“It’s two fucking wires!”, Virgil said to Lucky who was digging for worms. “We need worms if we’re gonna eat,” Luck replied without looking up. The two of them arrived here about a year ago when the virus finally tipped the scales and there was no looking back. The Covid-19 virus started as a local health issue in the Wuhan province of China. The world halfassly paid attention as the news story went from being a closing story to becoming a lead after the virus had jumped ship, via international travel, and became a global pandemic in six short weeks. The scariest thing about it was it’s incubation rate and how fatal it was. Four to eight week without showing signs of infection and a 90% mortality rate. Scary was being generous. “I’m fucking sick of pike,” Virgil said while digging through dirt and mud. It’d been raining for two days and everything held the water in it, even the air. “Life will change once we can harvest the garlic and onions,” Lucky replied while threading a long, fat worm out of a lump of soft clay. And we’re good for water for a while now. The tarps and drums are really working well now.” “Well aren’t you Oscar Optimist this morning,” Virgil retorted in mild irritation. “What put you in such a stellar mood?” “Garlic and onions aren’t ready to harvest but I did find something that was.” Without looking up, Luck reached into the breast pocket of his battered army coat and slid out half a very fat, very respectable joint. “You fucker! And exactly when were you planning on telling me?” Virgil dusted his hands on his camo cargo pants. Lucky tossed him the half dube and his zippo. “You know,” he said with a grin. “You rarely take into consideration my entertainment.” Virgil, squatting on his haunches shook his head slowly, his smile growing ear to ear. “We gotta find something better when the munchies kick in.” “We could raid the old man again. He’ll be asleep by nine. Maybe find something interesting. I was also thinking we should start planting berries. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries. That sort of thing.” Virgil exhales deep lungfuls of smoke, “Agreed. But blueberries are a fucking bitch to grow. Cherry tomatoes make a good snack though. Idiots can grow them too.” “Says a lot about us,” Luck said and taking the offered joint. His intense eyes wandered over the scenery. Couldn’t really be much better. The ‘old man’ was a retired horse farmer and a multi-millionaire to boot. When the ‘dynamic duo’ agreed it was time to get out of Dodge, finding this place was a chance in a million. Before the global servers went tits up, they were looking for a place in the woods, far from civi, at the end of a road. “Doesn’t ‘the end of the road’ sound a little fucking ominous to you?” Virgil commented. “That’s why nobody’s gonna go there” was Lucky’s logic. Actually, over the past year it seemed to become Lucky’s Logic. So they took everything they assumed they’d needed, which for Virgil was a lot, packed it in Luck’s pickup and drove east out of the city and hoped for the best. What they found was beyond their wildest dreams. Hundreds of acres of forest, with lakes, rivers and pastures. The old man had two barns which held about fifty horses which he cared for by himself. Fiery old guy, up at 5:00 and in bed at 21:00, never stopping all day to tend the farm. After about a month living there, Virgil and Lucky approached the old man to offer assistance in return for lodging and the single buckshot pellet that blew through Virgil’s shin still hurt when the weather changed. So much for diplomacy. Now lying in the dirt together, both supremely surprised by the potency of Luck’s harvest, Virgil was back at it. “It’s two fucking wires!” he exclaimed with as much vigor as his addled mind could muster, which, admittedly, wasn’t very much. Lucky was consumed by the beauty of the rolling clouds strolling gently through the mesmerizing sky which wasn’t very mesmerizing at all. “What?” he mumbled. “Two fucking wires! He’s got about a billion watts of solar power down there. He’s not gonna notice if we nick a little of it.” “What?”, Lucky eloquently retorted. “There’s about a billion feet of wire in the big barn. We can steal a plug socket and a case, take the wire we need and bury it from here to the power relay he uses to heat his indoor pool. Then we just connect the two wires to the relay and have more electricity than we can ever use. Where’s the downside?” Lucky thought he saw elephants in the clouds. Virgil was on his back, trying to work out the math for his latest plan. “And if you say ‘What?’ again I’m gonna… fuck it. I can think of a lot of things to finish that sentence but I doubt I can even stand up right now. How the fuck did you grow that so strong?!?? “What?” That night found them putting at a joint and reviewing ‘the mission’. With no security whatsoever, it was easy to steal the wire, the plug socket and a shovel for the next mission. Night time in this new normal was pitch black, with the moon and the stars serving as the only source of light. The barn was huge. Like two football fields huge. The biggest problem was making sure the horses didn’t wake up. Especially while Virgil was humming the theme from Mission Impossible. Lucky was at the door of the tack room, where the old man kept all the horse stuff, saddles, bridles, carrots. His eyes scanning for anything but knowing full well, from past experience, that there was nothing to scan for. He literally could have been walking around naked with a headlight strapped to his forehead. “Can you stop humming that fucking song?” he whispered, not wanted to alarm the horses. “This is about as far from impossible as taking a shit.” Virgil would have no part of Lucky’s Logic. He continued to hum away. Luck just rolled his eyes. Virgil had cut off the length of wire they needed at what he calculated to be about 300 feet. But 300 feet of triple strand copper wire weighs about 100 pounds so they split it in two to share the burden. “When’s the last time you went upstairs,” Virgil asked. “I don’t know,” Luck whispered back. “Just after we got here I think.” “Wanna go have a peek? We’re not here often these days,” Virgil asked. Lucky weighed the worth of his friend’s curiosity. “Peek for what?” he asked. “I don’t know. Who knows what the old man has up there. It’s not like we’re in a rush. And I was also thinking on the way back we take a quick look for any munchies in his fridge.” Virgil shot Luck the grin that always made him shake his head and smile. “C’mon, man! What else have we got to do?” After getting the wire and shovel in a wheelbarrow they were about to steal they both ninja’d their way back into the barn and up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the barn meant for the farmhand to live in. It was completely dark and Virgil clicked on his flashlight for a second. “Turn that off!” Lucky forcefully whispered. “I can’t see a thing now!” Virgil knew Luck was talking about how regular light fucked up a human's innate ability to see in the dark. Virgil, mentally agreeing with his friend, was also content that turning on his flashlight kept him from stepping on one of the numerous barn cats. He clicked it off plunging them both back to the invisible abyss. Virgil found the door at the top of the stairs and silently twisted the knob which didn’t twist at all. “Fuck,” he hissed. “It’s fucking locked.” Lucky reached into his shitty canvas bag and gave Virgil the worn lockpick set he’d had since high school. Virgil had the door open in 10 seconds. The apartment was surprisingly renovated. Brand new everything, granite counter tops, solid wood kitchen cabinets, hardwood floors. Both quietly looked in every cabinet, every drawer. Above the stainless steel fridge, Virgil let out a low whistle. “What?” Lucky asked. “Imma turn on the flashlight for sec, okay?” Virgil asked. Luck shielded his eyes. “Just for a sec.” Virgil clicked the flashlight on then off after 2 seconds. Then he started giggling. “What?” Luck whispered again. “It’s a 60.” Virgil offered. “Of what?” Lucky asked “Looks like our old friend” “Jack?” “Yep,” Virgil replied. “Jack Daniels is joining us for dinner.” Lucky then began giggling too. “Fuck yeah!” “I’m just gonna check the bathroom then we head out,” Virgil whispered after giving the bottle to Lucky. “Sounds good”. Virgil inched his way to the bathroom, hoping beyond hope, he’d secure some toilet paper. You can’t understand what the quality of life is when you don’t have toilet paper. The moonlight was peeking through the patio door and when Virgil got to the bathroom what he saw gave him pause for thought. There was tape across the door like you’d see in a police investigation. “Luck!” he whispered silently. “What do you make of this?” Lucky didn’t really care much. Though the thought of having a 60 of Jack Daniels AND toilet paper seemed to immediately become abundantly important. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just go have a quick peek” This seemed to give Virgil the confidence he needed and he opened the door and stepped in. What surprised him most as he stepped through the door was the towering pile of toilet paper he saw on the shelf at the edge of his vision. For a split second. Having a doctorate in mechanical engineering, his brain, in lightning-fast realization, determined that the tape on the door was to keep people out of the bathroom because the floor was being replaced and the only thing covering the beams meant to hold the new floor was paper. He disappeared from Lucky’s view in a split second. He was there and then he was gone. His crash to the floor below was surprisingly muted because he landed on hay. Hay for the stallion in the stable in which Virgil now found himself. For anyone who knows anything about horses, the stallion is, by far, one of the most fearsome and dangerous animals on the planet. They’re purpose is to breed. Horse farmers purposely prevent this from happening until it’s time to happen. So you essentially have a horse, fully 1500 pounds, that is so angry because he’s horny as fuck standing four feet from Virgil. Add to this that the irate animal was sleeping and doesn’t take kindly to being shocked awake and you have a very unpleasant environment for Virgil to find himself in. And to really put the final nail in the coffin, the stable is, of course, locked from the outside. The braying and snorting of the animal a floor below him quickly brought Lucky’s attention from the 60 in his backpack to his friend in mortal danger. Still feeling the effects of the weapons-grade weed he grew, he bounded, then fell down the stairs. Sadly, he had to admit, that when tumbling down the stairs his first thought was not of saving his friend but of hoping that the 60 didn’t break as he barreled, head first, into the wall at the base of the stairs. As Lucky scrambled back to his feet and into the stables, Virgil was fairing far worse than his potential rescuer. The stallion was now fully awake and fully pissed at the intrusion to his miserable existence. Virgil knew well enough to not get behind the beast, his scientific mind knowing that a horse kick approached 2000 pounds per square inch. What he had never learned was that while avoiding the powerful kicks he did not realize that horses bite. He also was unaware that a stallion can easily bite off a human arm completely. So, in hindsight, he had to admit that he was happy, well, less miserable, when the horse decided that he could neutralize his invader by biting its head. Just as Virgil was uselessly trying to hold the stallion’s head, and teeth, away from his, Lucky opened the stable gate and punched the horse squarely in the eye. The result was madness. The stallion reeled up and brayed loud enough to wake the other horses who clearly felt the need to support their breeding seed and began to make noises loud enough to wake the dead. Including the old (but not quite dead) man. Virgil and Lucky zipped through the stable gate, locked the door, and bolted to their bounty of wire. And a shovel. Watching the farm lights come on in horror, they ran, full sprint for over an hour, down the dirt road and up the hill to their camp. Exhausted, battered and bruised and pumping on adrenaline, they both lay sprawled on their backs. “Two fucking wires!”, Luck exhaled. Virgil reached into Lucky’s battered backpack and pulled out the 60. “Shots?” he asked without raising his head. And they both lay on the ground, covered in mud and horse shit, and couldn’t stop laughing.


After years upon years of being harassed by rapists, pedophiles, and murders. These police officers and their family members, stalked me to Lethbridge, Alberta. A bowl full of uniformed and plain clothes turd members of law enforcement showed up to my work one day. They told me they will stop pursuing me with all of the lies they accuse me of, if I take the job of kitchen manager at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. I told them to take their evidence and press charges, or get the fuck out of my face. As they left I made toilet bowl flushing noises. After about three to six months the turds returned, repeated their offer of allegedly not going to spread evidenceless lies about me. I then repeated my response, press charges or go fuck your self. After about a year or so, I found myself in need of a job. So I searched Indeed and found a job posting for kitchen cook at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. I was interviewed by the current kitchen manager, who hired me later that day. I began working for Compass the next day at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. Law enforcement had nothing to do with my hire and did not know I had taken the job till I was already working there. Once on the job, the RCMP, prison management, and prison guards began the harassment. Accusing me of crimes including but not limited to, rapes, murders, viewing child porn, and some of my personal favourites, stealing bottles and diesel. I would defend my self verbally against groups of four to over ten at a time. I would refuse to do any spying or anything that would jeopardize my safety. I was paid to cook and supervise the inmates not to deal out punishment, and that is all I would do. There were eleven inmates at a time and just two kitchen staff. No guard presence in the kitchen unless something happened and the were called or doing their counts. On two separate occasions an RCMP officer admitted to making 8 attempts to murder me. Including breaking into my home and planting pills inside my glucosamine chondroitin in and attempt to murder me. This was done in front of a group of law enforcement who refused to press charges. So I placed him under a citizens arrest myself. Telling the officer “you are under a citizens arrest for attempted murder, you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law”. Both times the group then walked away like nothing had transpired. On two more occasions, two police bothers confessed to the rape and murder of nurse Sonia Varaschin. I requested charges being pressed against them, but was denied by the group of RCMP and prison guards. So I place them both under a citizens arrest, telling them “you are under a citizens arrest for the rape and murder of nurse Sonia Varaschin, you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law“. Again, every single turd member of the law enforcement walked away, including the rapist murders. On another occasion one of the D.D.O.’s of Lethbridge Correctional Centre defamed my character, accusing me of being a pedophile, threatened to have me chemically castrated, then gave the inmates my full name and home address. This was done while we were lined up about to plate lunch in full view of several cameras. I request charges but like before police do not police, police. The management of the prison was committing fraud by using non minimum security offenders in the kitchen. We were told upon hire that it would only be minimum offenders, but the kitchen crews were filled with gang members, murders, and sex offenders. After about several months the powers that be decided they no longer wanted me at the prison, so they decided to bring in an incredibly dangerous human being to deal with me. The guy the were bringing had spent a huge portion of his life behind bars as a maximum security offender. Now this guy had made the news recently at that time. While locked up on remand one night, he cling filmed another inmate to a toilet, cut off his ear, then sucked his dick for hours, until the guards showed up in the mourning. Before his arrival, other inmates were warning me that he is coming for me. Now my schedule was three days on three days off. Me and my cook assistant would do our three days, then we would switch out with the other cook and cook assistant. The cooks would be given two units to choose eleven inmates from each. One unit you would get for breakfast and lunch and the other you would get for dinner. As the paid staff would switch every three days, so would the inmates from breakfast lunch to dinner and vice versa. You would write you inmate list for the next day, so my day one would be written by the other cooks day three. My day one I would write my day two, my day two I would write my day three. And if the other cook fucked me with a shitty kitchen crew, on my day three I could get my revenge for his day one. I’m not sure who brought this guy down originally, but he worked good. He knew how to make trays, pour juice, make bricks, wash dishes. It was clear this wasn’t his first kitchen crew. With his presence the other inmates had something to worry about instead of being fixed on fucking with me. Now from what I heard, he was given a time limit to get ride of me. If he is successful, he gets to stay at the all inclusive resort of LCC, if not he goes back to federal prison where he is locked up twenty three hours a day. Now I am not someone who is going to be run off anything I want. This job pays garbage, but it is a nice three on three off. After resisting weeks of pressure this guy is applying, his time is getting close to up. Now I will describe a bit the actual play by play of how a prison kitchen works. We would make three meals per day, weekdays, two on weekends. Now these meals are not hungry man meals thrown in a microwave. They involve prep work, and that work involves knives. The knives would be kept secure in the office. They would have a hole drilled through them with a steel loop. There were kitchen tables that would have a string of steel with loop on it. You connect the loops and put a lock on it, now that knife would be secure to the table. I would still have to get the knives from the office to the table. Now when doing this I would like to walk around first, and see what everyone is doing. I come out of the office one day to do a walk around before I bring the knife out. I look right, and the inmates are making trays. I walk straight ahead and to my left the inmates are making bricks. I keep walking forward and to my right some are in the dish pit washing dishes. Continuing on to my left some of them are making juice, and now I arrive at the table. Now it is a clean shinny stainless steel table with one classic plastic knife out of place. It is the knife the inmates get on every tray. The kind you would find in any cafeteria to spread margarine or peanut butter. Now sometimes I will have people tossing flags at this knife thinking it is nothing to be worried about. You put that knife through someone’s eye, and they are fucking done. I look to the right and hiding behind this post is Williams. I’m not sure how many fights you have been in, in your life, if any. But there is a tension in the air that you can feel, and I felt it. Now to see where this guys heads at I engaged him in conversation. I said something like, “hey”, he replied something in a voice you could hear was filled with tension, coming from a mind that was clearly thinking about what was coming next, as he slowly crept toward the knife. Now a little background about me, I played high school basketball and I was good. Now a major component of basketball is judging distance, you need to know what people are capable of to decided where you are going to be. So as he is creeping toward the knife, so am I. We are just making small chat, as we both inch closer and closer. We both pause, pretty much toe to toe. Now I’m one hundred percent convinced there is going to be a stabbing. Like I said I played high school basketball, I’m competitive. If there is going to be a stabbing, I’m going to want to win that stabbing. We both look at each other, look at the knife, look back at each other, and its like this Hollywood scene where we both just dive for the knife at the same time. I have the longer arms and judged the distance correctly, I came up with the knife. I grab the knife with my right hand and pull it across my body. He is desperately trying to get the knife with both hands. As I get the knife to my right side, I scoop under and raise his arms with my left arm. Now his entire rib cage is exposed. I waste no time at all, and immediately start warming up his ribs. He has on the inmate coveralls designed to take hits from a plastic knife. So no bloody damage is done. I put what I felt was about eight to twelve strikes of justice into his ribs. R.C.M.P. Would later go on to tell me it was actually 17. He broke off and walks away all pissed off. Now he is heading away from me along the length of the table towards the freezer wall. Made a left and headed towards and past fridge two. He kept walking with his head down until he got to fridge one, where he paused. He raised his head almost like he got that little cartoon thought bubble that said “fuck this guy”. He turns around and start coming back. Now the first round of stabbing was just raw animal instinct like a lion taking down a gazelle. But I had a few moments to think this time around. I remember this one Brock Lesnar fight where instead of two guys just sizing each other up in the middle of the ring, he just ran the guy over. So I decide that is going be my move. I picked a spot on the floor, when he gets to it I will strike. I’m going to push him upwards and back to get his weight off his feet. Hopefully he will go flying back into the freezer wall. Before he has his weight back over his feet and his bearings, I will be back in his ribs. He is at fridge two, at the freezer, then makes the right. He is eyeballing the knife on his approach. Right when he is on my spot, with the reflexes of a cat and the speed of a mongoose, I pounce. Everything goes flawless, he flies back and I am like a fat kid on round two at a Chinese buffet. I put what I felt was another four to eight strokes of justice into his ribs. Again R.C.M.P. would later get the actual count of 12. You always here in the news, he was crazy, he stabbed the person an insane amount of times. I'm telling you from first hand experience, once you got momentum and the autopilot kicks in, it's hard to stop. He breaks off shouting “I’m done, I'm done”. As the event begins to cure in my mind.


This is a very unorthodox "scary" story, but it's something that has been on my mind a lot lately. I don't know why. When I was a freshman in high school, I enrolled in a French class as a required language course. The teacher was not very popular. She was a middle-aged Persian woman named Madame Rahbar who had been teaching French and Farsi in the US for a few years. Madame Rahbar didn't have much of a sense of humor, but she was a good person and tried to get through to us. As young teenagers, we were pretty merciless. I think I was sixteen years old while I took her class. I can't say I was especially obnoxious to her, but I definitely didn't give her the respect she deserved, and occasionally sassed her. Some of the other kids were worse. On more than one occasion she cried. One day, Madame Rahbar came to class in a wheelchair. She didn't have any casts on, but explained that she had been in a car accident that had injured her hips. We were a bit nicer to her then, but not by much. About two weeks after that, she unceremoniously disappeared, never to return to my high school. She was replaced by a man named Mr. West, who was a charming old teacher who would sing French songs on the acoustic guitar. He enthralled us and earned our respect very quickly. After a few days, nobody remembered Madame Rahbar. It was as if she never existed. At one point I found myself standing at the urinal in the men's room, flanked by our school's football coach and Chinese teacher. They were talking about teachers who had left because of how awful the kids were. I finally recalled my old French teacher and asked, "Whatever happened to Madame Rahbar?" The Chinese teacher said to me, "Oh, she had cancer. She was pretty sick." I recall distinctly, even now, that this was probably the first time in my life I ever truly felt like a piece of shit. It was a very adult feeling, something kids don't normally experience. Everything about her made sense: the waning energy to deal with us, the increasing frailty of her appearance, her reluctance to discuss the accident. I felt responsible for being a burden to her at a time when she really could have used some cheering up. The saddest thing is, teenagers have incredible short memories. Even after that revelation, Madame Rahbar faded from my mind, lost in the din of gossip and schoolyard hierarchies and homework. It wasn't until several months later that I remembered she even existed. It was winter now. I had met a girl named Brittany, and we had agreed to go on a date in Laguna Beach (near my school). That night was particularly cold, and we ate at a nice restaurant that completely cleared out my wallet. When we walked out at the end of the meal, there was a woman in a wheelchair sitting at the edge of the sidewalk. She was draped in a red blanket, and clutched a bin full of roses. A sign sat next to the chair that read "$1 each." There are a lot of homeless people in Laguna, but I instantly recognized this woman, even from thirty feet away, as Madame Rahbar. There really aren't any words to describe the abject sorrow that I felt upon recognizing her. I approached her and tried to speak to her, but when she looked into my eyes, she hung her head and pretended that I didn't exist, as many people had no doubt done to her that night. She knew me, and was too embarrassed to even talk to me. I was equally embarrassed; I had blown every single dollar I owned on an expensive dinner to impress a girl. I couldn't help her even if I wanted to. The pain of seeing her - someone who devoted her life to trying to help little bastards like me - reduced to this state is ineffable. I have carried this shame for over a decade, intermittently reminded of it after struggling to block it out. Each time I see a homeless woman, each time I hear someone speaking French, etc. People sometimes ask me, as a fan of horror, "what scares you?" I've never given this answer before, but I've done a lot of thinking and I want to tell you what scares the shit out of me. The fact that a respectable, hardworking woman could be betrayed by every single person in her life and left on her deathbed, a frigid wheelchair on a winter night in a posh beach city, scares me. Seeing her completely withered away by her illness and her despair, when by all rights she should have been surrounded by grateful pupils and family members, scares me. It freaks me out that people we once knew become people we ignore and block out because they make us feel helpless. It isn't death that terrifies me, but how people will look upon me when I am dying, because I've seen how the world looked upon a much more accomplished woman and scarcely remembered her name. I've looked her up and talked to my old principal. Nobody ever heard from Madame Rahbar again. I do not know if she survived. I doubt she did. The fact that I will never know for sure, and the fact that *nothing* I could do could take away that level of suffering, haunts me to this day. I'm 28 now and I still cry over this shit. I wish I could go back and hug her and thank her for trying her best for me, and apologize for not trying my best for her. But that horror has been productive for me. It has taught me to value people now, because I might not be able to do it later. And it's taught me to treat people with a kind of compassion I didn't have before; I try to imagine what that wretched loneliness must feel like, and what kind of man it makes me to inflict it upon them in some small way. But I will never get that image of her with those roses out of my head, as long as I live. And maybe it's good that I can't.


 “We meet back here in thirty minutes, understand?” Mom says. We all nod. This happens everytime we come here. “Everyone has their watches?” She asks.

We hold up our wrists so she can see the identical glowing watches. “What happens if Bluecoat stops you?” She asks. We all groan. We’re wasting time. "Tell them we're looking for our parents." Lily says. Royal leans over to me. "Are we gonna go, or not?" "In a minute. She'll run out of things to worry about soon." I tell him. Sure enough, she sighs in defeat. "You can go." We cheer, and run to the door of the spaceship. It opens slowly, and we clamber down the ramp. My name is Freedi. I have eight brothers. I'm the only girl. We're all from the planet Depbvor. Once a year, we get to go on a trip to different planets. We all get to bring along a friend. So, there are sixteen of us. This year, we're on the planet Sevveris. Royal, or Roy, is my best friend. I've known them since I was little, and invited them with us every year. They have short blue hair and bright green eyes. We're the same height, but they're stronger by a lot. I have long black hair, and brown eyes. I literally look like the most boring person ever, but according to Roy, I'm the opposite. We all go different directions, and Roy and I go straight to our favorite place. Every planet has a market. We weave through the crowd, until we find the Whitecoats. "Hey!" Roy says cheerfully. They are good with people. One of them look up. "Hello. How can we help you?" "We wanted to know about one of the planets." They say. The man nods, and picks up a binder. "Which one?" "That one called...what was it?" "Erath?" I guess. I can never remember. The man chuckles. "I think you mean Earth. " "Oh, yes, that." Roy says. He hands us some papers, and I hand him some money. We walk off looking through them. We think Earth is the weirdest planet ever. They're the only ones who aren't a part of the milky way government. I'm sure they know we exist, but it's not like they're trying to find us. If they are, they're doing a really bad job. They don't know that there are different planets, even though we're right here. I think that they're looking the wrong way, or something. I'm not sure what happened, but centuries ago, they had a huge disagreement with our government, and went off by themselves. Apparently, they have something called covid. I'm not sure what it is, since I get bored reading, so I ask Roy to summarize it for me. "They've got some planet wide deadly disease." They tell me as we walk to the food stands. My favorite thing about the markets is the food. All the planets have different foods that they make that no one else can perfect but them. Sevveris makes these little things that are like a small cup with a little dome on top. It has this really sweet creamy thing on top. They call them sweetdomes, and they are delicious. "C'mon." Roy says, their mouth full of sweetdome. They pull me through the crowd, and towards their favorite part, the art. Same as with the food, every planet has different model types. Sevveris is a planet mostly filled with plants, so that's what's on their art. There are trees and grass, and something called a flower. There are painted pictures, drawings, and sketches. I can't draw to save my life, but Roy is amazing. They ask for lots of the drawings, and tuck them in their bag. "Okay, we can go to one more place before we've got to go back." They tell me. I look at the map we're standing in front of. There are lots of different things, but I promised my grandfather I would bring him something back. "There." I say, pointing to the plant shop. I fill my bag with different seeds, and flowers. "C'mon, race you to the ship." I say to Roy. We run through the crowd, but when I lose sight of them, I stop. "Roy?" I say, turning around. I gasp. They are on the ground, a Bluecoat standing over them. The Bluecoats are really advanced robots. This one is wearing the usual dark blue coat, and a huge hat that covers most of their face. It leans down, and scans Roy's face. They wince at the bright light, and I can see their shaking. It jerks up, then an alarm starts blaring. "You. You're the one we've been looking for." It says. Roy suddenly kicks the robot in the chest, sending it flying in the other direction. They jump up, and run.

Why does this happen every year? "Ten minutes, Roy!" I yell. They nod, jumping over a table, and onto a wall. I don't know how I became friends with one of the most wanted criminals in the galaxy, but I am. I walk through the crowd, and back to the ship. I walk with my siblings, though they probably don't even notice me. "Hurry." Roy whispers behind me. I sigh. "You can't keep coming with us if this is going to happen." "Yeah, well, I'll never get out otherwise. Depbvor is the most boring planet there is." They tell me. I roll my eyes. "Then why don't you just stay somewhere else?" "Then who will you talk to?" They point out. They have a point. I'm not great at making friends. It was luck that I met Roy, and I don't know how great it is to have a wanted criminal as your best friend. My mom counts our heads as we walk up the ramp into the ship. "Thirteen, fourteen - where are the twins?" She says. Mike and Micheal run up the ramp, and it closes behind us. Roy and I look out the window, to watch the planet grow smaller and smaller.


Crimson Red, that was the color of her hair. She was the woman I’ve been waiting for all my life, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Looking back on a memory filled with events I shall cherish till the end of my days, it’s best to start from the beginning. It was a dusty-brown, crumbly late summer day and I stepped out into the street with a few errands needed to be done, but that wasn’t really a bother. So took sometime and payed a visit to the post office. The mailman, a close friend, greeted me and I waved backed with grin on my face. “How’s it going?” he asked. I told him everything was well as he handed me a few letters. “Well I’ll keep it short” he said. He paused for a brief moment. “How would you like to come with Betty and me to the Monterosso Boardwalk this coming Saturday?” I hesitated wondering a response to give him. It’s been sometime since I had spent time out with anyone since I’ve been working a lot lately. I take a moment before opening my mouth. “I don’t know yet, I have things to do.” I replied. “What are you talking about you have things to do? You are always cooped up in that apartment barely getting out for some sunlight and fresh air.” “Hey I’m always busy that’s all, I’m not always there. I’m out today aren’t I?” I told him. “Let me guess you’re still on what happened with you and Chelsea?” I froze. Immediately when he said that name I clenched my hands. I began to walk towards the door when he stepped in front of me. “Look, you got to put what happened between you guys aside, she’s gone now.” He said. “Just come with us…lighten up a bit. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you feel...feel alive.” I shook my head and walked out not even looking at my best friend’s face. I drove for a bit forgetting about the errands, still having that name linger in my head. Chelsea…Chelsea…Chelsea, that name would never get out. I stopped in the middle of the road, hopped right out of my car, leaving everything behind. As I walked further and further ahead of me, I ended up in a piazza, not knowing what to do next. Crowds of people walked everywhere, on their phones or talking to friends. I sat down on a nearby bench to get out of the way and began to think as they all walked by me. Nearby there was construction, in front of me kids played being joyful as ever, and then it struck me when a couple walked pass. They held hands, kissed, and showed lots of affection for one another. Then I remembered that night instantly. Chelsea was my one and only ever since elementary, a time when we used to pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and after twenty-five years had passed, we were official. However, one night I came home from work and my eyes were tearful. I caught her in bed with someone else. I don’t remember much because I try to forget, but all I know is that I slammed the door behind me and she came out tailing behind in her robe, the one I bought her. She tried to reason with me and all I did was reject what she said. The only thing I could think of as she spoke was the image I had captured of her in the action. Their embrace, their intimacy, her betrayal for it was with someone that wasn’t me locked as one. Someone who she never promised to be with till death do us part. We argued for what felt like several hours after that. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” she kept saying, her face getting redder and redder each time. “Why?! Why Chelsea?!” I said. I was almost bawling my eyes out. “Please give me a reason. What have I done?” She never answered to me after that. Once the heat died down she told me it was time to move on and she left me alone outside in the dark. I never saw her again. My heart sank like an anchor in the ocean ever since. As I laid back on the bench shaking my head in despair, a sudden feeling smacked me back into reality. I looked up and a drop of water splashed on my face. It began to rain and everyone I had seen earlier was gone. “Best I’d go too.” I said to myself. I got up and saw the dark sky, filled with clouds crying out tears that were headed my way. As I began to walk away, I saw someone in the distance. I couldn’t figure out whom it was at far so I started to walk towards them. As I got closer, I was able to get a detailed look at the person. It was a female. Her hair was long and red…a Crimson red. As I got closer I could see she was crying, tears touching the ground like the rain itself. “Are you alright?” I asked. The girl looked at me as my eyes connected with hers. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. After seeing her, all the pain and sorrows I’ve held for so long was gone. “No, I’m lost and a little cold.” She said in the most alluring voice. I asked her if I could take her some place dry. She nodded. We entered a nearby café and sat down exhausted from running in the rain. I looked at her and she’s soaked. As I began to observe her more closely she seems to be around the same age as me. She sneezed. “Sorry I got you into all this.” She said. “It’s okay I don’t mind at all.” I replied quickly not knowing what else to say. She began to smile and I grinned back in response. “I’m going to get an espresso would you like anything?” I asked. “Yes please, I’ll take one as well.” I walked to the counter and ordered as I looked back at her. She was looking out the window, breaks of daylight shining down on her as if she was an angel from heaven. I brought our drinks to the table and we started to converse. She told me she moved from Alaska to study architecture here. As she continued to speak, I dozed off during the conversation, admiring her beauty. She began to laugh. “What?” I said. “You seem to be dosing away.” She replied with a smile. I started to feel embarrassed. I had a good conversation with her and after a while it felt as if it was the best I ever had in a long time. The rain outside stopped and the sun manifested itself out of the clouds. We both gazed outside as people emerged into the streets. “I think I have to go.” She said to me. As she got up and began to walk away, in a fast reaction, I grabbed her arm and she turned to look at me. “Will I ever see you again?” I asked. She then smiled at me and said, “We can meet again sometime soon.” I let go of her and she departed the café. I took one last sip and I realized she left her scarf on the seat. I picked it up and walked outside thinking I could catch up with her. As I stepped outside, she was nowhere in sight and I only seen people walking in their daily lives. I placed my hand on my head in stupidity for I never got her name, but I will always remember her hair…Crimson Red. Days went by as the sun rose and set three times. I never saw her again. I went by the park at the exact time I met her and she was never there. The next day, I walk into the post office, seeing my friend placing mail in a bag. “Long time no see huh?” he said. “Yeah you can say that.” I replied quickly. He looked and smiled and me. “Well you seem better than before.” I smiled remembering the time I had with her. “Yeah I feel fine, better actually.” My friend drops his things and leans back on the counter. “Well I have time.” I pulled up a chair, scratching the floor, and sat down and explained everything. From the point I left to where I met her. As I explained, my friend nods digesting the information. “You should bring her by sometime” He said. That’s when I explained my soul search for her since I never saw her since that day. “She couldn’t have disappeared, keep finding her. Maybe when you do, you two should come Saturday.” What he said then brightened my spirits a bit. I got up and ran outside not hearing the last few words my friend had to say to me. I jumped into my car and sped home. I stepped into my apartment and slid into my rolling chair, gliding to my desk. I grabbed a piece of sketch paper and a pencil. I closed my eyes and visualized her, Crimson Red hair, beautiful face, and that sweet soft voice. The images of that minimal time spent with her spun in my head and I began to draw a picture of what she had looked like. Hours went by and I began to feel slum and blacked out. I woke up the next morning and the day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray. The day had not mattered to me for my determination of meeting her again was at an all time high. I looked out the window seeing my neighbor’s marigolds shine bright. I took a step outside and I went to the piazza as if it was part of my daily routine. I sat down at a nearby bench and I began to gaze at the scene in front of me. Nearby there was construction, in front of me kids played, and a couple walked pass. They held hands, kissed, showed lots of affection for one another. It began to have felt as if this happened before. I look up and a drop of water splashed on my face. It began to rain and everyone I had seen earlier was gone. Then an epiphany hit me and I sat up. I moved my hand across the bench and then I felt something smooth, a hand…a human hand. I looked to my side and right next to me was her, our hands locked at our side. She was everything I had ever dreamt of… everything. There she was, smiling sweetly at me, right in front of my face. “Hey,” she said in a saccharine voice. “You missed me?” I bit my lower lip nervously. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I just gaped at her speechlessly. My eyes started to flood with tears, but I held them back as I felt a lump in my throat. I shook my head. “Ever since that day….” I said in my heart. “I couldn’t bear to not see you again.” She smiled and said, “Want to go someplace dry?” We head to the same café from before and sat at the same spot. Instead of me buying, she did. We conversed and drank having a good laugh. Again I dozed off admiring her hair. Her Crimson Red hair brighter than any red I had ever seen. She smiled at me but this time I smiled back in response. We finished our coffees and we went out being amongst the crowd enjoying the sights. We hung around till midnight dancing and having fun under the bright lights in the night. We walked down one street seeing couples dancing to smooth romantic music outside of a bar. She grabbed my hand and we joined in. I gazed at her as she gazed back and we danced the night away. For the first time in my life I felt so alive, all my pain and stress was gone. Before we ended our night together we took a stroll through the park to a nearby fountain. As we got closer to the fountain she turned around. “Can you do something for me?” she asked softly. “Sure?” I responded. “Close your eyes.” I closed my eyes and suddenly I felt something touch my lips. It was a warm soothing feeling that I truly enjoyed. I opened my eyes and she was gone. I smiled. I woke up the next day refreshed and overjoyed. Last night was a feeling I haven’t felt in such a long time. After waiting several days, I decided to go out to the piazza, same time as always, and sat at the same bench. I looked around and I saw the construction was done, the kids weren’t playing, and a couple never passed by. Barely anyone was out today. There was sense of emptiness until an elderly man came by and sat next to me. “Mighty fine day out isn’t it?” he said. “Peaceful.” I could not figure out how such a scene was fine but it was peaceful so I agreed with a nod. There wasn’t much to even say to him after that so I kept quiet to myself. He looked at me with a stiff stare. “So how is it with you, huh? You don’t speak much I see.” He said. “Actually I’m waiting for someone.” I told him. I then explained to him about her, the woman I seem to fell in love with. I told him about the Crimson red hair down to her beautiful voice. He looked at me as if he was taking everything in with interest, nodding head. The elderly man seemed to had known something about her from the look in his eyes and he sat up, slapped his knee, and stared right at me and said: “Is that so? Well, let me tell you something son…” Later that Saturday night I waited by the boardwalk. I looked down at my reflection that’s barely glistening on the water. “Why am I here?” I wondered. Then a call woke me from my trance. I looked up to see my friend and Betty, his wife, come up to me. The boardwalk was bright as the sun within the darkness. People were having fun playing games, enjoying life itself. “So you came.” He said. “Yeah I had nothing else to do.” I replied. “I’ll go get some Gelatos.” Betty said before walking away. I looked back down at the water. “What’s wrong? You were all down in the dumps then, next you felt happy, and now you seem back where ya started.” My friend said. I pulled out the scarf she left the first time at the café and I began to remember the moments I had with her. That sweet soft voice and her Crimson Red hair. I looked at my friend in the eyes, tears running down my face. Then I said, “What if the girl I told you about before died five years ago.


“OK people, you know the drill. Bigger the risk, bigger the reward.” Big Paul pushed his thin, greasy hair back off one side of his sweaty forehead. The air shimmered as he waved a pudgy hand towards the huge whiteboard on the back wall of the kitchen. Names, dates and the promised payment filled in.

Sheila watched in awe, as every column and row appeared with text. Since starting as a sous chef three years ago, she had never seen a single week where the pledge board at Light Fantastic, the hottest restaurant on the north shore, wasn’t one hundred percent booked. They were the best, the hottest, the most unique dining destination in three states. It was a point of pride for most who worked here. But not for her, or in fact for most of the other chefs. For them, seeing the board full, and the astronomical prices pledged for payment, was a mirepoix of disgust, fear, and desperation.

“You’ll see some big names up there,” the owner continued, “with big pledges right along side. A good cook could make a pretty penny if they bring their A-Game. So don’t be shy, don’t wait too long, and get your name up there before you miss your shot. That’s it for now. Service starts in thirty. Get to work.” Sheila went to her station, where her knives were slowly honing themselves, floating a few inches off the thick cutting board. She glanced up at the board, looked nervously around the kitchen at her fellow staff, and thought hard about what some of those paydays could mean. That top one would pay off her mortgage, her car, her school loan, and go a fair way towards holiday presents for her twins.

She looked around the kitchen again, snapping her eyes down quickly just in time to avoid making eye contact with the ever-confident Margo, who was on fish tonight. Margo regularly signed up for a top-ten dish, inspiring both envy and surprise in the rest of the team.

Light Fantastic had earned its fame quickly after opening. Not only was the food made by hand, a rarity in these days of wish fulfillment, spellchefs and wiztaurants, but by branding its staff with a sygil that guaranteed the recipe would vanish from the chef’s mind forever, within thirty minutes of the service. Cooking a single, treasured dish for a single high-paying client meant losing it forever. So nobody could wrap their heads around how Margo was able to continue turning out so many world-class meals. Sheila dutifully focused on her work, even earning a comment from one of the passing head chefs who was impressed with the uniformity of her rose-flavored onion batons. But she couldn’t help but to glance up each time a small chime alerted the team to a chef claiming one of the dishes on the board. About half way through her shift, she looked up after the familiar ding, to see that Margo had signed up for the third listing. There weren’t many details offered, it just read ‘childhood, truffles, meatloaf’ and the pledge of $150,000.

Who had truffle meatloaf as a child? Sheila thought. Then her eyes drifted up the list to the top item. ‘Homemade, pasta, family + togetherness’ coming in at a whopping $375,000. It was one of the highest checks she had seen. There was one dish a year ago that paid $500,000 for ‘Childhood birthday, homemade, favorite dish’. Sheila remembered the chef, a nice guy named Andy, who took the check. The dish was sublime, the client tipped heavy, probably an additional hundred grand or so. Big Paul was ecstatic. Andy left the restaurant that night, sobbing uncontrollably, vowing to never cook again.

Who pays that much to devour someone’s most special memories? Sheila thought. But she knew who. She had seen the names over the years, movie stars, business moguls, crime lords…even politicians. Anyone who could afford it and who bought into the belief that eating someone else’s memories somehow made you wiser, stronger, more powerful. She didn’t believe it. No one in the kitchen did. She knew when she looked around, when she made eye contact or gathered small talk on the short breaks they sometimes got. Everyone was thinking the same thing, best summed up by a line scribbled anonymously on the wall in the bathroom stall. What do you call a parasite that feeds on another parasite? A chef.

To her surprise, near the end of her shift, she dragged her paring knife across the sygil on her left arm. It was deep enough to see the blood start to trickle out before the symbol flashed bluish-red, the skin sealed itself and her name appeared on the top line next to the half-million payday.

The eyes of her coworkers tried to find hers, but she turned with renewed vigor to her prep work. They were probably thinking about what they would do with that money. But that wasn’t what she was thinking. She was thinking of the vat of sauce bubbling away on the stove, of her siblings gathering around Nonni at the counter, rolling out gnocchi as a family, the platter piled high with the homemade dumplings, meatballs, and sausage after all the hard work. She blinked back tears, knowing it would all be gone soon.

That week, she ate gnocchi every night. She ate until she was ill and couldn’t stomach another bite, then forced one more. She ate until she was sick of them. Until she never wanted to taste them again. Then, she was ready.

All eyes were on her as she took a new spot at one of the featured chef stations that night. Margo was already working on her dish. Sheila watched her for a moment, the smooth, mechanical movements, the grace, the unflinching smile. But then she saw it. Something, quiet and dark, behind Margo’s eyes. Pain. Just a glimmer, but it was there and it was growing.

“What are you looking at, grunt?” Margo said when she caught her looking.

“Nothing. Good…Good luck tonight.” Sheila thought she saw something then, a quick flash of what? Humanity? Regret? No. It was something else. Something like respect, or even sisterhood.

“You too,” grumbled Margo, before turning back to her prep work.

Sheila started her dish, hand crushing the tomatoes, cutting the garlic into paper-thin slivers, adding a handful of spices. Then she made her dough. No potato, like the common recipe, but a mountain of flour and grated cheese. She made the well in the middle and added eggs and salt, carefully mixing it by hand. Over the next hour her sauce thickened, her water boiled, her pasta cooked and drained. Finally, it was time to go to the plate. The mist in her eyes became a glistening, then welling into tears. Now she was full on crying. She covered her face with her towel, heaving sobs and trying to catch her breath.

She wasn’t trained as a chef, she didn’t have a full complement of dishes ready to go. She cooked by feel. This one memory of food was really all she had. But soux chefs don’t make a lot and she and her kids needed a place where the hungry world wouldn’t devour them. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and tried to focus, but broke down again.

She was just about to give in, when she felt arms around her. She curled into them, feeling a soothing hand on her back. Looking up, she saw Margo there, tears in her eyes as well.

“I know,” she said quietly, “It takes and takes. But this world also gives. You’ll get through this.” They held each other for a few seconds longer, before straightening up, squeezing each others’ shoulders quickly, and going back to work.

Sheila finished placing the pasta on the dish, spooning over a ladle of sauce, grating on fresh parmesan cheese, and carefully placing a single basil leaf, slightly off kilter, at the top. Margo was just finishing her dish as well. It was equally magnificent. Margo slipped something into her apron pocket before making eye contact with Sheila. They nodded, picked up their dishes, and headed to the dining room. Their tables were fairly close. Margo’s had a man in a deep blue, luxurious suit. He smiled in eager recognition. A regular. Margo placed the dish before him, explaining the contents quietly before bowing slightly and stepping back. She looked over at Sheila, who was walking slowly, too slowly , towards her table. The couple that waited there looked displeased.

The man had pointed features, leaning towards the woman next to him and sharply whispering, “It’s about time. That took forever. I’m starving.” The woman glanced at Sheila sympathetically, then looked down at her place setting.

“This better be good,” he said, as Sheila placed the serving platter on the table. As she did, she felt the sygil on her arm blaze with pain. She felt light headed. Straightening up, she started to turn before his hand snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist. “Wait - am I supposed to serve myself here or what?”

“It’s…it’s family style sir. You serve each other.” “For what I’m paying?” he asked. “Are you kid–” “It’s fine, honey,” the woman next to him said, “I don’t mind dishing it out for us.” “Shut up,” he said, glancing at her. “I didn’t come here to have you feed me.” He turned back to Sheila. “Let’s go. Shovel this crap out or you won’t get a penny.” Her knees trembling, Sheila tried to step towards the table but almost stumbled. Suddenly, Margo was there holding her up. “Allow me, sir,” she said, stepping in front of Sheila. “We like to send two chefs out to make sure you get full service.” The man leaned back in his chair, smirking.

“That’s more like it,” he said. Margo lifted the large serving spoon, digging into the perfect pile of bite-size dumplings, then paused. She turned to Sheila, her face angry. “You fool!” she said. “You’ve forgotten the saffron!” Shocked, Sheila looked at her. “What sa–” Margo took a small capsule out of her apron, presenting it to Sheila. “Don’t you remember? You specifically asked me to bring it. Aren’t you going to add it? Or do you want this dish to be eaten as is ?” She shook the small canister, eyeing Sheila hard. “This is your last chance.”

Sheila stood, dumbfounded, for a minute. The man watched her, the woman watched her, the other patrons watched her. She even saw Big Paul, in the far corner of the dining room, stop what he was doing and look at her curiously and not without some malice.

“Oh! The saffron!” she exclaimed, grabbing it out of Margo’s hand. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’m so sorry, sir, we’ll get this fixed up for you right away.” She made a flourish of carefully crushing the threads between her fingers, sprinkling the world’s most expensive spice carefully over the mound of pasta. “Here you are, sir. Just a pinch.” As the crumbled bits fell into the rich, red sauce, they made small, orange wells where they landed. And as each piece hit the pasta, Sheila felt her sygil pain decrease. “There you are. Bon appétit.”

The man eyed her, silent for a moment. Recognition flashed across his face, darkening his features. But then he looked around at the other diners. Many of them had glanced at the menu beforehand and saw the price of the dishes, wondering who ordered the homemade pasta. Realizing the trap, he scowled, but grabbed a fork and speared some dumplings from his dish, pushing them into his mouth. What followed was a dramatic moan, exaggerated chewing and a deep, hard swallow. “Delicious,” he muttered. “See that you send the wine steward over.” “Of course sir,” said Margo, shuttling Sheila towards the kitchen, “Right away, sir.” When the doors to the kitchen swung shut, Sheila grabbed Margo in a tight hug. “Oh Margo, thank you so much! That horrible man…my childhood. I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s ok,” Margo said, holding her for a beat. “I had to. It’s rare to find a cook that has that kind of passion.” “What’s going to happen now? They’ll know it wasn’t the recipe.” “Don’t worry about it. A guy like that would rather pay and be wrong, then be embarrassed and right. He flashes that kind of money around for a meal, he wants people to notice. And look, both my parents were chefs. I had a lot of good food growing up but my childhood was…well let’s just say it wasn’t much of one. Nothing worth remembering, anyway. Don’t give yours away.” “I won’t. I don’t know what I was thinking.” “One other thing. Tonight’s my last night here. I’ve finally made enough to open my own place.” Sheila’s eyes widened. “Really?” she said, wiping her nose and eyes on the back of her sleeve. “That’s great, but I’m sorry to see you go.”

“Well that’s the thing,” Margo said, taking off her apron. She held up her arm and smiled, watching as the sygil disappeared. “I could really use a chef.” End


Jamie stepped off the bus just as it was starting to snow. "Merry Christmas." He heard the bus driver say before closing the doors and driving off. Jamie was the only one to get off at this bus stop. He stood there scanning the short buildings that lined the only street in his small hometown. Nothing had changed, at least not for the better in the two years since he'd last been here. The buildings were looking more run down than they had before. He noticed that a few were missing, making the street look like a smile that was missing some teeth. Jamie thought it suited the town perfectly as most the residents were in fact missing teeth. Despite the sorry state of the poor little town, Jamie was surprised to see festive lights and decorations covering the ruins of a once bustling coal mining town. He was also surprised to see so many people walking up and down the sidewalk, dressed in red, green and white. All very cheery and talking to each other and laughing. Jamie stared at the scene for a moment, his dead little country town looking for the world like a Christmas movie. BEEP! BEEP! Jamie turned in the direction of the parking lot across the street from the bus stop. There sat a large Chevy pickup truck with a lanky woman he recognized as his older sister, Lily, waved at him from the driver's side window. Jamie made his way across the street and got into the the passenger's side of the old truck, slamming the door loudly. He could smell the smoke scent that he knew was from the fireplace that heated his childhood home, radiating from Lily. The smell hit him hard with nostalgia. Lily reached over and patted Jamie on the back. "Well, look at you, " she teased, "look like you've actually gotten shorter." Jamie snorted, "looks like you've turned into a street lamp." Lily laughed heartily, but the reaction he wanted but one he expected. She was always giving him crap about being shorter than her. "Ready to go home, college boy?" "Yeah, " Jamie sighed, clicking his seatbelt,  "I'm exhausted." "I'd say so," Lily put the truck in gear and they started home, "you've had a long ride and still a long one to go." Jamie and Lily's childhood home was deep in the mountains of Appalachia, almost an hour away from the small little town. On their way home they chatted about the weather and school until Lily made her way to her favorite topic. "How's the love life?" Jamie rolled his eyes. "Don't have one. How's yours?" "You know," Lily glanced at him, "Tessa is still across the river." Jamie breathed in deeply through his nose. He could suddenly feel his heart beating. "You talk to her?" He asked a little too quickly. "I see her every now and then at the store in the next county," Lily grinned, "she's just as sweet as ever." "What do you guys talk about?" "Oh, nothing much," Lily looked over at him and smiled, "I take it back, you have gotten a little taller. You should go down to the river some time tomorrow and show Tessa hour much you've grown." When they arrived at their little brick house, Jamie made his way up the snowy steps and into the house to greet his father. They stayed up a while talking before retiring to bed. Jamie lie awake for a while thinking of Tessa. He remembered the first time he'd went down to the river by himself when he was fifteen and had seen Tessa's bright red hair shining in the sun from the other side. It was love at first sight for Jamie. He remembered how they would skip rocks back and forth and try to figure out how they could cross the river without getting wet. How they would laugh. He'd said to hell with it after a few meetings and jumped in the river and swam to her. Jamie finally drifted off with the memory of his first kiss. The next day Jamie told his father and sister he was going to take a walk and they gave each other a knowing look that Jamie pretended not to notice. He walked quickly down the familiar snow covered roads. The snow was sparkling in the sun and everything looked brighter than it used to. And smaller. Jamie finally arrived at the river and was disheartened to find there was no Tessa there waiting for him. Jamie looked around and saw the rope he'd tied to a large tree that held his little row boat here. He stood there for a moment, staring at the broken rope before he started to shiver. Then he remembered that they used to light fires to notify the other that they were here, both being able to see the smoke from their houses. As he gathered driftwood and dead trees Jamie thought about the last time he had spoken to Tessa. It was the weekend before Jamie graduated high school. By this time Jamie had aquired a small boat he kept tied by the river. Tessa and Jamie went to different schools and they could only see each other after hours, and that day when he came to the river Tessa was already there waiting just like she was everyday, sitting cross legged with a book on her lap. She smiled at him and Jamie smiled back. He felt the letter in his pocket he'd received months ago. He was anxious to show Tessa. He untied the boat and rowed over to her side of the bank. When he stepped out of the boat he was greeted with Tessa's arms around his neck and a kiss. He picked her up and spun her around. "What's got you in such a good mood?" Tessa giggled. Jamie smiled and pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it up to her. Tessa unfolded the paper, scanning over it quickly before handing it back and walking over to the water. "You got in." Jamie was hurt and confused at her  reaction. "Yeah," Jamie put the letter back in his pocket, "what's wrong?" "I didn't get in," Tessa didn't look at him, "I didn't get in anywhere." Jamie was shocked. Tessa had always told him that she excelled in school and was the top of her class. That she'd applied at all the same schools he had, so they could be together. "What do you mean?" She sighed and sat down on the bank, sliding her fingers through the sand. Jamie joined her. He stared at her and waited but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Tess?" "I quit school last year." Tessa said quietly. "What?" Jamie took a deep breath, "but you talk about school all the time!" Tessa let out a shaky breath. "I was never any good at school. I never applied to any colleges." Tessa picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through her fingers. Jamie watched it fall into a small pile for a moment. "Why?" He gulped, "why'd you lie?" Tessa sighed and stood up suddenly. "What's it matter?" She was looking at him now with her hands out, "you're leaving! Like I knew you would." "No," Jamie stood up, "tell me why." Tessa picked up her book and turned to walk away but Jamie grabbed her arm and tried to make her turn to face him but she budge. "Tess!" He loosened his grip and she slipped out, running up the bank, "wait! Talk to me, please!" He started after her and stopped as he watched her running as fast as she could away from him. He was confused and he didn't know what to do so he sat down and waited. When the sun started to go down he untied the boat and headed home. When she wouldn't return his calls he decided he would come back to the river the next day and every day until he had to leave for college. Tessa never showed. As he gathered wet wood into a pile he turned the whole conversation over and over in his head, as he had done many times before. He still turned up with no answers and a broken heart. He wondered if maybe if he really knew her at all. He gathered some dead, wet leaves and struck a lighter them, and they began to smoke immediately. He worked for some time trying to achieve a good flame and eventually he had a small but very smoky fire. He kept the fire going for about an hour when he decided to let it die. He thought was being a fool and it was time to head back and be with his family for the holidays. He turned and began his walk home. "Jamie." He spun around to see a beautiful mane of firey red hair glowing against the color of the snow across the river. Tessa threw a rock, which skipped six times across the surface of the water before landing in front of Jamie. He picked it up and held it tightly. "Tess!" He laughed, "I didn't think you'd come." Tessa bashfully looked down at her boots. Now that she was there Jamie had no idea what to say. It was hard to have a conversation like this, even though the distance between them wasn't that far. Instead of saying anything Jamie shot the rock back across the river towards Tessa only to fall short. She laughed then and the sound softened the awkwardness. "You've gotten rusty, huh?" "Yeah," Jamie laughed, "it's been a long time. " Tessa paused, "Do you want to talk?" "Uh, yes! Sure," Jamie gestured to the tree with what was left of the rope, "the boat is long gone." "There's a bridge now," Tessa smiled, "this way." Tessa started to walk upstream and Jamie followed on the other side. They walked in silence as the river began to widen the gap between them. Jamie kept looking to his left to make sure she was still there, and finally he spotted a bridge to ahead. They climbed the banks to get to the bridge and finally met in the middle, panting, their breath coming out in white foggy air. "Tell me why." Jamie got straight to the point, out of breath and tired. Tessa chuckled. "Right, right." She turned and leaned her elbows on the railing of the bridge, "I had to quit school because my mom was sick. She couldn't work. I had to take care of her." "Oh. Why didn't you just tell me that?" "I don't know," Tessa shrugged, "I was embarrassed and ashamed of how far I'd let the lies go on. You always talked about how badly you wanted to get out of here and I knew I wasn't going anywhere. My mom was sick, I just couldn't process any of it at the time." "Your mom, is she-" "She's gone." "Shit, Tessa." Jamie sighed, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I'll be fine." She cleared her throat, "but what about you? Living the good college life?" "Uh, yeah," Jamie looked down at his hands, "yeah, it's fine." Jamie thought for a moment on what to say, finally something came to him. "Do you want to come to my dad's house for Christmas? If you're not already busy." Jamie bit his lip and stared hard at the river. They stood there in silence, staring at the slow moving river below them. Tessa moved closer to him, nudging his elbow with hers. "I'd love to." He looked at her and smiled before pulling her in and hugging her tightly, his chin resting on her head. Lily was right he had gotten taller.


«If there is one thing I know for sure, it's that Robert would have repudiated all of them. There was not a single person that he trusted while he was alive and that was for a good reason.» She stood up and sat over the sofa-stool, right next to the man as she griped her finger like a multi-hook lock and continued.

«At least he didn't have to face the people he worked with every single day, plunging like animals to capitalize on everything he created and see what they were really made of. These hideous people... nobody could anticipate their reaction once they got their chance to move unhinged.» The redhead woman was livid. She had dark orange hair, that was curling in big furrows on the top of her head, and big green eyes that were exuding a sense of warmth and exasperated loneliness at the same time. Her silk, multihued shirt was ripped open in the top, revealing a circular golden medallion, and her brown skirt was laying thick and robust, above her naked slick feet that felt like wax-candles that the light was coming from the inside. The man beside her nodded in a minimal way and gazed with an impersonal face-mask that was as neutral as a doll. Bruce was a well-known laconic, a man that would say less than he knew and speak more with his actions, he had made a name for his direct attitude and the blatant remarks he would make without any hint of restriction. He sat back cross-legged in his position, comfortable as he squinted behind the straight thin hair that was falling on his face and he waited patiently for the woman to elaborate on her thoughts. «It's a shame really. Robert was such a benign and polite man that everybody thought he could take advantage of him. They took his kindness for weakness and that was always their biggest mistake. »

She turned back to the man with a sardonic smile as she held the drink loosely in her hand.

«Everybody thought Robert didn't really pay attention to others. That he never cared to inspect his subordinates or bat an eye on the myriad vampires that were after his blood». «They were mistaken. Robert could see through them as if he was glancing through transparent glass». Her feet tantalized as she waved slightly her drink to make the point. «When they first came to buy 'Linear', 10 years ago everybody carried the confidence of a superstar. They thought they reeled him in, into their whims as if he was some kind of a pushover they could do whatever they want to.» She cleaned the right side of her lip with her ring finger as she paused. «You should see their faces when he declined their offer and shattered their millions like a piece of garbage he couldn't care less. Nobody really understood Robert for who he was and especially.. those that were the closest to him.» The man continued staring at her as if he was in a theater watching a show he could not take his eyes away. The woman picked up a cigarette and lighted it up as she let the muscles on her shoulders relax. «Robert was a man of honor. Like you are,» she pointed, «That's why he liked you so much. He was always righteous and just and he would strive to keep his...how you guys call it?», «honor» she exclaimed with a triumph movement of the hand as Bruce leaned forward to her, «isn't that what you guys like to strive for so passionately?». «Miss Morrison,» began Bruce, «Kate, you can call me Kate..» «Sure, Kate, your husband was an exceptional man. And I can only feel blessed to have been close to him for so long. There are not many men like him left in the world today, unfortunately..» «And if there were they would have probably been eaten by the predators,» she said as she sipped from her drink. She glanced reluctantly at him as she nodded to herself and leaned the glass over the table. «So, about the reason, I called you today. Bruce, there are certain things that have been going on and unfortunately, I'm too weak to deal with them all on my own. One person cannot change the course of the river. But combine a couple of them that have a certain skill and trust with each other and... we could turn the tables upside down. Don't forget we are dealing with very mischievous people here, the kind that no one would really like to have to mess with unless he had to,»

She exhaled the smoke forcefully.

«Please,» replied Bruce. I promise I will do anything in my power to be helpful.» Kate continued. «A few weeks ago Ethan and some of the board members visited me right here at home. They came with their suits and ties and claimed they wanted to pay tribute to Robert and all the amazing contribution he had made to the world through the years. I was shocked and pleased at the same time. All these people gathered here just to share their grief with me,» she shook her head as she stood up and turned her back to Bruce who continued observing her unbothered. «Or so I thought. These gentlemen had nothing of the noble and formidable feelings I had in mind for them. Their motives were different, and I only realized it much later when it was already too late,» Bruce remained motionless as Kate wandered casually around the room with one arm glued around her waist. «Robert used to have some of his most important documents in a little safe in his home-office that nobody was supposed to know how to open except him. I'm not sure if I can transfer to you the significance of those papers but let's just say, people would pay a lot to get their hands on them,» «Were they related to the company?» Bruce asked. «Partly, yes. Some of them contained detailed plans about his next steps. Information about important clients, people he knew, conversations with high-profilers. Things that were supposed to remain private.» Bruce nodded.

«Trust me my dear if there was any chance for the company to thrive it wouldn't be out of luck. Robert had made sure to take care of every little detail just to guarantee its progression. Threats they were facing, dangers, future plans were all in there. Together with other valuable information.» she uttered as she let the word fuse into the air. «Facts that nobody really knew or could get his hands on unless it was for Robert who worked so hard for it. Very few could achieve what he did,» «Robert was a very meticulous man,» «He was,». She spun her head to him with a chilling calmness. «But this part is not the one that concerns me really.» «It's not?» Her eyes widened as her face dropped. She continued with a discrete reluctance. «You see, Bruce, this safe contained more than professional documents. I'm afraid some of the things inside the safe were of... personal nature,». She checked on him for any sign of reaction but resumed once she detected none of it. «For all the hard work and discipline Robert exhibited, let's just say he also had some non-conventional preferences. This material is highly sensitive and I'm sure you can understand how dangerous it can be in the wrong hands.» Bruce leaned his head slightly as he gripped his hands together. «What kind of material are we talking about here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.» «Not an issue.» She cut sharply. «It was mostly pictures and videos, of him with other women,» «Had you seen this material, yourself?» he inquired. «I may,» she replied indifferently. «You may?» «Listen Bruce. What is important to understand here is that this material gives the power to Ethan and the board members, to act on it. What they are after is not what Robert had in his mind or his plans with the company. They want full control of 'Linear', and now that they possess all this, I'm afraid they are going to use it as leverage.» «And you are positive that it was them who actually stole all this? Couldn't it be anyone else that might have access to Robert's safe? Maybe friends or other family members?» Kate smiled mildly. «If there was someone else I would know about it. Trust me, I knew my husband better than anyone else. There is only one person in the world that could plan something like that and that is no one else than Ethan. The current vice president and the man that was the closest to Robert while he was alive.» She raised up again and turned her back on him. «We are dealing with a very malevolent person here Bruce. You should never underestimate him or take his abilities lightly.» «Of course not,» assured Bruce. «But based on my knowledge, Ethan has actually a very small portion in the company holdings. Selling the company would be more unprosperous for him than actually keeping it.» «You see that's what Ethan wants everyone to think.»

She shook her head in disbelief. «This guy is so cunning...he has made arrangements with other board members to share their profits once the operation is done, while he keeps his sharing low purposefully. As a matter of fact, he had many chances to increase it if he would like to but he doesn't. And he won't, just for this reason..» «I see,» Bruce seemed contemplative as he soothed his chin with his fingers. He darted a couple of quick glances at Kate who waited patiently to take his time. «Kate, I hope you understand that what you are asking of me, is not a simple matter at all. It will take a long time and preparation before we are in a position to do anything and even then there are chances that these documents may have been transferred or been duplicated in some way.» «I understand.» declared Kate. Bruce took a big breath and clenched his fists. «Robert was like a father to me. He took me in when I had no money in my pocket and had nowhere else to turn for help. As you may know, I owe this man a lot and I could never allow something bad to happen to the company or his reputation». «I will help you,» he declared, «And assuming the documents are still with Ethan I will get everything back. But I'm going to need your full cooperation for it,» Kate blocked the smile on her face as she let him continue. «I hope you understand there can be no secrets or speculations in relation to this. You will have to agree in giving me all the necessary information even if it is..uncomfortable,» «You can have anything,» asserted Kate strictly. «Anything you want.» Bruce took a little pen and a block out of his pocket and marked something as Kate observed him. «So for one thing, based on your sayings, you did have access to the safe yourself. Is that correct?» «You can assume I had,» «I can assume?» he asked picking a serious look at her. «I did,» He scribbled something down as he continued. «You mentioned earlier that Ethan was the only person that knew about the safe or could achieve an act like that. What was your relationship with Ethan exactly?» Kate stumbled back for an instant. «He was a coworker in the company. We had a standard working relationship like everyone else,» «So your relationship was strictly professional?» asked Bruce. «That is correct,» «Then how do you know that he was the only man that could penetrate your husband's office?» he asked observing her reaction. Kate exhaled some smoke as she delayed her answer. «Kate, I need you to understand the seriousness of this. Any misinformation could create a huge danger and I'm not willing to participate unless you are ready to tell me the truth,» «OK, OK» she pleaded. «There was something like a fling a long time ago, between us. I guess that's the reason he is so confident to take matters in his hands like that.» «A fling?» he asked bewildered. Kate nodded sardonically. «Nothing serious really. It lasted for a few months.» «Did Robert know about this?» Kate's face dropped in surprise at the question. «Bruce, I don't think this information...» «Miss Morrison..sorry I mean Kate, I need you to realize this is crucial information if I am to work on a case like this. Plus I can assure you that anything that is shared here between us is going to be highly confidential.» Kate nodded. «He did,» «Was he angry? Did he respond in any particular way when he learned about it? How did he take it?» «Same as everything else. Like a fact he simply had to acknowledge, you know how cerebral Robert was.». «What difference does it make?» she asked with the cigarette in front of her face. Bruce took his time for a few minutes. He seemed uncertain and skeptical about something and reiterated some of the previously established facts with Kate who obliged him in all his questions with slim-cut answers that were straight to the point. After a while, he stood up for the first time and wandered in the room reflectively with his arms behind his back as he let his feet dangle in front of him like big tree branches. «There is still something I don't understand,» he exclaimed with a soft voice. «As it happens to know, I'm very close with everyone in the company and I know for a fact that most people would never accept to partner with anyone who wished to harm the company or Robert in any way. You claim that Ethan would have allies when in fact he would never get enough support to pass an act like that. All he would achieve was to damage his own reputation and be extradited from his business circle for good,» «But you don't understand Bruce,» uttered Kate exasperatedly. «He is a really cunning man who has the ability to take what he wants and he will show his carts when the time is right,» «I'm afraid I cannot agree with you on this one,» replied Bruce calmly. «Even if he had the ability to strike a deal with others and increase his profit as you say he wouldn't have any reason to impeach the safe and grab the documents for this purpose.» «I don't understand what you mean Mr. Barrett,» «Let me elaborate then,» he exclaimed, «from what I know as of now you are holding the biggest portion of the company holdings with 51% of shares in your name. Am I correct?» «You are,» «If he was to blackmail you by giving you such a large amount of money -which should be in the range of a few hundred million in that case- then this doesn't seem like a very strong punishment now, does it? More so, Miss Morrisson, it seems to me that you would have the biggest incentive to actually sell the company and Ethan would be the most eager to stop you». Kate remained stunt.

«So if my reasoning is correct, it was you that desired to proceed with the liquidation and probably Ethan knew about this and tried to stop you from doing it. If my guess is correct Ethan gathered documents that prove the case and is planning to use them to forewarn the others. Am I correct?»

His face brightened with a little grin that was impossible to withhold. «I would like you to leave now sir,» said Kate with a terrified face. «Thank you for your time, but you can go,» she repeated and Bruce gave a little node as he plunged his notebook in his jacket and departed with slow, ponderous steps...


#Welcome to the Spooky Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **“Death was at the door.”** *Bonus Constraint: Death is personified. (everyone gets the bonus points this week for a wonderful month of spooky and creative stories. You all earned it! The bonus is just for fun this week)* As we enter into our fifth and last week of the Spooktober Challenge, I encourage each of you to step out of your comfort zones! Try something new. And for those who live and breathe horror, or want to give it a shot, this is your chance! Keep in mind you are not bound to write horror. If the prompt inspires you to write something different, go for it! This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact. *Changing POV and/or tense is acceptable.* Stories without the sentence will be disqualified from rankings and campfire readings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/C_Wendt   - - Submitted by u/rainbow--penguin   - - Submitted by u/Major-Tradition-8037   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.