Princess Patricia took the casserole out of the oven and placed it on the counter. “Bucky call your brother; it’s time for dinner.” Without looking up from his homework, Bucky shouted, “Dizzy! Mom says it’s time to eat!” “You know I could have done that too,” Bucky’s mom walked past and patted his oversized head. Bucky tapped his enormous front teeth and laughed. “So why didn’t you?” “Good question. Is that the garage?” Bucky hopped out of his chair and ran to the widened side door to greet his father. The doorknob turned, and there was father in all his glory, the Green Maniac. His father dropped to one knee Bucky ran into his father’s arms, one slightly greener than the other. “Bucky! What’s the word on the street?” “I checked the rankings — you’re still #1!” “No surprise there! And how’s your Mum?” “She’s making dinner.” “Well, let’s go say hello then.” The Green Maniac and Bucky Buckaroo funny walked into the kitchen. “Hello, Mum.” The Green Maniac kissed his wife. “Hello, yourself. Just in time for dinner. Jeez, where’s Dizzy?” “I’ll get him, Mum.” “If you’re going to scream — “ “No, I’ll go up and get him.” Bucky bounced up the steps and down the hall until he reached the bedroom to the left of his parents. There was a large red KEEP OUT sign hanging by a thread, but Bucky never paid attention to that. “Bucky c’mon Mum said — “his mouth felt like someone turned off the faucet. “GETOUTOFHERE!” Dizzy jumped up and pushed his younger brother by almost four years back into the hallway. Bucky was too in shock to put up a struggle against his larger sibling. The door slammed shut, and Bucky ran downstairs. “Mum, Mum, Mum!” “What is it? Did you get your brother?” “He — he was…he…” His father was in the living room, sitting in his chair. He was performing his nightly post-work ritual, drinking his ginger and rye, and reading the paper. Without looking up, he said, “Well, spit it out, Bucky.” “He was talking to a girl!” The word caused The Green Maniac to spit half his drink onto the paper. “What did you say?” Bucky ran into the room and repeated the words, still in shock. “He was talking to a girl!” “We will see about that!” The Green Maniac stood up, causing his newspaper to explode in the air like a cheap firework. Princess Patricia shouted from the kitchen, “Now Green don’t you — “ “Stay out of this, Patricia!” The Green Maniac charged up the stairs without a funny bounce in sight. He paced down the hallway and reached for the handle, only to find it was locked. He banged on the door with severe intent. “Dizzy! Dizzy the Whirling Tornado, you open this door up right now!” Dizzy was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew his father could flatten the door if he wanted to — hell that already happened three years prior. He knew not to test the old man. Dizzy opened the door and refused to make eye contact. “Yeah?” “Your brother told me…” “My brother should mind his own business!” The Green Maniac’s eyes widened, and Dizzy backed down. “Sorry.” “Sit.” Dizzy listened to his father and sat on the edge of the bed; the Green Maniac sat down next to him. “Your brother told me he saw you speaking with…a girl?” “So?” “So? Dizzy, you’re a mascot. I’m a mascot. Your mom and your brother, we’re all mascots. And what do we do?” Dizzy knew this speech; he had heard it a million times and answered without enthusiasm. “We entertain.” “And who do we entertain?” “The masses.” “And what are the masses?” “People.” “And what’s the first rule of people?” “We don’t get to know them.” “AND WE CERTAINLY DON’T FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM!” Dizzy couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “Marjorie and I aren’t in love!” “Ohh, so her name is Marjorie. And I suppose her father is a dentist and her mother sells Mary Kay?” “You think you know so much about her, but you don’t.” The Green Maniac opened his mouth and paused. He needed his son to understand, and he knew what had to be said. “Listen to me. I know…I know what you’re going through.” “How? You don’t know what it’s like.” “Oh, son, but I do…I do.” His father’s eyes looked out the window, and the silence hung between them. Dizzy dared not breaking the spell. “Once, when I was a young Maniac, there was a girl…” “What? Really? Does Mum — “ “Quiet. And no, your Mum doesn’t know, so let’s keep this between us. Or we can try another route which won’t be as pleasant.” Dizzy knew it involved the Green Maniac’s massive oven mitts for hands and decided to shut up. “Good. When I was about your age, I was mascoting for the local minor league team where I was born. One day I was strolling through the crowd, minding my own business when I locked eyes with the prettiest human I ever saw. Even better, she thought I was the funniest damn thing she ever saw. The rest of the game, I hung out in her section, making her laugh, getting drunk off that laughter. It was intoxicating.” “What happened?” “What happened was the game ended, and she left with her dad. But before she did, she wrote her number on a piece of paper and shoved it under my belly for me to find later.” “Did you call her?” “You bet I did. I didn’t even wait for the next day, I called her that night, and we spoke until sunrise. It was the best night of my life…up till I met your Mum obviously.” “Yeah. So how did it end?” “You know how it ended. It ended with her father finding out about us and chopping off my left arm with a machete.” The Green Maniac held up his left arm for his son to look at, a different shade of green. “You told us you lost your arm on a USO tour in Vietnam!” “I know what I told you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll remember that story too. But I’m telling you this now because you’re nearly a man, and you deserve to know the truth.” “Does Mum know?” “I think she has her suspicions, and she keeps it at that.” “But Dad, it’s different now. It’s not like it was back then. “ “I know that’s what you think, but Man doesn’t instantly forget its anti-Mascotian roots. They’ll be nice to your face, they’ll even invite you to dinner now, but they’ll never make you forget that you’re just a mascot. You exist to entertain, nothing more.” “I can’t just stop talking to her.” “No, unfortunately, I know how this is going to play out, and I know it’s useless for me to try and stop you from talking. You need to make this mistake now to prevent worse ones when you’re older. Just promise me one thing.” “What is it?” “You’ll never take off your suit.” Dizzy’s tongue rolled out of his mouth and hit the floor. “I would never!” “You say that now, son, but you don’t know what women are like. How persuasive they are. Just promise me you’ll honor your ancestors, who came from a different land. Promise me you’ll respect our traditions and not disgrace those who came before you.” “I promise you.” “Okay, I think if we don’t go downstairs and eat your Mum will blow her crown clear off her head.” The Green Maniac and Dizzy, the Whirling Tornado, stood up and shook hands. His dad turned to leave when Dizzy blurted out, “Hey, Dad?” “Yeah, son?” “What if she’s pregnant?” “The prophecy! It has come — ” The Green Maniac turned and clutched at his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor. That night the moon turned a shade of red only talked about in ancient forgotten texts. At its apex, a baby was born “en caul.” “My baby! Let me see my baby!” Marjorie stretched out her arms, alone, exhausted, and desperate to hold the most precious thing in the world. The older man stood in the afterbirth and leaned over, ritually disemboweling her. He dipped his fingers and sprinkled the blood on the baby’s forehead.


When I was young my father told me to be afraid of angels. They spend their time lurking just beyond your sight, wearing beautiful faces that are overflowing with deadly demons teeth. He told me, once, that everyone meets an angel at least one time in their life, and then he looked at my mother with suspicion in his pale celery coloured eyes. I always hated celery, but I love my father dearly. Mother would always shake her head and scoff when he spoke of angels. You could always see it in her face when she looked at him that she loved that crazy man more than life itself. She told me that she could have the whole wide world, all its sweets and riches, but they were nothing but ash were he not there at her side. Tasteless and dull, ceaseless monotony worth less than the gravel under your shoes. She told me that when I asked if she loved him. Never quite had the courage to ask if she loved me. Some days I get real close to asking. Others... Well, I guess I just knew. I got my answer in the end. Sixteen years ago on the twenty first of May... I was still just a happy kid. God, I'll never forget the hot reek of blood in my nose. The damp warmth of the day clinging to my skin like a muggy film. It had been raining a lot, and the first clear day in over a week was a hot one. Authorities claimed some wild animal had done it, in the end. My father had been meaning to fix the back door for eons. The paint was chipped and peeling away, the rich colour of dark chocolate being ripped away by time, and the thing squeaked like you just stepped on a mouse. I walked in the front so I didn’t notice right away that the old back door had been torn from the house as if it were nothing at all. My focus was the strange, heavy, coppery smell. I remember calling for my mother clear as day and I swear I heard her call back to me. This sweet little hint of sound, strong and bold in ways I could never be. “I'm in the kitchen!” Now, her hands always shook a little, as far back as I can remember. My memories are fading now but her voice was always clear as a crystal glass. A little high-pitched and sweet as fresh fruit. The sound of her laugh gets fuzzier everyday. Fainter. Like she's leaving me behind even in my thoughts but to this day I know I heard her to me. “I'm in the kitchen!” So I kicked off my shoes and threw my favourite hoodie a little to the left onto the first step of the stairs. It usually smelled of cigarette smoke, yet never once in my life and I even held a cigarette. Somehow that sharp twisting smell remained stuck to the fabric. Angels, my father said. My mother scoffed, that sound only she could make into a gentle, loving embrace, and she told me; “It must be that boy that you hang around. Ernest? Aaron?” It was funny that he didn't smoke either. None of my friends did. We were never cool enough for that. In the end it doesn't really matter much. Doesn't stop me from walking into that kitchen and it doesn't take the memories away. Not even time could dull this day. The walls had always been this wretched shade of green. Sort of watery, almost yellow and almost tan but somehow not. They were solidly green, you couldn't call them anything else, yet they also weren’t really green. But that day they were painted anew. That day I saw them dripping fresh crimson in all of the places that there weren't holes. As thick is my wrist and more than a hand deep these gouges ripped through the walls almost clean to the other side. There wasn't anything left of my beautiful mother's throat. Her body was cold and stiff where she lay over what was left my father. He was hardly even recognizable anymore outside of the gold feather shaped pin on his jacket, and a single shining ivory orb betraying one of those familiar celery green eyes. There was love still gleaming from my mother’s glassy baby blues. It was that day, almost that very moment that I saw my first angel. Our back door was in the kitchen and through the hole left behind I saw a monster. Hunched over, with bones too sharp and muscles too thick, it's body wasted away like it was staving. Skin the colour of stolen dreams. Around it’s almost comically small head was a halo of horns. Golden daggers longer than my forearm arching upwards from its bare scalp. Scaly shoulders protected non-existent ear’s sloping downwards into too long limbs... Great webbed Wings, each bearing a single 'thumb' with a claw longer than one of my father’s old beer bottles. Each of its legs was longer than I was tall, thick as a saplings tree trunk and dyed a sticky scarlet that ended just inches above its knees. Gargantuan clawed feet arched away from the ground... Never did see its face. I called the police not long after, stuttering so badly I didn't even know what I was trying to say. Tears on my cheeks felt so sticky I was sure if I looked they be the same hue as the kitchen walls. I wonder what they thought walking into that mess. I tried to tell them what I saw on the yard. The one officer, a woman with almond-shaped eyes and hair darker than the night sky, told me I was in shock. She said she was very sorry for my loss. They couldn’t explain to me the bloody prints on the grass, two perfectly human looking footprints, two much larger, and two partial prints that were each tipped with four holes the size of my head. You know it's kind of funny. We never did find that old door.


Three men sat together for tea. A simple fisherman, a wise sage, and a man thought to be the most enlightened man in all the lands. The first two were old friends and spoke freely. The third simply sipped his tea and listened, as one might expect from a man so wise. The first man sighed and looked at the others. “My friends, I feel as though I am trapped. The mistakes I have made are like shackles, and I can never escape them. No matter what I do now, the past cannot be changed. Once a moment has past it is gone. Even the ones that feel close enough to touch are air when I try to grasp them, though they bind me like iron. I thought perhaps ones such as you could help me learn to accept the cage I find myself in and know peace.” The second man smiled and said “there is no need to accept a cage when you can escape it my friend. You see time like a great beast, gobbling up the moments of the past so only their echoes remain. But time is like a river, and once you see it, you can begin to learn how to swim.” So he took his friends hand and brought him back through the river of time to his youth, and showed him all the secrets he knew. And the fisherman saw the river, and thus he learned to swim. Together, they returned to the moment of the tea they had been having. “I can never thank you enough my friend” the fisherman said, embracing the sage as a brother, “you have shown me more of the world than I ever imagined existence, and freed me from the cruel prison of time.” Then for the first time, the third man spoke. “It is a powerful truth you have discovered, even if it is a lie.” “A lie,” the other two exclaimed, “how could it be a lie? We see the river of time before us and we swim in it’s currents.” “You see a single thread and think it the whole tapestry. The truth is that there are an infinite number of universes, where every possible event occurs. Everything you could ever imagine and an infinite number of possibilities you could not. And each of us is nothing more than a point of view. You do not go back in time and change what you have done, you simply choose to view a reality where things played out differently.” Turning to the first man, he laughed, a hollow sound bereft of mirth. “You were closer to the truth, for at least you knew you were trapped, even if you could not see the cage. For the terrible truth is this: you control nothing in this world or any other. Everything that might occur does, and though I can choose to experience anything possible, I control none of it. There is nothing new, nothing old, everything simply is.” And because an infinite lifetime of powerlessness had ground his soul to dust, and the only thing he could still feel was the pain of others, he chose to view a world where his words awoke this final enlightenment in the other two, and in sudden horror they fled this reality, screaming in the vaults of their minds and beating at the walls of cage they had never before felt, a cage that could never be escaped because it encompassed everything that ever could be. And the third man chose to view a world where the fleshy machine he was riding gave a cold, cruel smile.


“You met anybody worthwhile lately?” Claire’s friend asked her. “You’re out there on all the apps, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘out there.’ More like hanging back, but potentially curious,” said Claire. “Okay, so anyone you’re potentially curious about?” “I don’t know. It seems like something weird is going on in cyberspace,” said Claire with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter if I’m on Bumble or Tinder or Match. All the guys they show me are fixated on red meat. They make a point to say they love steak or eating a whole side of ribs.” “Your profile says you’re vegetarian, right?” asked Claire’s friend. “Yeah, I even say it’s important to me. But all I get is this lineup of Neanderthals who want to cook up a kill.” “Maybe you should pick one you like and give him a try. You never know. A lot of guys don’t think about what they’re eating. If you educate them, they might be willing to make a change for the right girl.” “Yeah, I guess,” replied Claire skeptically. “Kinda seems like getting off on the wrong foot though.” “You’re not committing to marry anyone. You’re just meeting up and seeing where it goes.” “Okay, you’re right. And, like you said, there’s always the chance he’ll change.” Claire and her friend scrolled through one of her accounts until they agreed on someone worth investigating. Claire sent him a message. Meanwhile, the guy she picked, Winston, was on the other side of town talking to one of his friends. They were complaining about their lack of success with dating apps. “I don’t know what it is, but it seems like all my potential girls are these militant vegans or vegetarians,” said Winston. “You didn’t check a wrong box or something?” asked Winston’s friend. “No, not possible. I even talk in my profile about my favorite barbecue. Something’s messed up.” Winston’s friend made a dismissive gesture. “So why are you so worried about what they eat?” “Think about the first time we meet and have dinner or something. She’ll be looking at me thinking, ‘How can he eat something with parents,’ and I’ll be looking at her thinking, ‘You have no idea what you’re missing, rabbit.’” Winston’s friend answered with a long, “Nah.” “For a lot of girls, being a vegan is just a phase. They see some actor doing it and they want to do it too. All it takes is for someone to come along and snap them out of it, and just like that, they’re back to eating bacon.” “Yeah, I guess I could be the one to snap them back,” said Winston. “What do you have to lose? Pick one you think you can convert.” Winston picked up his phone and saw the message from Claire. “Here’s someone who just messaged me,” he said, holding up his phone so his friend could get a look at Claire’s picture. Winston’s friend nodded his approval and said, “I could definitely see her eating a steak. Go for it.” Winston chuckled and composed what was supposed to be a charming reply message. After some back and forth on their phones, Claire and Winston decided to meet in a park next to one of Austin’s many lakes. The plan was to walk around the lake for a bit and then decide on where to go for dinner. Built into the plan was an easy escape hatch for both of them. If they felt like things were not going well, one of them could simply say they were not hungry or that they had made some unexpected evening plans with other friends. On the evening of their meetup, Claire wore a cute summer dress with matching shoes. She put a lot of thought into picking the shoes. She wanted them to be comfortable enough for plenty of walking but formal enough so it did not look like she viewed the meetup like a trip to the gym. Winston debated within himself whether or not he should wear shorts. Eventually he put on some slacks and a shirt. It was an outfit he would describe as business casual, as he tried to walk the line between looking too eager and too standoffish. It was a warm, late summer evening. Gold reflections sparkled from the lake where Claire and Winston were supposed to meet. They immediately recognized each other at a fountain in the nearby park. “You look really nice,” Winston said to Claire. “So do you,” she replied. Both were sincere with their compliments. They naturally gravitated toward the lake and chatted easily as they strolled. Winston asked about Claire’s job and found out they both worked in human resources for tech companies. Claire asked about hobbies and free time. “I’m not sure it qualifies as a hobby, but I’m very slowly renovating my house,” said Winston. “Well, renovating may be too strong of a word. It’s more like a bunch of do-it-yourself projects strung together.” “Ha, me too,” said Claire. “I’m doing bathroom tile right now.” “Ah tile,” replied Winston with a sympathetic laugh. “The smaller they are, the harder to keep them straight.” “Totally. I wish I would have started with bigger squares. But I don’t want you to think that I’m laying tile day and night. I’m a lot happier binge watching some show.” Winston chuckled and said, “Hey, same here. Seen anything good lately?” They compared their viewing histories and found they had remarkably similar tastes. When Winston recommended a few things she had not seen, Claire fully intended to investigate them. After a mile of walking, Winston and Claire were already making self-deprecating jokes. The walls typically in place when meeting a potential romantic partner had already cracked and fallen. In the back of their minds, both were thinking that the computer algorithm which had matched them up, had to be on to something. It was almost spooky. Winston was eager to move to the next phase in their plan. “So I’m still up for dinner if you are,” he said to Claire. “Definitely,” she replied. She already felt like she could speak pretty openly with Winston. “We just need to pick a place. So your profile talked a lot about barbecue. Are you one of those guys who has to have a big piece of meat for every meal?” Winston laughed and did not take Claire’s question as an attack. “I don’t think I *have to* eat lots of meat. But if I think about it, yeah, I guess most of my meals have some kind of meat in them. What about you? I know you’re a vegetarian but does that mean you can’t stand the sight of a chicken bone?” Claire laughed in return. “I’m not sure that’s a very practical way to live.” “And you’re not leading anti-cow rallies?” asked Winston with a grin. “I’m pro-cow, just not for dinner.” “I’ve heard of some vegetarians where their rules depended on the day of the week. Like they would only eat meat on the weekends. Or they would only eat chicken on days that had an R in them.” Claire took Winston’s gentle teasing in stride. “No, I’m in it for seven days of the week.” “And you’re sure it’s not a quick fad? Have you been into it for longer than a month?” “Three years, so far,” said Claire. “But it’s not like we can’t choose a restaurant that we both will like. These days, almost everyone has some vegetarian options.” “That’s true,” replied Winston with a grin. “I know a steakhouse you’re going to absolutely love.” Claire replied with a sarcastic, “Ha, ha.” Then she had an unexpected idea. It was something she only brought up because she felt so oddly comfortable with Winston. “This is going to sound crazy, but have you heard about those at ?” “Yeah, I think so,” said Winston. “Fast food is not my idea of a great meal, but I’ve been really curious to try those burgers. They’re supposed to taste like beef but be totally plant based. I’d love to hear the opinion of a meat expert.” Winston shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m up for it. But remember this is your idea. I wanted to go somewhere really expensive.” They both laughed about the idea as they walked back to their cars. Claire kept thinking that she could prove to Winston he did not need real meat in every meal. At the same time, Winston was thinking that he was quite sure he could tell the difference between a cow burger and a plant burger. But he was also hoping it tasted just enough like the real thing that it would trigger Claire’s food memory. It might be enough to knock her off the wagon, or get her back on the wagon, whichever way he wanted to use the analogy. The pair drove separately to the nearest Burger King. “I knew I should have worn shorts,” said Winston as he held the door open for Claire. “You have to at least let me pay since you got to choose the place.” “We’ll probably be talking about this for a long time,” joked Claire. She used her phone to snap a picture of the store’s interior, just in case it proved to be a milestone location. “We’ll take two Impossible Burgers,” said Winston, when they reached the counter. “You wanna make that a meal?” asked the Burger King employee. “Sure, we’re sparing no expense tonight,” said Winston. “Bring out your best fries and drinks.” When they had their trays of food, Winston and Claire found an open corner table and sat down across from each other. As they unwrapped their Impossible Burgers, Winston said, “Okay, here’s to your grand experiment.” Claire was the first to bite into her burger. The patty was not like the usual veggie burger patties she was used to. It looked like actual ground beef instead of a combination of soybeans and vegetables. It also had the chewy texture of real hamburger. And the taste instantly took her back three years to a backyard grill. She pictured her family. Her dad was flipping sizzling hamburger circles. She could smell the smoke rising from juicy meat. Claire casually said to Winston, “Pretty good. What do you think?” Winston was several bites into his burger. It did not taste 100% like the real thing, but it was surprisingly close. He nodded his head approvingly and dipped his fries in catchup. “I don’t really get the point when you’ve got meat right there next to it,” said Winston, “but I admit it’s pretty decent.” “If you were blindfolded, could you tell the difference between that and the real thing?” asked Claire. “Yes, if it was before drinking any beer,” replied a chuckling Winston. “After a few beers, probably not.” Claire and Winston happily finished their burgers and then their fries. They sat at their table discussing their little food experiment and then the conversation turned back to TV shows and funny office politics in their respective human resources departments. They each returned to the soda fountain for drink refills. There was mutual agreement that the first meeting had gone very well, although both were surprised they had ended up in a Burger King. Before they said goodbye, they agreed they would definitely have to get together again. They left the details sketchy. It would probably be the next weekend and involve a nicer restaurant. And they would only need one car. Messages would be exchanged to set it all up. Claire returned home excited about Winston. As it got later and she was preparing to sleep, she was thinking less about Winston and more about the Impossible Burger. She was not usually a person to have food cravings, but the taste kept returning. She stayed awake thinking about it and even contemplated getting dressed and finding a late-night Burger King drive-thru. The next day, Claire was back at Burger King for lunch. She ordered another Impossible Burger and kept asking herself whether it truly tasted like a real hamburger. She was alone but she looked around the restaurant to make sure no one she knew was watching. She had already started the experiment, what was the harm in taking it a tiny bit further? She snuck up to the counter and ordered a regular hamburger. Claire nibbled the hamburger at first. The taste was similar to the Impossible Burger but there was something wonderfully satisfying about the meat. She could not understand the craving. It came from a place deep inside. She finished the real burger. As for Winston, the day after their date, he was still thinking a lot about Claire. He was also thinking about his Impossible Burger. Before eating it for dinner, he had a very light breakfast and lunch. He realized he had not had any kind of meat for 24 hours. He felt surprisingly energetic and somehow lighter. Was he feeling excitement over meeting Claire or was it related to what he had eaten? Since he had started Claire’s little experiment, he figured he might as well keep it up a little longer. He, too, returned to a Burger King for another Impossible Burger for lunch. He enjoyed it the second time and his energized feeling continued. He decided to try a few more changes to his diet. After all, there were now lots of ways to add some variety without sacrificing taste. By two weeks after the Impossible Burger meetup, Claire had rediscovered more than hamburger. She had eaten a delicious chicken sandwich, dry-rubbed barbecue, and bacon on a sandwich. At the same time, Winston had tried different kinds of veggie patties. As Claire had said, most restaurants offered vegetarian friendly items and he found himself ordering from that selection. He was sure that he felt lighter, healthier, and more alert. The much anticipated second date never materialized. First Claire was busy and then something unexpected came up and Winston had to cancel. The real truth, however, was that they felt a little hypocritical and were afraid of hearing, “I told you so,” from the other person. They had both changed their profiles on the dating apps. Claire’s profile now read that she was “rediscovering steak.” Winston listed himself as being “fueled by plant-based protein.


I never really spent much time trying to explain this story to any one other then 1 or 2 people. But its a story about love, loss and how you grow cause of it. It should be said that this isnt a story of the love that goes beyond what I have now. This is not the greatest love story ever told. I am far more in love with my wife then I ever was in this tale. But it is a story worth retelling. Earlier, within the last year (2006) I went through a terrible break up. I hadn't made much of an effort at all to join back into the dating scene. I had gone on a couple dates and had a fling or two, but I never felt like I was ready. Mostly, I spent my days working on my own self improvement. Work, gym, friends. I had a comfortable routine, and enjoyed it. We fell in love on our first meeting. A rainy, cool spring night. Me and my friends ventured out without a plan. Only to settle on a well known watering hole, with cheap drinks and catchy songs. I was young, only 24 and she was about a year and a half younger then me. We were still a bit naive, albeit educated and intelligent. But our naivety didn't make us foolish or dumb in our actions. When I made these plans originally, I intended to go for drinks as more of a guys night out. Hence, the dimly lit, almost depressing bar. I had been told that there might be a few more joining us later, but I never intended to fall in love that night. But then again I don't think either one of us did. I was about a half a dozen drink and half a packs of cigarettes into the night when she glided into the room. Tall and statuesque. I'm speechless and unapologetically staring. She smiles at me, flicking her eyelids, leaving me blinded. Taking a seat at the table, across and at the other end. I start scheming of how I'm going to talk to this girl. Next to me sits Angela, and she starts a conversation. Without hesitation I ask who are her friends? "That's Lacey, and Anna's at then end of the table." 'Anna' I repeat in my head. Casually listening to Angela talk, peeking out of the corner of my eye at Anna. Soon after I'm up at the bar ordering another drink. Beer, nothing fancy just cheap. The girl at bar is nice. Its been a slow night and we've been exchanging pleasantries all night. We're having a laugh and one of the regulars. Apparently, he likes to come in on Saturdays and fill the juke box with enough quarters and play country music as a way of driving out the young crowd. On my left I feel a hand grab my shoulder. "Vodka cranberry" she shouts in my ear. "I have to pee. I'll be right back", its Anna. She smiles and walks away, I give her a thumbs up. 'What I loser' Im thinking to myself. 'Who gives a thumbs up..' "I'll buy the next round" she smiles and walks away. So after 20 mins of planing how I was going to talk to this girl she goes and ruins it by breaking the ice first. A wave of release washes over me. My underlying anxiety relaxes and I take the seat next to where she was sitting. When she gets back to the table she isn't empty handed. Two more drinks for us. We immediately hit it off. Laughing, joking, the casual shoulder or knee touch. There's not only sparks, there's fire. The night passes, eventually we're kissing, passionately, in the alley next to the bar. We all spend the night at a friends house. Have breakfest at the nearest greasy spoon. I get her number and she takes mine and im off back home. We make plans to talk later in the week but I cant wait, so I call the next day. Its obvious we are eager to talk to each other again. We make plans for the weekend and it was pretty much set, were in love and not ashamed to admit it almost instantly. Our summer breezes by. Spending every minute we can together, sharing in adventure and making plans for more everyday. Our love grows, expands to create something more. Something capable of connecting the divide that is between us, religion. Her father was a minister at the local church in her home town. She grew up in that life and for most of it, up until she went to university, only knew that life. She made a point of going to her local church and knowing that I firmly remained agnostic. Some days I joined her, but mostly we accepted who we are as individuals separated from each others beliefs. Her father on the other hand didn't approve of the rough around the edges, albeit, nice young man I was. He was lied to, and he had to be lied to for us to get away with it. "We're good friends" I remember telling him. "Shes just a joy to be around", not a lie. We spent the next year and a half with each other as much as we could. Weekends away, wedding with friends, lazy sundays in bed. Every moment cherished, cause we both knew it was ending and soon. We had an expiration date and every day we spent together was one less that we would have. Eariler in the summer, shortly after her parents had finally heard the truth about us, and we celebrated our first year together. Her relatively poor, modest living family, had come up with the capital necessary to put Anna into a prestigious christian college. In England. Fucking, England. She was over joyed, it was the kind of experience she was looking forward to. What kind of piece of shit would I be to stand in her way. I voiced my opinion, "Doesn't it seem weird that only after your parents find out about us that they find a way to break us up?" I remember exclaiming my argument with distaste for how they saw me. "They will never approve of us being together" I fought on. She tells me that we are what we are for us and not them. I believe her and we make like we'll always be here for each other. Knowing that it isnt true, it's just an easy way to soften the blows. Finally, we come to her departure day. I meet her in her town the day before. We spend our last day in the park, walking with hand in hand held tightly. 'If I let go now you'll be gone forever' I think. We have a spaghetti and meatball dinner with her family, wash up the dishes, pack up the car and head to the airport. Its an hour drive into the city. At the airport, we sneak away for our last moment of intimacy. A long hug and kiss. Tell stories about us together that make us laugh. Hold hands more. Gaze into each others eyes. Share our love, for one last moment. We go to the departure gate and shes tearing up, saying goodbye she hugs her mom and then her dad, and then me. We kiss once more, for us. A deep and long kiss. Her parents have never seen us kiss, or hug or hold hands. Because of how they feel about me, we always hid it, even though they knew we were a couple. My eyes and gushing with tears, and so are Anna's. I can feel them behind me, watching a mistake they made unfold. Torn apart, we say goodbye. Her hand slips from mine. I watch as she paces away, hiding her face, beyond the gates she disappears. Goodbye. I wipe the tears away and turn around. Hiding my pain, my anger, I smile at them. "Well, no point hanging out here all night." I say, desperate to rid myself of this situation. We drive back to her parents house. I now have spend the night since her flight was so late. They try to make conversation with me, and I do my best to talk with them. The next morning I do my best to make nice and thank them for the bed. I declined breakfast thinking it would be best for me to just move on. But before I leave I find myself explaining to them what they have done. We were in love. Deeply. We knew each other. We cherished our time and made each other unselfishly happy. That they didn't just break up a fling, but ended the kind of monumental love that the lucky only find maybe twice. I said goodbye and walked out. We talked as much as we could over the next year. But we couldn't pretend that it would work out for us when she would return home. And when she did, we hung out a bit. Had some laughs, made love again. But it wasn't the same. It felt forced and to be honest, I was always worried that her parents would tear us apart again. We both moved on and found love with others. We've never talked since. Without saying it I'm sure we both agree it was for the better that way. But deep down, I know that we still think about each other. We still remember.


#Welcome to the 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, a theme word, a 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: **”It was magical.”** 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.   ***   #Two Weeks Ago Thank you for being so patient. There were no nominations two weeks ago, but there are always, of course, my personal spotlights. ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/rare27 - - Submitted by u/TheLettre7 #Last Week I loved all the unique takes on the theme this past week. I really enjoy watching your writing grow week to week. ###Crowd Favorite - - Submitted by u/SilverSines ###Bay’s Spotlights - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - - Submitted by u/pathetic_optimist   ***   #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 will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I accept nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **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. - 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!   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - 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.


-     look at it! Sleeping on the table, with that disjointed window that keeps opening from one side to the other! - Asserted the 60-year-old Blessed Bertita, with an unknown face due to the veil that had never been removed from her.  - Do not deny because to deny is a sin! - The priest of the chapel replied, yawning, with the chalice of holy wine in her hand, from which she sipped little by little, while she laughed.  "Surely you must already be canonized as holy as you are," she said, upturning her nose, a sin that became customary.  -     that's how it is! - Yawning her. In truth, almost closing the eye.  The blessed could only extend her arm covered with the purple of the penit to close the left side of the window, the one that had not yet detached from its frame.  - Or else, all the people spy around here - the saintly woman justified herself, with a laughing finger.  - It faces the alley.  - The cobblestone?  - Yes, the cobblestone behind the parish.  - Ah! If it is true - affirmed the father,  -, opening his eyes - is where it was distributed  - bread to the ordering in the mornings.  - It is the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, carried out by means of divine mercy, charity and love of neighbor - explained the parish priest, sanctified by the wine from the sacristy, which seemed to diminish every day in the cruet.  -It is that everyone knows that the window does not have a knocker that protects the privacy of anyone, and they all start to spy inside the sacristy through the silk curtains - Blessed Bertita explained, covering her flushed face with her veil .  - That's right - observed the parish priest with a grimace: and everyone knows that the priest of the chapel falls asleep on the sacristy table after a few, let's say, somewhat generous copetizers of the wine of the Eucharistic celebration - looking for a key to his room , at the bottom.  -Suddenly, he drops a plastic bottle from his pocket.  He runs to pick her up, hiding the dropped bottle with Franciscan sandals.  - being poor is not a sin! - He said, showing his perforated sandals and the cassock that was longer in the back than in the front, as well as being darned on the sleeve.  "I'm sure he's going to sleep now," said the saint, leaving the room on tiptoe so as not to wake him up.  -And many times he had fallen asleep in the middle of the celebration.  Upon awakening, she would fix her hood and girdle, straightening her slightly crooked posture in the priest's chair.  Then, he was dedicated to sanctifying the divine blood, tasting all kinds of wine "to honor the Blessed One", until the end of the celebration.  A hooded man, with an unmade beard and dressed in black, approached the famous open window of the sacristy.  "She doesn't have a padlock, she's only supported," said the hooded man, opening the window a little with the tip of the knife he was carrying.  - It is better to certify that the pious women are not in the sacristy - with the hurried glance of the crime, seeing the father asleep.  Not a shadow of them! is now ! - He whispered, looking around.  It is not known exactly how it happened, however, in the same second he was inside the room, like a cat trapped in the sandbox.  He opened his gaze from eye to eye, seeing the cruets, bread and cheese covered by a tablecloth.  He took the tablecloth and put the bottle, the bread, the cheese, the forks arranged on the table, the keys to the cupboard where there were the gold crucifixes, the hóstias, and some coins kept in a white envelope.  The priest was still asleep.  But the man took the opportunity to also take the gold curtains, the gold cups, the pearl necklaces given to the saints by the faithful on the occasion of the Christmas celebrations washed down with more wine, hosts as well as greetings and blessings as well as songs. typical of the time.  - hosanna in the heights "- faithful years repeated, while the parish priest poured holy water on the heads of the faithful, but not on his own - throwing the straps of addiction in more a victory over sanity - this, normally disguised as homilies:  -    Faith moves mountains. Come on! Receive the salvation of the Lord! Before the enemy takes us all in his hands and makes us burn in the infernal embers of sin.  Thus, the parish priest said that the shape of the body did not matter, because “the most important thing is the spirit of the divine word glorified by eternal love - it had arrived together with the inauguration of the bust of the martyr of independence in the square, when his predecessor - a certain Don Francisco, I believe that he died, according to the pious women of unknown cause.  As a vacant position it had to be filled, to avoid the demand of the faithful to other churches.  Don Panchito - the priest - fresh from a cold that took him away from the curia for some time, offered to fill the vacancy that nobody wanted - that was obvious: nobody in their right mind would like to be bitten by malaria or spend nights followed without wine or a fiery saint - as he had in the curia.  - But ... Don Panchito ... this ... in that town there are no benefits as there are here- said the secretary of the curia, a fourth-year student who did administrative practices- “I must be a great administrative priest,” he said, "To put the souls of God in order."  -    No matter. What matters is saving more souls and offering them to the Lord.  Don Panchito knew that there were ways and means to save souls.  His specialty was the hidden collection of services, as when he simulated an exorcism on a girl who had many seizures, she would turn purple as a grape and stiff as a statue.  -His soul from him is saved, save! Thanks be to God, let us give thanks to God our father and to this faithful servant who saved the soul of his beloved daughter in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  - Amen- almost said in chorus those present, because they cried so much that you could not understand what they were saying.  Grateful, they served him feasts with a lot of food, a lot of wine, and they also offered him a house "so that you could stay as long as you wanted."  Don Panchito - and let it be known that that name was not free - stayed in the house, closed at night, when he received the blessed women "for special healing and spiritual healing sessions", stripping them naked to wash their sins "that are impregnated in the body and soul ”.  He had pictures brought from the curia, the most valuable, in order to get support "from the faithful during their prayers full of hope and faith."  She asked the pious women to bring her lunch "with a little demijohn of wine and three glasses, one for me and one for you and for you" to her rooms, where she would take off her white coat, perfume herself ("these perfumes are sacred. the faithful in the curia gave it away, "he said to the pious women who served him lunch, making them dizzy, until they fainted and fell into the priest's bed, where they woke up still drunk with wine or perfume - they did not know it - and out of pure modesty they they closed their blouses "I opened up? It can't be! I must do penance and ask God for forgiveness, bring the rosary and let's start right now to ask God for forgiveness for our sins.).  Without worrying about payments of any kind, all the salary that he received from the curia was kept in a flask, closed with two padlocks and hidden under his bed, high and sovereign as a worthy representative of God on Earth.  One afternoon, the bell rang for him after tea that the blessed served him punctually at five in the afternoon.  Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  - Come on. You, go see who it is, this ...  -     Martha . My name is Martita.  - So, Martita, go open the door.  Without even wiping her mouth, she sees her beloved and distant secretary-student-clerk walk into the food hall.  -Dear Don Panchito, how is he?  - Oh! Dearest disciple in God! What brings you here from so far away?  -We need his help: there is a chapel that almost fell in this town. We were thinking of building a new chapel for you, but nevertheless the curia asks me to tell you that this will not be possible.  -    That is not a problem. There is an old chapel that can be renovated.  -    Yes. That is why I came. I came to bring you the permission that the curia grants you for the chapel spare parts, with the right to carry out the necessary transactions for the work.  -    Money?  -    Yes. Besides that, you can have the workers and other people for the repair.  -    Well. Where are the papers?  -    Here. You must sign them.  - Sure- yes, he would sign it because that was his chance to rise in the clerical hierarchy, conquer better positions within the church and finally establish his informal influence in the political media.  - We're going to have to interdict the entire building, temporarily.  -    No problem.  - In this case, we already started the works.  -    No problem.  And the window, symbol of a life, was destroyed, leaving behind the shame of an inglorious past, and perhaps with the hope of finding some future ... with wine?


Hell’s waiting room was a strange place. Cooper sat on too-hard plastic seats, feeling his skin stick and stretch as he sweated profusely. There was a sign taped to the dilapidated air conditioner in the corner. “BROKE :)” How long had he been waiting? Long enough for the room, once empty and unsettling in its isolation—was he even in the right place?–to be filled to the brim with all manner of people. They squeezed in around him, full of their heat, their stink, their sound. A woman kept interminable time with clicking knitting needles, a staccato that skipped and dropped notes as often as she dropped stitches, leaving a haggard trail of yarn across the room. One mountain of a man sprawled across three seats, mouth open as he snored. The room filled with the smell of rotting onions and week-old tuna. That and the garish kaleidoscope wallpaper that hung and peeled from the walls made Cooper nauseous. He tried not to think about how the smell of fresh vomit would mingle in the environmental miasma. The intercom on the wall crackled, everyone’s head spinning to listen. Whatever came out was completely unintelligible, but from the far end of the room, someone stood and disappeared behind the singular wooden door. Then came the sobs and screams, cut abruptly short. The intercom crackled again. Cooper watched in horror as the scene replayed over and over, the room again approaching empty. While every name called out was indecipherable to him, the owner seemed to have no trouble. Even the mountain roused from his sleep to stomp into the room. His sobs were the hardest to hear. When the room was empty, Cooper felt a new fear. What if he had missed something? What if he *was* in the wrong place? What happens if you broke the rules in Hell? He doubted they would be understanding. When the intercom came to life, he bolted to the door. Inside, there was a small man who stooped over his desk, humming and mumbling to himself as he shuffled papers. “…leg bone's connected to the knee bone…knee bone's connected to the thigh bone…thigh bone's connected to the hip bone**…”** He looked up when the door drifted shut. “You don’t look like a Delores,” he said with a fanged smile. “I’m the last one,” Cooper blurted out. “My name is Cooper? Cooper Marks?” The man made a show of shuffling through the folders on his desk, then shook his head. “Not here. You must be in the wrong place.” If Cooper’s heart was still beating, it would have stopped. He could, however, still feel the cold sweat prickling at his skin. “I–I’m sorry, I thought I went–” The man waved off his apologies. “No matter. You’ll just have to go to waiting room 4719. Unfortunately, you’ll be at the bottom of the list again.” Cooper nodded enthusiastically, not waiting for any further instruction before he turned and bolted out of the room. It led him into a hallway that had been a waiting room before. New goal in mind, he set off to find his assigned place. Of course, that *old* room was not for him. He remembered the twisted faces of the people who waited beside him. They had probably deserved a worse punishment than he did. After the weeks it took to find the room, Cooper was almost beginning to feel confident again. Sure, it was hell, but he hadn’t been *that* bad, right? He opened the door. Inside were familiar plastic seats, familiar tacky wallpaper. And handwriting that he instantly recognized.


“But Aaron, just exactly how cold DOES it get in the center of your heart?” Well Rhonda, in order to begin to understand, our story will begin in Alaska during the coldest blizzard of the century. It was 10:00 PM when Jim and Kennedy were trekking through the snow. “Kennedy?” Jim remarked. Jim looked back and Kennedy was frozen in a block of ice. Kennedy’s Iris looked like the hottest sun, and in fact was one. It was 19.7 billion degrees. Inside the sun was a black hole, which went to -19.7 billion degrees. The black hole was convulsing with electricity, like violent thunderstorm. Enter, Aaron. It was 12:30 AM when it started storming outside. His mother was watching TV, and brother playing games. But he wanted to go outside. So he did. With no shirt and a longboard, Aaron went out in the rain. As he journeyed down the street with arms open embracing the cold breeze of the rain down chest and body, he looked up in hopes of catching a glimpse of a lightning bolt. He took refuge under a gazebo as he watched the sky bounce around with electricity. The biggest bolt he ever saw crackled into the ground, causing him to scream instantly. Enter, Carey. Carey was a newborn baby, born during the coldest day of 1979. As she left the womb she was screaming, while her mother was crying as well. The husband was absent, lost in his thoughts. “What will I do now that have a daughter? All I’ve ever known was life without one. I guess I’ll have to embrace the unknown.” He thought. The doctor brought Carey out into his arms. “Sir, we’re sorry but Carey has a rare disease and isn’t going to make it.” The darkness in the center of the husband’s eyes grew to nearly the size of his whole eye, as every thought he had converged into a whirlwind. Enter, Marina and Dave. It was a cold day in Toronto when a tornado was forming outside. “Marina, this is looking pretty bad outside” Dave said. “I know Dave, but we will make it home I promise.” Marina remarked back. They were driving down highway 95 on their way home. The roads were covered in black ice, but Marina had on 4 wheel drive and was being careful. The tornado was taking shape, and was in sight through the window. As scared as Dave was, he was mesmerized by it. “Marina, I think I’m going to go outside and watch the tornado.” Dave said. “Dave you can’t, we need to get home before it’s too late!” But it WAS too late. The look in Dave’s eye was unstoppable. He LIVED for rare moments in existence like this, that were once in a lifetime heart pounding opportunities. He demanded Marina put on the brakes, and in her love for Dave she agreed. As he stepped out of the car, she couldn’t believe what she did. Dave started walking towards the tornado. Marina was losing it mentally. Every thought of what could happen to Dave crossed her mind, and she passed out. Enter, Clarissa. It was 4:00 PM and she just woke up from a daze while in an after school math program. To be continued (maybe)...


On a seemingly average winter day, Jolyne, known in the workplace as the apathetic new recruit, was staying late at her job at Blueworks Incorporated. Her job as an accountant was as thrilling as it sounds but at least it paid her bills. A job so tedious where she sat a computer all day wasn’t really her style anyway. She’d rather be exploring the world in a private jet with a pet tiger and a surplus of the finest champagne. But here she was, clacking away at the keyboard in her deserted office building. She sighed with relief as she typed in the final report of the day and stood up to stretch. For the first time in hours, she looked out her window and was shocked to see mountains of snow crowding the building. This had to be the worst blizzard to hit her town in decades and she didn’t even know it was happening!

“Great,” she thought to herself. “Being forced to stay at this crappy job for longer is exactly what I needed.” Just as Jolyne was reaching for the phone on her desk, the entire building went dark and all electronics powered down. She mumbled curses and slammed the phone down. “Could this get any worse?” she thought. After taking a few deep breaths, she began to plan what she should do next. She went to the exit and tried shoving the door but the packed snow wouldn’t budge. She tried the windows and second exit but her efforts were futile. The entire building was frozen shut. At this moment, Jolyne felt panic arise within but she was able to drown this out by making a plan. “Stay calm, Jolyne.” she thought. “A panic attack wouldn’t be a helpful response to this situation so stay calm. I can’t be the only one left in the entire building, right? I should look for someone else.” She grabbed the emergency flashlight from under her desk and set out to explore the building. Despite working there for two weeks, she hadn’t been given a tour of the entire office. If she was being completely honest, she knew little about what the company actually did. All she had to do was keep a record of the amount of money that was being spent. As she walked through the unfamiliar and confusing hallways, a shiver ran down her spine. This part of the building felt like an old hospital that reeked of bleach. Peering into the darkness, a large door with a warning sign loomed at the end of the hallway. The closer she got to the door, the sign on the door became legible. Painted in black was the message “Reap what you sow. When you look for trouble, you will find it.” Jolyne froze in puzzlement. “What the hell does this mean?” she thought. She had already been skeptical of Blueworks but this was just weird. “Why would someone paint such a creepy message in an office building?” After staring for a few moments, Jolyne gulped and pushed down her fear. She knew that she had to get out of the building and there could be something useful behind the door. She extended her arm and placed a finger on the doorknob. A light tingling sensation flowed through her hand as she placed her entire hand around the handle. Before she could react, the numbness turned to a sharp pain that crawled up her arm and across her body. She yelped and yanked at her arm but her fingers seemed to be glued down. The pain rippled through her abdomen and she let out one final scream of desperation before she went unconscious.

After an undetermined amount of time, Jolyne woke up in a daze. Her head felt like it was going to burst and she tried to place her hand on her forehead but she realized her wrists were chained to the ground. Panic struck her heart as she made futile attempts to free herself from the shackles. She looked up and had never been more confused or terrified. The room was lit by candles and the architecture mimicked the gloomy and gothic architecture of 15th century Europe. “W-where am I?” she said aloud. A looming figure crawled from the shadows. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Jolyne cried. The figure took off the hood shielding its eyes and two red orbs stared directly at Jolyne.

“I am not a monster,” growled the silhouette. “I’m not…” it trailed off. “I am, I am… what am I? I am… a chronicler of sorts yes, yes that sounds right. I write these events down for my master and you are next in line.” The features of the beast were indistinct but Jolyne made out a terrifying grin plastered across its face. “Now tell me,” it continued. “What is your name? I must know, you see, I write these events down for my master.” Silent tears streamed down Jolyne’s cheeks as the creature crawled nearer. “Be not afraid,” it hummed through a smile. “I’ll tell you my name if you promise to tell me yours. I’m Doppio. See it’s not difficult. What’s your name? I must write these events down for my master.” Jolyne knew she had no other choice but to speak.

“Jo…” the figure glared patiently. “Go on,” it mumbled. Jolyne gulped. “I’m Jolyne Cujoh,” she said with fear. Doppio smiled menacingly. “Excellent!” Doppio giggled. “Diavolo will be pleased. I write these events down for my master, you see. It makes him so happy.” At that moment Jolyne felt an itch from below her skin as if her organs were being prodded and poked. The itch grew to a stabbing sensation and she writhed in pain. Doppio let out a hysterical laugh. “Oh Jolyne what a curious one you are. Diavolo will be here soon to sing for you and he will be so pleased. Won’t it be lovely to hear a song written just for you? And I’m sure you will feel so much better after opening up your mind, and your flesh if we’re speaking literally haha!" Jolyne cried out as she felt her skin begin to tear. Thousands of needles appeared from under her skin and stabbed her flesh from the inside out. She couldn’t understand how she had ended up in such a bizarre situation because of a blizzard. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness once again was Doppio’s laughter and a deep voice humming her name.

Jolyne heard a faint voice calling her name. As she became aware of her surroundings, she quickly sat up in terror. She looked around. She was back in the office building sitting in her cubicle. “What the… what just happened? Was it all a dream?” She shuddered. “Despite how real it felt, it must have been.” “Jolyne!” a deep voice shouted. “Why are you sleeping on the job? You know our company policy strictly forbids that.” Jolyne turned to face her boss in shock. “I- I’m so sorry boss. This will not happen again.” She looked down. “Now Jolyne, we have a new recruit and I’m assigning you to teach him the ropes of this company,” said the boss. Jolyne looked up again. Sure enough, next to her boss was a young man with neatly braided pink hair. He seemed timid but happy to be there. To Jolyne, he almost seemed familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. “I trust that you will teach him everything he needs to know here at Blueworks,” the boss continued. “I’ll leave you to it, Ms. Cujoh.” The boss turned and walked back to his office in a determined manner. Jolyne let all the fear from her nightmare wash away and she looked towards the young man. “H-hello nice to meet you uh, Ms. Cujoh.” He smiled nervously. “Please call me Jolyne. Ms. Cujoh feels too formal for me. I suppose I should give you a quick tour of the office.” She grabbed a clipboard and stood up. The boy turned to the window and gasped. “Oh look it’s snowing! I haven’t seen weather like this in years, isn't it beautiful?” Jolyne turned and shrugged. “I prefer the warm summer months. Now let's get going, follow me.” Jolyne turned towards the hallway and the boy followed close behind. “By the way,” she said. “I never got your name.” A glint of red flashed across the boy’s eyes. “Oh of course,” he said with a gentle smile. “My name is Doppio.”


It had always been thus. The old sign hung upon the mortician’s door had been placed there so long ago that its weathered edges were rounded entirely and the lettering on its front needed constant darkening with soot and ash to keep it legible. The wind whipped through Graydon’s Gorge at an almost relentless pace and the townsfolk were happier for its protection. Tales around these parts say that Graydon himself was the first to set up shop at the mouth of the gorge and folks around here think that mighty peculiar, as it isn’t often that a mortician sets up on a vacant piece of land with no one to need his particular services.

The story goes that Graydon’s Gorge, and the river running through it, is home to one of the richest veins of silver this county has ever known. The problem was, Graydon had no desire or skill to mine that vein and so he put an out an ad.

At first, he was discrete, not wanting to attract the wrong element. His ads were typical of boomtown advertisements and only the most desperate of people would inquire. It was a hard sell because Graydon’s only condition was that you arrived with a family. It didn’t specify the size of the family, and it didn’t define what a family was, Graydon’s condition was that you come and you bring love with you. For his end of the bargain, he promised that love would endure until the end of days. Sappy sentiment if you ask me but it weren’t no ballyhoo and I’m the living proof. The first to bite was a man named Reginald, a slight and nobby feller who arrived double-riding on a tired horse with a jackaroo named Jeb. Jeb was a quiet feller but Reg was downright loquacious, and so that’s what Graydon had called him. Jeb agreed that it sounded a bit more than Reginald, and Reg himself took it as a compliment. And so, Loquacious and Jeb broke ground on what would become this here inn. At Graydon’s request, they called it the Bone Orchard. “That’s a lil grim, boss,” Jeb observed. “Trust me,” Graydon said with a wink and a nod. Building the Bone Orchard was no easy feat, what with materials needing to be brought in from the coast, a nearly hundred-mile journey but one that brought Connie and Dale and young Ditmus and Betty. They were builders, you see and they came to Grayden’s Gorge with materials and skill and soon the Bone Orchard was up and running. Within no time at all, the town had begun to fill up. Loquacious and Dale had become fast friends. They and Jeb would spend hours reading the California prayer book and bending at the elbow, gambling their troubles away for that was all they had to offer and filling the space with bumblebee whisky. There were nearly a dozen folks now living in prosperity at the mouth of Graydon’s Gorge but not a single one mined that vein.

Junie, Bridey, and shy young Pip showed up, entering the Gorge in all their finery. They were all pretty girls and their smiles were practiced, patient, and persuasive except for Pip who hadn’t yet gotten the hang of it. They had come from Archerton in the east where they had practiced the oldest profession. At least two of them had. “Mine is older,” Graydon replied with a smile, all at once wicked and welcoming. Within a week Junie, Bridey, and Pip had a place of their own. Dale and Ditmas, Jeb and Zachariah… oh yes, Zachariah was the butcher’s boy. They arrived sometime the previous winter, blown into the Gorge quite by chance during a storm. He and Pip hit it off famously. Within a year they had built themselves their own lil home and not long after the squeals and squalls of Baby, that's what they called their sweet lil girl, were bouncing off the walls, echoing down the canyon and back again. Not long after, a school was built and Esther came to teach there. So many children now ran the streets of Graydon’s Gorge that it was simply overrun. No one batted an eyelash when that orphanage next town over had burned down and all those kids needed a place to stay. They’d never needed a teacher before, but now they did and Esther had come. Her journey wasn’t easy as she’d traveled a long hard road, but she arrived just when they needed her most. The orphans, the painted ladies, the butcher, the builders, and Graydon himself all prospered at the mouth of the Gorge, and still no one had mined that vein. Loquacious had often said that their fortune had been made when they decided to build a life here. Jeb always doubled the notion, gently taking his hand. They were all rich in friends he’d say, and not a single soul would disagree. Baby grew up and grew old among the friends the fire had sent their way. More children were born and more arrived, as did their parents and grandparents. All manner of  families arrived, families grew, and everyone prospered just as Graydon had promised. If anyone questioned he would nod and smile and, “Trust me,” was all he’d say.

Old Nellie sat now upon the Bone Orchard’s porch in her well worn rocker. Her husband, Shad would bring her a cup of hot tea, three times a day. He always perched a wedge of lemon on its rim. She knitted lambs wool into all manner of clothes which she gave away freely, just as Morton, the shepherd had given her the wool for spinning.

The dry grass of the desert seemed to suit Morton’s small herd just fine. It was never too large, but never so small that old Nellie couldn’t provide whatever was needed whenever the occasion arose. Every once in a while they’d lose one to the coydogs which would sneak into town after twilight. But every so often they would find a litter of pups and take those in, train them up, and then the town had its own patrol of pugnacious lil beasts that would snarl and bark and howl whenever an outsider came too close. Their warnings would echo down the length of Graydon’s Gorge and back again. The sun rose fiery one morning, glowing oranges and reds as it came angrily over the horizon. The waves of heat rose from the sands as if they would catch fire all of a sudden and consume the town whole. Shad came a-knockin’ on Graydon’s door. Shad knew everything that was happening, day or night and he did not fear the angry early morning heat for the years spent shoveling coal on the railroad. There was that sound again. “Do you hear it, Gray?” The old man asked. “I hear it.” Graydon’s jaw set firmly. Shad took a step back. For all his long years at the mouth of the gorge, he had never seen Graydon’s smile wane. But here it was like a new moon all dark, the light was gone. The tapping echoed through the gorge and the rafters of their homes shook as if the gods were raining thunder down upon them. The coydogs were baying and the sheep were bleating and Jeb came to stand at Graydon’s side, his sidearm ready for use. “Been keeping it ready, boss” Jeb said matter-of-factly. “Should I see to it?” “They’ve found the vein,” Graydon replied. “Bring all hands and the cook.” “Everyone?” Jeb was stunned. “Every last one.” Graydon straightened his tie and walked off towards the mouth of the gorge, the dogs now falling into step behind him. The three men worked in the light of an oil lantern, hoping the shadows of the deep gorge would soon give way to light. Foolishness, they’d a been roasted alive. The dogs grew quiet, but the rumbles of the deep-throated growls seemed to run with the river’s waters as Graydon reached the small camp’s perimeter. The first one to notice him cast his pan aside and casually grabbed the handle of his pick menacingly. “Mornin’,” He said, startling his companions into a defensive formation on either side of him. “Mornin’ to you,” Graydon replied, his expression none too pleased. “This is my Gorge. It’s my river. That’s my silver.” The three men looked from one to the other and then began to laugh, the leader at their front now taking a step forward. “You know, I think there’s enough for all of us.” “There certainly is, but you’ve come as thieves in the night and so… you’ve got no claim.” There was regret in his voice. The dogs had circled around to Graydon’s front, and now their hackles were up as they crouched low to the ground, teeth bared, ready to attack. “You’re going to sick your dogs on us?” The leader sounded wary but still confident. “No need,” Graydon said, looking to the left and then to the right. They were all there, Loquacious and Jeb, Old Nellie and strong dependable Ditmas. Shad had come and so had Bridey and Junie and Baby too. The orphans were all there and even kindhearted Esther. They whipped past him in a nimbus of outrage, their spectral hands outstretched like eagles’ talons and bobcats’ claws. They rent the miners’ flesh and sent their blood drifting in little red clouds down the gently rolling waters of the river. They ground their bones to dust upon its rocky bed. Their tools fell down deep into the water where they succumbed to time and the elements.

The angry spirits of Graydon’s Gorge surveyed the damage. They were lucky. The miners had not yet disturbed the ancient silver vein. For good measure, they sent the baying dogs down the river and back again. When they were certain there were no others the crowd slowly dispersed, each of them drifting back to their eternity and forgetting all about the men who’d have destroyed everything they had paid so dearly to build. “Sad business,” Jeb said, falling in beside Graydon as he strolled back to the mortuary. “We’ll be fine. Trust me,” Graydon said, his smile had returned. He dipped his fingers into a small pot that dangled from a nail beneath the old worn sign, emerging with a gob of oily soot and ash which he rubbed into the letters of the sign. It had always been thus.


You don’t see it, do you? The way you have a tendency to tilt your head towards the sun when you walk outside or how to rest your chin on the palm when you think. You don’t see how your hair hangs just over your eyes and makes you look tough and adorable at the same time. You don’t see how you can light up a room with your smile or how you wrinkle your nose right before you laugh or how your lips form a perfect little O when you mouth I love you from across the room. You never could see the way your eyes and face glow when I walk in or how you would hold my hand when you stretched it made my stomach twist in excitement. I never told you that I loved the way you would steal kisses and hug me tighter than anyone had before. It gives me actual chills when you do. Still till this day. I miss you worse on your bad days when you weren’t yourself than on the days I actually didn’t see you. I never got the chance to tell you that the freckles on your shoulders are a perfect scattered mess or that you could make me smile just by looking at me sideways. And that I needed you to get through the day. I never made you aware of the way you would absentmindedly trace circles around my knuckles when you were thinking. Or that, despite my screams and giggles, I loved when you tickle me to make me smile. I never got the opportunity to tell you that your eyes dazzle when you’re excited about something. I never mentioned how your lips were shaped perfectly to fit mine or that your hand is just the right size for mine so when we lock fingers it felt like a puzzle piece. There’s so much more I wish you knew but it’s too late. So I hope you knew that none of our silences were awkward and I melted when you smiled. The way that you love when we just hang out at the house and watch our favorite show. The way you appreciate the little things I do for you. The way I catch you staring at me and smiling. When I would have panic attacks and you remind me that I was enough. The way you know when I’m upset and you try to help me figure out a solution. The way that I was your only one. When you let me take pictures of us and you even you’re super shy about it because you know how much it means to me to keep those memories alive. We can play games together without getting too competitive and actually enjoy each other’s company. How you care about what I’m insecure about even if it is a little inconvenient for you. How you’re making a house our home and letting us grow together. Letting me learn how to be a good girlfriend without knowing from previous relationships. How patient you are with me when I get insecure with us because of what I’ve been through. How you help me out with food when I’m low on funds because of the bills. How you listen to my problems when I have trouble at home or work. When you want me to ride with you even for the smallest things. How you brag about what we do and how much you have with me to your family and friends. How you are not ashamed to be with me. Love how your family makes me feel like I’ve been a part of y’all’s family for years. How you appreciate every part of my body and make me feel good about myself even if I disagree. How we grew so fast together in under a year. How much we’ve accomplished together in such little time. How you make me feel like we’ve been in love for years. How you don’t get mad when I spill my drinks on your carpet. How you let me play your games without getting mad. The way you look at me when I’m not looking, and my family sees how much you love me. I love when you don’t get annoyed when I ask if you still love me fifty times a day. I love that we can joke around with each other without hurting each other’s feelings. When you offer to help me cook and clean since we both work. How you’ve become my best friend and that I am yours (no matter how much you tell me my brother is) How you don’t get annoyed with my random questions How you don’t get annoyed with all the memes I send you saying how much I miss you I love when you give me a big hug when you see me because it proves you miss me How excited you get when you come home from work to see me in the living room waiting for you I love that you wouldn’t anything come between us even my own brother. I love that you gave me a chance despite who I am. How you remind me how beautiful you think I am when my boss is mean to me How protective you are over me How thoughtful your Christmas gift is (even though I’m not sure what it is when I’m writing this) I love that you don’t get annoyed at how emotional I get I love that I can tell you anything without it being repeated I love that I can trust you with all my heart I love that I can tell how much I am in love with you without having to worry you’re taking it for granted I love how you take care of me when I had too much to drink without any complaints I hope you know that I will love you always and forever. I guess it’s better late than never.


The following is a story about addiction. Sometimes it feels like you have a gnome on your shoulder making all the bad decisions for you.  We sat in a circle facing each other in the community room on a Saturday. A man with a shaggy beard stood up. "Hi everyone. My name is David and I have a gnome on my shoulder." "Hi David." "The gnome is the one who likes my beard long," began David. The group chuckled. Everyone knew gnomes didn't like you cutting your hair. They need long hair so they can hide. David finished his story by explaining how he has going to put burs in his beard to help drive the gnome away. Though everyone congratulated him on his unique idea, I was not impressed. Gnomes are smart, you can't keep them away with a couple burs in your beard. A lady dressed in pink stood up and spoke in an exaggerated formal manner. "Hello everyone, my name is Elizabeth. I had a dinner party the other night and cooked up an exquisite sea cod in a semillon sauvignon blanc sauce, but my gnome insisted I drink the whole bottle." Elizabeth looked above and put a gloved hand to her forehead in a dramatic sigh. The group comforted her, but not me. Everyone should know that gnomes get bored easily. You cannot expect them to sit quietly at a dinner party without causing mischief. The next man to stand up said he came close to catching his gnome the other day. His gnome fell off his shoulder when he was gardening. I've had something like that happen to me before and distinctly remember the moment of shock as I saw the gnome for the first time. He had always been on my shoulder and I could not imagine a life without him. The gnome, however, woke from its nap and casually climbed up my leg to once again sit on my shoulder. A man with very small glasses now had everyone's attention. He was writing frantically on a white board what we knew about gnomes and how we could outsmart them. For some time I thought I could outsmart my gnome, but he was always two steps in front. There were good days and bad, but the gnome was always there. Perhaps that was why I hesitated when my gnome fell off my shoulder. Another man was fighting for the groups attention with talk of a medicine that would drive the gnomes away. A third man pulled out nets he said could catch gnomes. One of the group members suggested they bait the gnomes to their traps, but could not think of what they eat. I watched the chaos before me and tried to retreat into my mind as I ignored the growing noise. Every Saturday people come up with the most ridiculous ways to get rid of their gnomes. Sure medicine could work, but you're going to have a hard time trying to trick the gnome into taking it. Even catching a gnome with a net could work, but what would you do when you catch it? You could try leaving your gnome somewhere but you'll miss its nagging voice and soon go back to where you left it. There is, however, one way that works and its more simple than the rest. You run. That's what I did the last time my gnome fell off my shoulder. I ran until my legs burned, then I ran some more. I ran towards a new life without a gnome on my shoulder and began discarding my unwanted memories of my past. After some time I got a stitch. I couldn't run forever. Eventually my gnome would wake up and stroll casually to me. Huffing and puffing, I ran on with no direction in mind. There was nowhere I could go where the gnome wouldn't find me. I think it's because they begin to think the way you do, living on your shoulder. I tried constructing mental images of my new life without my gnome, but I couldn't shake the feeling that he would come back. Nor could I imagine what a normal life would be like. Without a gnome on my shoulder making snide remarks at the absurdity of life, I'm no longer mocking it, but joining it. My run had dropped to a jog. I would not be able to relate to those who have never had a gnome on their shoulder. Not that I would find anyone who would believe me when I said I used to have a gnome on my shoulder. One that made bad decisions for me. Everyone who has not experienced the madness a gnome brings into your life, would think I'm crazy. My jog had slowed to a walk. I circled the block a few times then went home. I wasn't sure whether it was my conscious choice, or the gnome calling me through a spell. That day, I walked past this community center, several times actually, and noticed a drawing of a gnome at the door. That was a some time ago and I'd been coming here each Saturday since. Though I'm doubtful of the strange ways to catch gnomes this mismatch group comes up with, it is a comfort to see others who knows what it is like to have a gnome on your shoulder. I looked to the women dressed in pink, then at the bearded man. There was no one person gnomes liked. It could be anyone. And so, I listen to what they have to say, hoping one day they'll discover the miracle cure.  \*\*\*  The room opposite was booked by the groups' gnomes. They too sat in a circle frantically drawing on whiteboards. They were not, however, coming up with ways to leave their human, but rather ways to keep them coming back. They wrote lists and lists of ideas. They're crafty little bugger, gnomes.


“Look, whatever you think you saw,” Lord Reuben Edstatson says as we step close to each other. “I know what I saw, Lord Edstatson” I whisper back as we join our left hands loosely and circle each other. “I saw you and Mr. Woodrey in the drawing room off the hall…” I pause as the dance takes us further away from each other and I spin with the lady next to me. I can remember very clearly the moment I opened the door to what I thought would be an empty room, wanting a break from the crowd in the ballroom, to find it already occupied by two respectable young men. At least, I thought them respectable, though they might not be considered as such if anyone knew what they had been doing. We come back together and he takes my right hand in his left. We take a few hopping steps forward. “Must we speak of this now , Miss Hadnall?” he asks, as we take the same few hopping steps back, then repeat. “I think so.” I step around to face him and we join our other hands. “You cannot run away from the conversation this way.” We twirl together to the right, our steps in time with the upbeat music. “Perhaps I simply have nothing to say on the topic,” he says, and we switch to spin in the other direction. “So long as you do not plan to tell anyone, that is.” I don’t frown at him — someone might notice — but it is a near thing. “And perhaps I am not satisfied with that,” I say, as we move close before coming apart again, letting go of each other completely. We step forward in the same direction, over a foot of distance between us, and I join hands to circle with the gentleman of the pair next to us while he circles with the lady. We return to each other to circle once, then circle with the other couple again. When we come back together the second time, I ask, “What is Mr. Woodrey to you, exactly?” We each take two steps to the right, then two to the left, so that we end up, each time, as far away from each other as our joined hands will allow, which is still close enough to speak quietly. “We are… good friends,” he says. We continue to move from side to side. “Was that the first time, then?” His jaw tics, but he doesn’t say anything before the dance brings us apart again. I join with a circle of three other ladies, our left hands resting atop one another in the middle as we circle together, our partners circling around us in the opposite direction. After two full rotations, Lord Edsatson takes one of my hands again, and we transition back into our spot with a few hopping steps. “No,” he says, right before he twirls me, and it takes me a moment to realize that he is answering my question from before. It was not the first time. But if it was not the first — the only — time, then what does that mean? What could it possibly mean? “Why?” I ask, as he switches his right hand into my right and takes my left hand in his, so that our arms are crossed over each other in front of us. We begin to walk in a large circle. “That is none of your concern,” he says. I suppose that is true. I simply cannot understand what would have led two respectable young men from good families, one a lord and the other the younger brother of one, to participate in such ignoble activities as I caught them engaging in when I entered the drawing room. I do not agree to his statement, but I do him the grace of not pursuing the line of questioning further. “What of your future wife, then?” I inquire. Lord Edstatson is one of the most sought-after potential husbands of the season. My mother has been pushing me to try to gain his attention, in fact — she will be delighted about us sharing this dance, and will likely not stop talking about it for days, though I am sure he only agreed to it to have the chance to ask me to keep quiet. Even with his title and prestige, his prospects would be greatly diminished if word spread about his actions behind closed doors. “When I take a wife…” he bites out, not sounding even the slightest bit happy with the prospect. We complete our circle and he switches our hands again so they are no longer crossed, bringing me in front of him. He steps forward as I step backward, and we begin to circle another pair as they circle us. “My wife will provide me with an heir, and be provided finances and freedom in return. My private affairs will not concern her.” “You desire a marriage of convenience, then?” He only replies with a quick, “I do,” as we each take one step back, releasing our hands. I curtsy and he bows, and the dance is over. I have more which I wish to say, to ask, but I know that now is not a good time. It would not do to chase after my dance partner as he retreats, after all. I step off the dance floor to take a break against the wall as the pairs for the next dance line up on the dancefloor. Across the room, I see Lord Edstatson move to stand next to Mr. Leopold Woodrey. They are known to be good friends, and there is nothing unusual about gentlemen passing time together between dances at these events, but I cannot help but observe their every gesture in light of what I have discovered about them. I wonder how long they have been… doing such things, and without even a hint of a rumor. I would know, because Mother always keeps up on all of the society gossip, and there is no way she would have missed a rumor like this. She would have told me, and would not have pushed me to get Lord Edstatson’s attention if such things were even suspected. Though, thinking of my Mother and plans for me gives me an idea of my own. A way to perhaps be satisfied with the outcome of this season, considering this newfound information. I wait until a few dances have passed and I have danced with a few other potential suitors before I make my way over to the refreshment table, where Lord Edstatson and Mr. Woodrey happen to be standing. “Good evening,” I murmur, curtsying shallowly to both of them. They both return the greeting, though Mr. Woodrey is watching me wearily. “Do not worry, Mr. Woodrey, I will keep your secret. Though I do have an… idea, I would like you to consider.” “So, you are blackmailing us?” Mr. Woodrey asks sharply, though quietly. I shake my head. “No, of course not. My silence is not contingent on your acceptance. My request is this: Lord Edstatson will court me, and after a reasonable amount of time has passed, he will propose to me, and we will marry.” Both men frown at me, though Mr. Woodrey’s is deeper. “I have no interest in having any kind of… romantic attachments to my spouse. I believe I explained that to you,” Lord Edstatson says slowly. “Nor do I. I wish from marriage what you described for your future wife: financial stability and freedom. And the status that comes with your position, of course. I do not want a husband who will expect me to be devoted to him, or who will desire to know my whereabouts and pastimes every minute of the day. And besides, I already know your secret, so you will not need to attempt to hide it from me. And if we are wed, you will never need to worry about me spreading rumors about you, for it would affect me as well. So, what do you say?” Lord Edstatson looks at Mr. Woodrey, and they seem to hold a whole conversation in a matter of seconds, without ever speaking a single word. Eventually, Mr. Woodrey gives a subtle nod. Lord Edstatson turns back to meet my eye. “Very well, Miss Adelaide Hadnall. I shall call upon you in the morning.” I nod, then take a pastry and walk away, unable to keep a small smile off my face. It would be a joy to marry a man whose interests I know lie elsewhere.


With a jerk of the body, he awakes. Standing up quickly while shaking off a feeling of something crawling over. He tries to look at what that was feeling was but cannot. Putting his hands to his eyes he rubs away a strange ink. Panicking now he rubs more and more as he begins to blink. Fear begins to creep in as he still sees darkness. Letting a moment pass his eyes begin to adjust. He was not blind, just the lands are covered in a vast darkness with no stars above for direction and no moon to follow. Just a faint glow coming off the horizon and a brighter glow coming down at his feet. Looking down he sees a lantern illuminating the ground that is covered in stone faces. Each with a look of nothingness to it. Confused by this he takes the lantern holding it out to look around. All over he sees more stone faces everywhere making up lands. His gaze stops. There is another lantern shining onto others laying on the stone faces. Each one next to a lantern of their own. *Others*, he wonders as a woman awakes. She sits up rubbing away the ink off her eyes. This gives sight to a blonde hair man holding a lantern shining light around them. She tries to speak but nothing is understood. They both speak, trying to get something, anything to be understood. Nothing, so they just stare at each other wondering when others begin to wake. A large man stands up slowly wiping at his eyes. Standing confused as to where he is or who he is. Looking down he sees a lantern by his feet and picks it up as another man, slimmer with hair of white, awakes nearby. He stands screaming in terror giving a shock to the others. Rubbing away the ink on his eyes, he stares at the others. Wondering who and why they are here when from the edge of the lanterns light, a hungry lion emerges. Eyes glowing red, fur of white, and front limbs larger than normal with massive human like claws, the lion steps forward unleashing a terrifying roar that intimates the others. All move away quickly while staring back, too afraid to do anything else. The lion takes this advantage as it pounces onto the skinny man. Slashing with its large human hand like claw cutting the man’s bare chest in several places. Blood spills out as the man tries to defend himself. The woman yells in terror as the large man trips while trying to step back kicking away a piece of the stone faces. The blonde man picks it seeing its more of a big shard with a pointed end. *A weapon yes*, he thinks while looking at the lion attacking the skinny man. Raising the shard in his fist, he lets out a booming yell encouraging the others to look for a shard. Now, each with a shard of their own, they attack the lion. The large man charges at the lion colliding with his shoulder slamming into its side knocking the lion onto its back as the man is sent flying the opposite way. This allows the skinny man to roll away stopping onto some loose stone faces. He pulls out a shard of his own while taking a breather to recover as the woman goes to stab the lion. Seeing a glow coming off the shard as it is coming down, the lion rolls onto its feet avoiding the stab. It slashes out with its large finger like claws cutting the woman’s arm. This causes her to fall back grabbing at the wound. The blonde man runs in front of the lion trying to get its attention away from the woman. It works, the lion sees him and leaps for an attack as the man jumps to the side barely avoiding the attack. The large man gets up and runs at the lion trying to stab its side when the lion turns to face him. They both stop and stare at each other as the skinny man joins the fight. He goes behind the lion as it is staring and stabs the hind leg. A roaring yell is let out from the lion’s pain causing the others to cover their ears from its deafening cry. The lion tries to step forward but falls to the ground from its torn limb. The large and blonde men both jump at the opportunity stabbing at the lion’s head killing it after several blows. All four now stand over the lion looking at this unusual beast wondering what it is. The woman holding her bloody arm begins to speak but the others look at her confused when the large man begins to cut the lion apart with his shard. The rest look at him a little confused but soon join in. Taking what they can from the corpse they set off heading for the glow on the horizon. A long walk with them dreading what else may be hiding in the dark jumping at each sound they pass. Upon reaching the glow they see it is a large collection of lanterns similar to the ones they picked up piled high rising several stories up pushing back the dark. They stop and stare at it as other people begin emerging from around it.