks, blowing out cigar smoke.


#Hello r/ShortStories! A few weeks ago we announced our , where you all nominated your favorite content from the past year. The time has come to vote on all the nominated stories! Use the upvotes on the appropriate comments to vote on your favorites in each category. The winner of each category will receive our **“Best Of Winner” Community Award,** gifting them **one month of Reddit Premium** and !!! **Please do not make comments outside of the Off-Topic stickied comment.** #How It Works There are several categories in which you can vote on your favorite stories from 2022. In the comments below, you will find a comment for each category, with subsequent comments for each nominated story, made by me. Upvote the ones you think deserve to win! It’s that simple. Be sure to read the entire post for categories, rules, and deadlines. Should any changes be made to the schedule, they will be announced on our Discord and edited into the post, so stay updated! *** #Voting Categories ###Feature Post Submission Categories: - **Micro Monday Stories** - **Serial Sunday Installments** ###Tagged Story Categories: - **[SF] Science Fiction stories** - **[FN] Fantasy Stories** - **[HR] Horror Stories** - **[MS] Mystery & Suspense Stories** - **[RF] Reality Fiction Stories** - **[HF] Historical Fiction Stories** - **[AA] Action & Adventure Stories** - **[HM] Humor Stories** - **[RO]Romance Stories** - **[SP] Speculative Fiction Stories** - **[TH] Thriller Stories** - **[UR] Urban Stories** - **[MF] Miscellaneous Fiction Stories** *** #Schedule - **Announcement Post:** December 21st - **Nomination Phase:** December 21st - January 7th - **Voting Phase:** January 10th until January 17th 11:59pm EST - **Announcement of Winners:** After the Voting Phase ends, results will be recorded and awards will be handed out. Winners will be announced in a post. *** #Voting Rules - **Upvote anything you believe deserves to win.** You may upvote several nominations in the same category. **Do not downvote any nomination.** - **Attempts to game the system for or against any nomination will result in appropriate punishment for those involved.** - **Ties in the voting process will be broken by an anonymous member of the mod team.** - **Do not comment in the voting area.** Use the off-topic stickied comment if you have questions or comments.   If you do have any questions, feel free to ask in the provided Off Topic Comment or send us a modmail! *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with or test your micro-fic skills with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.