The launch sequence hit zero and the Hindsight accelerated to many times the speed of sound. Once it had reached a certain distance, the computer engaged the spacefold drivers. Other than a brief flash, the moment in which we ceased to be near Earth and beame impossibly far away from it was unremarkable. Before us was a beautiful, terrifying expanse of nothing. We had arrived. Our destination was a desolate stretch of space some 3,000 light years from Earth. Officially, our mission was to scout other planets for signs of alien life. In reality, humans had made contact with intelligent life a decade prior. A carbon-based, lemur-like race called sunids who communicated via an intricate sign language. I’d met a few of them. They were quite polite, if a bit immature. Dizzyingly good at chess, too. In an act of incredible prudence, the International Space Administration decided to keep their existence a secret. Turns out it’s much easier to secure funding when the public thinks their money is aiding “the search for aliens.” We’d ventured all this way to search not for extraterrestrial life; we sought humanity. Through *The Looking Glass*, an ultraprecise telescope mounted on the Hindsight, we would be able to intercept millenia-old light waves sent out from Earth for the first time in human history. It was our mission to travel an incomprehensible distance from Earth at a nigh instantaneous speed, all in order to turn around and stare down the rock that humanity had worked for so many years to leave. On the crew were Rilda Selth, an engineer, Tanya Baldin, an astrophysicist, Dalton Sitry, a historian, and myself, also a historian. We were practically family—we’d had two years to settle any grievances while training for the mission. Despite this, I had routine differences of opinion with Dalton. If our opinions aligned, there would be no purpose in having two historians on the crew. We were scheduled to remain aboard the Hindsight for five years, and every 30 days we were to send back to Earth all the footage captured by TLG, as well as a report co-authored by Dalton and I discussing the facts and implications of what the footage alone couldn’t convey. I’ve had Tanya explain to me exactly how we managed to communicate across 900 parsecs, but her efforts have been futile. By the time I’ve had enough drinks to think asking is a good idea, I’m too far gone to remember the answer. I was beside myself with anticipation. We would unravel the great mysteries of history, uncover secrets lost to time, and determine whether or not Jesus of Nazareth was resurrected. Suffice it to say, the chief reason to hold our mission to secrecy was for fear of panic. Humanity does not enjoy challenges to its beliefs. That was true no matter the era. We would be looking into the past. It was necessary to keep certain truths secret. We had one week to prepare before the first event: the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, 79 AD. Dalton and I put together our archiving system in time for the observation. We were unable to agree on a method, though argument itself proved to be an effective strategy. Tanya’s job was to confirm our coordinates and set up the telescope, something magnitudes more difficult than it sounds. Calculating the zoom factor alone took her half a day. In the years to come, I would spend many nights lying in bed, listening to Tanya calibrate TLG with surgical precision. Finally, Rilda ran the ship diagnostics and inspected the various life-support systems. The damn thing was practically a five-star hotel. It was equipped with perpetual food and water apparatus, as well as a clothing recycler. The beds were made from siliphene sponge, a material so comfortable it’s been said that spending a single night on it is as rejuvenating as a month on any other mattress. The computer had a catalog of most of the games, movies, shows, and books that had been released in the past few thousand years. After a week of anticipation, the time for the eruption finally arrived. Aside from being a storied disaster, the subject of countless songs and paintings, the destruction of Pompeii had the distinct advantage of being rather bright. The logic behind beginning operations with such a noticeable event was to lower the chances of us missing. An unnecessary precaution; there was no way on Earth I’d allow myself to miss something *that* cool. Tanya operated TLG while Rilda monitored for any malfunctions. Dalton and I sat alert, hands at our keyboards, ready to make history. Each of us unconsciously held their breath. I could hear my own heartbeat. Finally, Tanya spoke. “Eruption confirmed.” The monitors displaying TLG’s feed filled the room with spectacular reds and oranges, dancing across the flat, metal walls and creating a stunning lightshow. I ignored it. Typing furiously, I scrutinized the screen in front of me like those blasted sunids scrutinized my chess playing. We didn’t bear witness to any key events lost to time, but that wasn’t our objective. Pompeii’s destruction was about as well documented as ancient events come, so comparing those records to what we observed was the perfect test to confirm the validity of our method. We spent roughly twelve hours glued to our monitors, reluctant even to blink. After completing my work I considered sleeping, but tossed aside the notion of rest. Instead, I watched the footage again. All twelve hours. The spectacle fascinated and excited me, but left me with an empty sadness. A few thousand years is nothing to the timeless anguish of a life cut short. The silent lava ravaging the noiseless crowd. Had I been able to hear their screams I couldn’t have endured it. When the recording finally ended, I took what seemed my first breath in hours and stumbled to bed. I slept for two days. . . . Even before parting my eyelids I knew something was amiss. I heard typing coming from the archive. The only person aside from myself who would have any reason to use the archive computer was Dalton. The only reason Dalton would have to use the archive computer would be to put together the report on Pompeii. Our *collaborative* report. I was in the archive before I had finished the thought. “Dalton! What the hell are you doing?” “Calm down, Til!” “You bastard! You were trying to finish the Pompeii report while I was out cold!” “C’mon, Til, let’s be reasonable here—” “I *am* being reasonable,” I said as I flipped his chair. “Christ’s sake,” grumbled Dalton, picking himself off the ground and rubbing his bald head as if to summon a genie, “You know as well as I do that Pompeii was in line with the accepted history. If anything, I was doing you a favor by writing the report on my own.” I read over what he had written. Frustratingly, he was right. My stomach grumbled, reflecting my mood, and I left before Dalton could deride me further. On my way to the dining room, I recalled a past victory to numb the pain of my present defeat: the only time I had beaten a sunid at chess. The sunid’s name was Ynol. A departure from most of her kind, Ynol was rude and not very good at chess. I had played against her roughly a year and a half ago, not long after beginning training for my mission. It was a close game, and truthfully I only won because she blundered a bishop early on. She had all but threatened me to a rematch in the six months following her defeat, but I refused each time. I wasn’t going to undo my one victory against those little geniuses. Eventually she moved on. She became interested in TLG, and we spent many meals discussing the details of my mission via text. Despite being unable to speak, sunids are quick learners and many of them became literate after only a year of study. In fact, Ynol was the first to reach fluency. My mind continued to wander through the pleasant memory of victory as I prepared lunch. My day dream was interrupted when Rilda and Tanya entered the room, laughing about something unimportant. I sat down with my tuna fish sandwich. Rilda and Tanya sat next to me, each with a bowl of chicken soup. Rilda broke the silence. “So… what was that crash I heard a few minutes ago? And all the screaming?” “Don’t worry about it,” I said with a laugh. “I’m worried,” she responded. “Dalton was writing the Pompeii report while I was asleep. Had to put a stop to it.” “Ah, of course.” “At least someone gets it.” Then Tanya chimed in, “If you kill him we’re throwing you off the ship.” I looked pleadingly to Rilda. She just shook her head. “Sorry. I guess if you do kill him you’ll just have to hide the body.” Two losses in ten minutes. Utterly embarrassing. . . . It turns out that even siliphene beds have a wrong side, and that I woke up on it. I stumbled to the dining room and fixed myself a pair of eggs and a few strips of bacon. Nearly five years had passed, and I was ready to sleep in my own bed. The others seemed similarly homesick. Before we could make our return, however, we had to witness the resurrection of Jesus. The prospect of seeing that event was the only kernel of enthusiasm I allowed myself to gnaw on that morning. For over 3,000 years humanity had sought the answer to the question “does God exist?” I would be among the first four people in the universe to know the answer. Breakfast failed to improve my mood, and I followed Dalton to the observatory. Tanya and Rilda were already there, making the final preparations and checking TLG one last time. This would be a difficult event to capture. We would have to confirm the day Jesus was crucified, which would require us to pinpoint his location. Then we would have to follow his burial and watch his grave for at least three weeks to confirm that he didn’t rise. If he rose by that time… well, then this would take quite a while. The messiah could be a quack for all we cared; everyone just wanted to go home. We took our places once more, our minds already considering what to look for and how to parse the event. Today would be the culmination of five years of work. Of all the ground-shaking truths we’d learned over the past half-decade, there was no doubt in the room that this would be the most significant. My fingers tensed. Dalton grimaced next to me. Rilda stared at the largest monitor, and Tanya was visibly fighting to keep her hands from shaking. Finally, she threw back her head and announced: “We have eyes on Jesus.” Over the next few weeks that we spent watching Jesus, I came to understand much of the human struggle. When we finally learned the truth of the resurrection, I found that I was not surprised. Somehow, my mind was at ease. It took Dalton and I nearly a month to put together the report; twice as long as usual. When we finally sent it in we were too spiteful to celebrate. We spent the next month preparing for the return home. Tanya spent the time calculating the jump. Rilda performed a full check of the ship’s systems. She would be our only hope if something went wrong. Meanwhile, Dalton and I finalized our records and made a few edits to our reports. We would update them when we returned home. Finally, the day arrived. I let myself sleep in so that I’d have that much less time to wait before the jump. Each minute took an hour, and each hour seemed endless. I nearly cried when Tanya called us to the flight deck. We were going home. I was the last to arrive. Tanya and Rilda were already at the controls, ready to bring us home. Dalton reclined nearby. “Ready?” asked Tanya. “Ready, ” Each of us confirmed. “Terrific. All crewmates brace for jump.” She activated the spacefold drivers. . . . Two dozen mushroom clouds covered the half of Earth that I could see. “...what’s going on? H-hey, Tanya, why are there… explosions? That’s not… what’s going on?” “Yeah. Tanya, why are we seeing the past?” Stammered Dalton. “Aren’t we supposed to be just a light-second away from Earth?” “We are,” whispered Tanya. “That’s the present.” Rilda forced through clenched teeth.“Why?” “Tanya, what happened?” I asked “I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know.” “Maybe it was us,” said Dalton, putting into words the fear that had gripped the room. “Dalton, be reasonable,” I was talking to myself more than him, “We’ve been out in… in space for five years. How could this be our fault?” “The… report,” he replied. “Christ, the report.” Tanya spoke again, “there’s no way of knowing if that was the cause.” Rilda replied, “we can see into the past. I’m sure we can figure out if our report had anything to do with it.” “What if we travel out a light-month?” I suggested. “Tiliar’s right,” said Dalton, “we should be able to see the Earth immediately before we sent the report. “How long will that take to calculate?” Asked Rilda. “One… one week,” Said Tanya. “Hang on,” I said. “What if we go back a light-month and the Earth really is ok? What if we… really did cause that destruction?” No one offered an answer to my question, and eventually we each wandered back to our rooms. We spent what must have been a week alone with our thoughts. We met sporadically during meals, but even then not a word passed between us. I do not know how much time slipped by before we received the message. *Hello, crew of the Hindsight.* *You were supposed to return home four months ago and witness the apocalypse. I’m very disappointed that you’ve not contacted me. Please acknowledge that you have received this message at your earliest convenience.* *Best,* *Ynol* Dalton responded with an explanation of what had happened when we tried to return to Earth. *Oh, I forgive you, then. I’m glad you’re alive! Otherwise, my whole plan would have been pointless.* *All human life on this planet has been eradicated. I was able to avoid the fallout via my ship. Regrettably, I did not let any of the people at the I.S.O. join me. They have all perished.* What happened? *Oh! Right! You see, I leaked the history of Jesus in order to allow humanity to finally resolve its greatest division: religion.* My stomach fell through the floor upon reading those words. We *were* to blame, and Humanity had been destroyed by accident. *Actually, what I just said is a lie. Did you figure that out? Bet not. Well, it is. I leaked the Jesus report as a catalyst for the destruction of humanity. Now let me talk to Tiliar, I have something I have to ask him.* Dalton turned to me. “...Tiliar? Why does the antichrist know who you are?” The others stared. I couldn’t move. “Ynol… is the name of a sunid I played chess against once while we were training. She’s the only one I ever beat, in fact.” Dalton turned around and continued the conversation. Tiliar says you’re a sunid he beat at chess. *Then he didn’t give you the full story. Yes, we played one game of chess, which he won by a fluke. He then refused a rematch to settle the score. I was upset. Frustrated. I wanted revenge. I asked countless times, and each time he refused me. He’s a spineless coward, and he enraged me. I began to plot.* *Eventually, I learned about* The Looking Glass *and your mission. It was perfect. You’d be out in space. Nowhere to run. Through what Tiliar thought were friendly conversations, I slowly learned the specifics of your mission. I learned your itinerary and the method you were using to see the past. In fact,* The Looking Glass *gave me a fantastic idea for a modified—no, it’s not time to stunningly reveal that just yet. The point is that I completely fooled him; he had no idea of my true motive. I saw my opportunity and took it. I intercepted the report on Jesus. It was as easy as fool’s mating an infant. Since the officials didn’t know anyone outside of them and your crew were even aware of the report’s existence, they didn’t even bother testing for tappers. Once in my possession, I simply duplicated and distributed the report. Faced with the truth of Jesus, humanity could not overcome the division sown by religion, and ended up annihilating itself. I personally exterminated any humans who had managed to survive.* *Each and every step I calculated with outrageous precision. You are now the last humans alive. I am the only one who knows where you can land safely. You are my hostages. I reasoned that under these circumstances, Tiliar would agree to a* *friendly rematch.* *I challenge you, Tiliar Kirphen! Defeat means the extinction of humanity. Victory means a chance to rebuild.* *‘A normal game of chess?’ you ask? No, There will be one difference with this game. Another dimension to its strategy.* . . . *You might want to write this down.* *You will position yourself in an orbit two light-weeks away. You will play white, and will transmit your first move as soon as possible. One week after you send out the transmission, I will send you* my *first move. Two weeks after you have sent your first move, you will send your second. One week after you’ve sent your second move, which will be two weeks after my first move, I will send* my *second. Two weeks after you have sent your second move, you will send your third. One week after you’ve sent your third move, which will be two weeks after my second move, I will send* my *third. Two weeks after you have sent your third move, you will send your fourth. One week after you’ve sent your fourth move, which will be two weeks after* my *third move, I will send* my *fourth. Two weeks after you have sent your fourth move, you will send your fifth. One week after you’ve sent your fifth move, which will be two weeks after my fourth move, I will send* my *fifth. We will each continue to transmit a move every two weeks, offset from each other by one week.* *Do you understand? This rematch will serve as our climactic battle, five years in the making. It couldn’t just be any old game of chess.* The entire conversation felt like a bad dream. I had spent the past four months searching for a reason why humanity would destroy itself. What greater story was the final chapter of humanity a part of? What was the meaning of this grand civilization of hairless apes now that it had collapsed? I had written down countless possibilities while half-hysterical, ranging from denial to rage to acceptance and the rest. Now, Ynol had handed me the truth. Forced it upon me. Humanity had gone extinct so that this sunid could concoct the next revolution in chess. Hands shaking, I took over from Dalton at the keyboard. I accept. *Excellent, Tiliar. Your move.


This weekend my girlfriend's dad wanted to take me fishing - doing that whole clichéd male bonding thing. All good, he's a nice guy so I was in. We drove from just outside Inverness over to the Isle of Skye (Scotland) which I was pretty stoked about because I've never been that far West before. It was a top day; good fishing, decent weather, funny chat - nothing to bother writing a story about on Reddit - until we hit this little pub afterwards. So we go into this pub in Portree, grab a table near the bar and have a few beers. Standard country pub for a Saturday - mix of old regulars, young kids trying to look 18, the local lads in their shit Ben Shermans trying to chat up the local 'talent' who barely have a full set of teeth between them. But I couldn't shake this weird vibe. Like I kept noticing people go quiet when someone else walked by, or people giving each other sideways glances. Nothing directed towards us so I wasn't too wary. Mistake number 1. Anyway, I go up to the bar for another couple beers and the barman offers the usual small talk. 'Just visiting aye?' 'Over from the mainland aye?' 'See the Old Man did ye aye?' Me: 'Yeah man, just over for a spot of fishing.' Mistake number 2. The place goes deathly silent. The barman visibly winces. If it had been a film instead of real life you would have heard a needle scratch over a record. This guy with horrible B.O. storms over to me and grabs my arm painfully. He looks at me like I just shat in his porridge and says through his teeth, 'Live bait right?' Instantly another guy leaps from his chair, crosses the pub in a flash and he's leaning on my other side. He looks the B.O. guy right in his slightly too-far-apart eyes and says 'No. He was fly fishing you prick, right?' I am in complete WTF mode. What are these two on about? Suddenly people all over the bar start chiming in. It was an instant split into two factions. 'Bait is for buffties!' 'Flies are for fags!' 'Bait is a wankers game' 'Shove yer flies up yer arse' Etc Etc It's all kicking off. B.O. boy grabs me, puts his beak right into mine. 'Well?! Bait or fly fishing?' 'F-f-f-ffly?' I stammer. Mistake number 3. Bam - sucker punch right to the eye. Then; pandemonium. It's an instant fist salad in the pub. People shouting, punching, kicking, throwing. It's the freaking wild, wild west coast of Scotland. I stand like a deer in headlights watching this country pub tear itself apart. I stand there uselessly, doing my best lighthouse impression, when a hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me outside in one swift movement. My heads spinning. I am three exits past confused. And can't see the square route of fuck all through one eye. It's the barman who has dragged me out, managing to grab my g/f's dad on the way. The three of us are stood there silent in the cold for what feels like ages, just looking at each other, a mexican stand off of staring. We can hear the mosh of the locals from inside. 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT!?' I finally manage to articulate. The bartender takes his time to catch his breath and stands up calmly. He looks at his pub and shakes his head like he's seen this a million times before, then just calmly says... 'In a Skye full of people, only some want to fly. Isn't that crazy?' 'Crazy.


This is part 1 of a novella that I've been working on. If you like it, link to my recently published book and website are at the bottom. Thanks for reading :)  **1. Routine** The snow had just begun to fall when Jonas opened the tired, wooden door of his cabin and stepped outside, the warmth at his back swallowed instantly by the chilled mountain air. A pair of massive, fur-covered snowshoes jangled restlessly at his side. The sky had taken on an orange tint as the sun sank low in its arc. It was only half-past three and it was clear the days were still growing shorter. In the distance, dark clouds were building. Jonas knew that by nightfall the snow could be several feet deep. While most would have been preparing for the oncoming storm, he felt completely at ease. The worse the weather, the less likely he would be to run into hikers on the upper trails. Tourists tended to turn back at the first sign of inclement weather. Over the years, Jonas had become adept at navigating the mountain through clear skies and whiteouts. He would need to be cautious, but the storm wouldn’t be a problem. The cabin he called home for the last five years was positioned five miles off the nearest hiking trail. The terrain leading to it was largely considered impassable. Occasionally there were some overzealous youths who fancied themselves explorers, but Jonas tried to think about them as little as possible. They never made it very far and ended up paying the ultimate price for their foolishness. He took one last look at the warmth of his cabin windows, picked up his pack, and promised to have a good drink by the fire upon his return. The trees around his cabin shook as the wind blew through them with a hollow whine. Jonas popped in a pair of ear buds and put on a classic rock playlist. The foreboding noises of the forest were drowned out by a riff from Rush. It was a song about warring trees, and he chuckled as he began his walk. The way to the main trail was treacherous, running the gamut between steep ravines and technical, rocky switchbacks. When Jonas had arrived, the path was nearly impassable. Over the years, he had slowly worked away at it, making each trip a little easier, at least for someone who knew his way. For others, one step could mean the difference between life and death. Spending every waking moment on the mountain made Jonas surefooted. Walking through the forest filled him with a sense of pride. He considered how blessed the last five years had been. Back in the city, something as simple as ordering a cup of coffee was a struggle. The navigation of small talk was like strolling through a minefield. Often, by the time he had thought of something to say, minutes had passed and people were staring. As a result, he had made the decision to live reclusively, which, in a small town, wasn’t exactly accepted. While Jonas might have been slightly abnormal in his distaste for conversation, he was otherwise ordinary. He possessed a slightly above-average IQ, moderate good looks, and was tall enough that no one questioned him for long. Overall, he had rolled lucky genetic dice and he hated it. His appearance made others think he was approachable, and that just made things harder. Despite his retreat into the mountains, Jonas had still managed to keep himself clean-shaven, resisting the urge to grow his beard out to mythical proportions. Though he never saw anyone, self-grooming had become a ritual and there was comfort in repetition. On most days, his activities followed a set plan and he took great ease from the structure: no interruptions, no distractions, just life. By the time he reached the main hiking trails, the clear skies had turned slate grey and heavy white flakes were falling intermittently. He stopped, unshouldered his pack, and took out his earbuds with a sigh. The storm would be good for deterring hikers, but it meant he wasn’t going to be leaving any tracks either. *I guess they’ll just have to do with a few slashes and samples.* Jonas’s employers weren’t particular about how he worked, so long as he got the job done. He unclipped the snowshoes and examined them for abnormalities. They had been specially designed to leave authentic footprints; any variation might tip off an eager cryptozoologist to the fallacy. While they were covered in brown fur, the tread had been constructed from an artificial, semi-soft plastic meant to resemble organic material. Jonas wasn’t sure how closely anyone would check the tracks he left, but his employers’ word was law. Satisfied that they were in working order, Jonas strapped the shoes on and pulled the rest of his suit from the bag. To the untrained eye, it might have just appeared to be a bundle of matted fur. To Jonas, it was his second life. With ease, he slipped into the suit, fastened it tight, and pulled up the thick hood. It had been reinforced to make his head appear about twice its normal size and was great for keeping out the chill. The finishing touch to the ensemble was a pair of gloves meant to look like large, furry paws. Embedded in the tip of each finger was a long, razor-sharp claw. He slid his hands in and swiped experimentally at a tree to his left, leaving four long gouges in the bark. The claws tore through the wood like tissue paper, sending strips of wood flying. Satisfied, Jonas grinned. In the suit, he felt more like himself than he did anywhere else. He buried his pack in the snow beneath the tree he had marked and set off. Even with the empty slopes, Jonas kept his performance authentic. His casual walk became a thick lumber, every breath was a primal grunt. Ordinarily he would have stuck to the higher elevation trails, but the weather provided a unique opportunity. The closer he got to the beginner hiking areas, the more likely his samples were to be discovered. *No one makes the History Channel without taking a few risks.* Once he felt he was close enough, Jonas started the real work. For hours he ran through the growing storm, snapping small trees like twigs, slashing at bark, and occasionally ripping out a chunk of fur to leave on a branch. The samples had been custom-curated by his employer to be unidentifiable and able to withstand harsh conditions. The wind whipped, snow fell in heavy flakes, and Jonas listened gleefully as his howls echoed off the empty forest surrounding him. The evening was perfect. He felt a lightness in his heart that was rare, even on the best of days. Jonas turned his head toward the sky to stare into the abyss above and became lost in the snowfall. A blinding white light erupted from the trees, shattering his calm and freezing Jonas in place. *Oh no,* he thought, feeling the happiness melt out of him, leaving behind a cold lump in his chest. The light was unmistakably directed at him, and despite the thicket between him and the source, he knew he had been seen. Knowing already what the answer was, Jonas turned his head to look for the source. Not ten feet away was a frost-covered hiker in a bright orange coat, visibly shivering. *Shit, and today was going so well.* “Hello? Thank goodness I found you, I got lost and can’t seem to make my way back to the main trail.” The hiker’s voice quavered. *How could I have missed him?* The answer was obvious. *You were careless, you stupid son of a bitch.* “Sir, I can see you there. Can you please help me? My cell is dead.” *Turn the light away, idiot.* Jonas could only pretend for so long. “Please help me.” The tremor in his voice grew. *Should have just walked away.* Jonas took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the trees. The white light nearly blinded him and he lifted a massive, fur-covered arm to shield his eyes. At a distance the suit might have seemed intimidating, but in the cold close-up of a flashlight there was no way the hiker would believe it. The hiker stared forward, silent, and confused. Jonas let out what he intended to be a primal yowl, but it died in his throat along the way. *All that practice for nothing.* He stamped the large snow shoes, kicking up miniature flurries, adding to the storm. It did the trick. The hiker turned and started to run. The light of the flashlight was suddenly gone, leaving the forest in full dark once more. Jonas watched as the cone of light bounced away. *Maybe he’ll run off a cliff or freeze to death.* It was no use, he was out of options. The risk of the hiker making it back down the mountain was too great, and his employers had been very specific about loose ends. Jonas steeled himself and took chase. It had taken a while in the early years, but as time passed, he had become quite adept at running in the snowshoes. In no time at all, he caught up to the man who was stumbling and tripping his way through the growing snowpack. “I’m really sorry about this,” yelled Jonas, and he brought one of his clawed hands down in a sweeping arc. It caught the hiker across the back, splashing hot blood across the snow in garish red stripes. The hiker screamed and fell to his knees, clutching where he had been struck. A pool of red began to form around him, melting the fresh snow. Jonas had cut deep. The hiker gagged and spluttered, trying desperately to breathe but inhaling only his own blood. He pressed one gloved hand to the wound and reached out to Jonas with the other as if still expecting help. His eyes bulged, pleading, and terrified. “Jesus,” Jonas muttered. “I really am sorry about that.” He always tried to make the end as quick as possible but had missed his mark this time. The end was bad enough when the executioner was a professional. He took aim, careful and precise this time, and plunged his claws through the back of the hiker’s neck, ending his life with a hollow gurgle. Time slowed for a minute and the forest went silent. Jonas was alone once again. *Each time it gets a little easier.* Pulling the claws out, he sat back in the snow, panting and watching the steam rise into the air. Dizziness and nausea swept over him. Botched kills were never easy to look at. Hot frustration bubbled up from inside. “That’s why there are signs, moron!” he yelled to the quickly freezing corpse. “Don’t stay in the park after dark!” If the people of Clearwater just obeyed the rules, there would be far less bloodshed. Their ignorance as always astounded Jonas. For a few minutes, he just stood there, next to the body, catching his breath. He might have been good at it but running in the suit was no easy feat. The storm had briefly abated, allowing pale moonlight to illuminate the scene. It was grizzly but looked genuine. Despite the ugly nature of it, Jonas had done his job and done it well. He took off one of his gloves and pulled out a cell phone. With frozen fingers, he typed: “Bigfoot kills again. Third hiker found on the north side of the mountain this year.” He looked it over, added his GPS location, and pressed send.


I was out with the Doc enjoying a blowfish dinner course : blowfish sashimi with sudachi lime, blowfish hotpot, blowfish gonads ( surprisingly good ) and blowfish tempura, all washed down with hirezake ( blowfish fins set alight in sake). It was a hell of a spread. During our conversation, he mentioned Kamikochi, a mountain resort nestled in the Alps. ‘One of the great Japan views!’, he exclaimed, red-faced from drink, whilst picking a blowfish bone out of his teeth. His eyes shone. I remembered the conversation and took a bus to Kamikochi in June 2020. The bus crawled through a forest and up a winding mountain road into a big empty car park with a view of white-capped mountain peaks in front of it and an ethereal blue river that wound its way down through the valley. The bus dropped us off and drove away again leaving just me and a handful of hikers there. The hikers seemed prepared. They threw on MontBell backpacks, adjusted the laces in their boots, pulled up their thick socks, and disappeared into the forest like a platoon of elves, the gentle tinkle of their bear bells getting quieter and quieter until there was no sound at all. I stood in the car park alone and stared at the expanse in front of me. The Doc was right, it really was something else. I walked up to a nearby wooden tourist cabin and left my luggage with a lady at the counter, and the only person in the whole center as far as I could tell. I went outside again and walked through a gathering of pines into the morning sunshine, my feet scrunching cones, until I came to a bridge. Water rushed underneath it and there was a symphonic buzz of insects. On the bridge stood two old ladies nattering away, bent and jovial. They moved off to the side of the bridge and studied a burst of colorful flowers, like two wizened gnomes selecting ingredients for an evening recipe. I walked deeper into the forest. The trees were older there and an ancient mossy rock face slid out from under a gurgling small stream and rose up above the trees. I reached an out-of-season campsite, leaned up against one of the empty huts there and cracked open a small bottle of sake that I had brought with me. I shook it and the white residue at the bottom of the bottle dispersed evenly creating a milky cloud. The alcohol, sweet and smooth in taste, swirled into my veins and I walked on with new momentum and purpose. The land soon became marshy and mucky and a wooden platform which I strode down, went through the middle of it all. The water on each side was thick with reeds but the few intervals of open water that there were, reflected the alpine landscape beautifully - a serene glimmering of whites and blues. The marsh ended and my feet hit sturdier ground again. I passed a hornet’s nest high up a tree to the left, perfectly round and smooth, like a hairless coconut. The path came out into an opening. I crossed a small bridge with a shallow stream dribbling beneath it. The path then bent sharply to the left and that’s when I saw it. About 50 meters ahead, a large bear emerged out of the long grass to the right of the path and strode regally across it, its head down, sniffing the ground. I froze in shock and disbelief. It’s bulky body rippled as it shifted its weight from paw to paw. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen in the wild and I suddenly felt very small. I had of course seen a bear in the zoo, or on TV before, but not here, in the forest, on its own turf. It seemed to not have seen me yet, or at least it was giving off that impression. And it appeared to be a very clever animal too. Its fur had a dark reddish hue under the direct sunlight. This threw me initially, for I’d always presumed that should I ever encounter a black bear in Japan, it would be black as the night. But not the case at all, apparently. I stood still as a rock, then turned slowly and started walking back in the direction I had come, taking great care not to make any sudden movements. My back now faced the bear, something you should never do, or so they say. Well, good luck following that rule next time you see a bear in the woods! I picked up pace and looked back, half expecting to see the thing racing towards me, all muscle, tooth and claw. Pure fear and imagination took over - Thoughts of how silly I was to be there, alone, in that forest at all. And what an awful demise probably awaited me. I shrunk in shame at the stories people would tell.. ‘Hey do you remember Simon who went to Japan? He was killed by a bear!’ And how slow and painful it would be. These thoughts reeled through my mind like pictures in a slideshow but as they did, my feet put more and more distance between me and the beast, and fear quickly changed to relief when I saw the bridge ahead, and then bigger waves of relief arrived when I actually crossed it and came back to the campsite. I threw off my bag and breathed in lungfuls of sweet air. Five minutes had barely passed when the ground started to shake. Just my luck, an earthquake! The tin rooves of the empty huts all around me, rattled and pine cones fell out of the swaying trees. Three or four large boulders slipped off the mountain side and plopped into the river, one by one, the water swallowing them with ease. And then as they often do, the earthquake stopped as quickly as it had started. I picked up my bag and walked back to the tourist cabin. It was only 1pm but I’d had enough of the mountains for one day. Two days later, safely back in Tokyo, and very glad to be there, I might add, the TV news reported that a bear had mauled and killed a jogger in his 70s in a village about 40 km away from Kamikochi. Adult bears are known to walk up to that distance in a day. So it isn’t too far-fetched to imagine that that was my bear. So do be careful when you’re out walking in the mountains.


Mama always told me I was too naive. She said that my dysfunctional brain would soon enough be fucked by someone more defective than myself, and sure enough, she was right. She would always insult me under her breath, you know? But I loved my mama, the same way she loved me. I remember the way that she would pull my hair, as she brushed it, the innocent reminder that she was in charge no matter the circumstances. I thanked her, I really did. I let her know how grateful I was that she made me into who I am today. I would´ve never been this strong without her.

Small town, small circles. Just like the movies, mama left me out of her circle. Forced me to fend for myself, running around back and forth trying to find where I belong. Then he came, he was new and shiny, the girls fawned over him the same way they would a new shade of lipstick in the shops. He was special, different. The way his hair fell over his eyes whenever he would laugh. Although I hated to admit it, I wanted him. I was ready to accept the defect to my dysfunction, so I did, and he was mine.

I’m sorry you only got to meet him once mama, you really would’ve loved him. He was a lot like you, the constant criticism of my maladaptive behavior, rarely letting him touch me. Until he did it, he pulled my hair just as you did the reminder of who was in possession of the power. It was him, and I immediately gave into that power. I gave into him, I let him own me, just the way you did. The only difference was, I liked the way he possessed my body, my soul, and every little part of me. I loved him.

You always told me to trust the stranger, not the friend. What reason does the stranger have to hurt you? What grief have you caused them, as you caused to the closer people in your life? Unless you’re a movie character and you accidentally murdered their cousins, wifes, son in the absurd family tree, they have no reason to hold a grudge against you. But since the day I met him, I knew he wasn’t one to trust. Which made him all the more thrilling, everything inside of me told me to follow him, to love him. To love him the way that I needed to be loved, cradled with an undying partnership, based on your brain rather than your heart.

I shared my secrets with him, not entrusting them but no longer caring whether or not they were known. I knew that he would do anything for my sake, which amounted in my curiosity in which he would kill for me? Was he willing to give up his sanity for the dysfunctional woman he met in this new town? Was I willing to put up with the defect that could ultimately put us both in an abundance of danger? We were inseparable, every part of me had a need to be close to him, crying out in agony when he was away. Goosebumps would arrive in my arms when he was near. Hair raising as he touched my back. The dopamine rushed throughout my body when his fingers wrapped around my neck. He craved violence, and I craved him. His sadist ways brought out my submissive nature whenever he was around. I would cry and beg for him to do as he pleased, wanting to make him proud, wanting his protection.

I wanted your protection mama, I wanted love and care and yet you gave me shit advice and an eating disorder. My entire life was spent looking up to you, wishing to be the one forcing them out of my circle. I wanted to be you. I wanted every ounce of your power and presence. The way people would shiver as you walked into the room, jealousy turning the walls green with every step you took. The sun seemed to follow you as you walked. Your own personal light flooding into your eyes, the bright blue color sparkling like a broken glacier, holding itself up in the ocean, while everything around it tried to make it drown. But you never did, mama you always stayed afloat. Like a nagging pest that just wouldn’t leave no matter how hard you tried.

Every attempt I managed at your life was counteracted by the forces of nature that always seemed to be on your side. Everyone was always on your side. Everyone loved you mama. But you never had any room for me. All I wanted was for you to love me. Then he came, then he swooped me up into his arms and gave me all the attention he could muster. I was the center of the universe. I was now the sun, turning my back on you just as everyone else did when you began to lose your shine.

I loved him and he loved me. I loved you mama and you loved me. So when the sharp and silver blade plunged into your chest I hope you knew it was love, impaling you. The way he licked up your blood gave me the largest sense of admiration for you mama. For once you were providing for me in a way you never had. You made him happy mama, you should’ve seen the joy in his eyes as your liquids pooled below my feet, his tongue sliding up my thigh, traces of red following closely behind. The most erotic and fullfilling sense of comfort i’ve ever experienced. Everything in me wanted to scream in pleasure as your skin parted for the blade. As effortless as it would be to slice through a fruit.

Now guess what mama? I’ve made you proud, I finally did it. Everybody fucking loves me. Everyones eyes follow where I walk everyones mouths drop when I look. I took your advice mama. Thank you.


My parents always talked about this and how this was their dream or maybe they meant the dream of the general populace. They thought, “besides teleportation, you could go anywhere you wanted at a much faster rate”. They didn’t think they’d see this in their lifetime, it was already seemingly impossible for the previous generation from my parents’ to have an electric car but when I was born, that was the first thing they purchased. “Safest on the market at the time,” my dad would say. As I kept aging, I guess the leaps and bounds in technology was just standard for me. My parent’s said they were alive when the Internet started which I found hard to believe until I looked it up. On road trips, I would watch shows anywhere we were and it was just a norm for me. On this day, even I did not believe it to be a norm. As usual, I started with my breakfast, morning caffeine, today I chose lemon bark coffee and I swear, it tastes like regular coffee but it doesn’t make me all nervous and junk. Anyway, went off to the store in preparation; I love road trips since my parents would always take me on them throughout my growing years and now with this car, I was able to visit them every month. My mom was scared of my car and my dad was so excited and wanted one. The only bummer he felt was he had no idea how to work on it, fix it, or tune it up so it felt like a distant invention rather than a project when something would go amiss. I prepped with groceries, too many snacks, I had enough of my pills for a little over a week-long visit, and plenty of drinks. My car had enough to make it to my usual stops before needing more juice. There were stops I often made along the way in the same towns but today I felt adventurous. I had more time off and I figured it could be fun.

Takeoff time is much easier because after getting what you need for your vehicle, each type of vehicle used a different fuel source, you could just drive far enough away from the juice station to clear a path and float until you reached a safe height before flying off. Traffic is not as much an issue as I’ve heard it was in decades past but we do rely heavily on computers of each system to talk to one another to direct properly. Mine ran on electricity; I chose this because there were more stop options versus other kinds such as juiced grass, gasoline (only the very rich and pompous really got those), and the like. I chose this because just like the option to stop often if needed, my dad drilled safety into my head. I tried my absolute best but in the end, the unpredictable can never be planned. I have only four stops before reaching my parents’ if I don’t rush and allow the car to cruise along it’s destination. I made one stop shortly before entering the state north of my own, got some snacks (yes I stocked up before leaving but I’ve got a problem with road trip snacks), used the restroom, and got some incredibly strange looks. I am not normally the type to be full of myself, I am very aware that my car would be considered a luxury in the past but it was a middle class item in my day and age. I had been to this stop many times before and it was so strange to encounter people who looked like they were upset with me. My car was done charging and I set the next stop and took off. This new stop was the first new one and the town looked awful compared to my usual places. It was a tad creepy with it’s dilapidated structures surrounding the gas station and roads that seemed to go on forever without facilities in sight. I didn’t try to focus too much on it and stopped to charge. I didn’t feel like walking around this location and decided it was best to wait for my next stop before exploring again. So much for adventurous, I know. This was just not what I was thinking when I was planning on new places. Stop three seemed to have gotten worse and although my onboard computer claimed there was a charger, I couldn’t find one. The place was better maintained but felt so dated. Thankfully, I just wanted to stop to use the restroom and I had enough charge to make it another stop. I did my business, asked if I was headed the right way and got a very excited confirmation. It was eerie, as though this person were more a creature, a robot of sorts created for the sole purpose of excitement building for the customer. I shook it off and went on my way. I wanted to have fun but also wanted to keep my parents in the know of my progress. I sent them a message and took off again. Stop four seemed so retro. There were buildings around from the 1960’s and they were well maintained. I took out my personal charger and plugged in to a nearby outlet since, again, there were no official chargers around. I had to report the computer in my car as it seemed to be on the fritz. I probably should stick to stops I knew to work for the trip from here on out. An adventure could be had when my arrival wasn’t anticipated by the biggest worry warts of this generation. Don’t get me wrong, I love when my parents show how much they care but I do not want to make them worry. People were really nice in this part anyway. They had all sorts of puns around hinting at aliens being a big attraction. Suddenly, when putting my hand in the “touch an alien” box, I heard loud screaming and ran outside. Someone had tried to unplug my car, no doubt trying to either take the juice for their own or my cord. I bought the protective add-on which heated up the cord to unbearable temperatures should it be handled without my approval. My alarm was going crazy as well and I went up to it to shut it off. The man began yelling at me, saying I was stealing his power. I assumed from that encounter that this part of the country hadn’t approved free electricity. I apologized, phased my newly purchased items into the trunk grid and hopped back in. As I took off, I could see cars galore coming and going through that location, all driving from long distances away. I assumed from this as well that they wanted to stick to their dated technologies. That would definitely explain the electrical predicament. My final stop before reaching my parent’s would have to be skipped. I was feeling uncomfortable and my parents would let me charge. I did not know my fifth stop so it wasn’t worth the weirdness I might encounter. Still, even with the skipping of stops, the strangeness grew. I landed onto the street a couple blocks from my parents’ and began the short drive on wheels. I knocked on the door and some tiny boy answered. I recognized him but couldn’t place from where. I know my parents work a day care from their home and figured I must have seen him on one of my video calls. I introduced myself and he ran off excitedly to get my parents as requested. When he returned, I was enjoying the sight of times past when I heard, “I didn’t know I had an older brother!” I turned back and fear set in… the little one was me. My parents were about twenty years younger by the guess of my age from the little one. I did not have a memory of this event but I was suddenly dizzy. I stepped back and fell off the small step leading to the door. Sirens came ringing into my skull and I saw police pull up. Retro car, a Crown Victoria. I remember my father talking about this dream car of his when I was little. The officer pulled his gun and demanded that I state my business… I had never been threatened and I could not understand why it was happening now. It was too short a time for my parent’s to make the call. My parents looked at me and quickly let the officer know I was using an experimental aircraft from the Air Force whose base was a couple miles away. The officer looked reluctant but pulled his gun down and called on his radio… on his shoulder, not his neck device. More confirmation, I was somehow in the past. My parents brought me water and a chair. They were consoling me and told me I looked so much like them there was no doubt of who I am. My mouth refused to move the water down my throat, my hands would not stop trembling.

*** It has been a full day since I landed and I have not yet ceased to exist. I write this as a memento, if needed, I need this knowledge so the boy will grow up and avoid the mistake I have made. I do not know what to do from here, whom to speak with or where to turn. If I spawn an idea, I will journal it so someone may know of what has transpired. If these are my last words, I may have disappeared whether by time-space conflict or I may have been kidnapped. I suspect I may be the one heard of long ago that was experimented on, a man that came from the sky. No one knew of his fate and no one cared to ask enough to find out because he sounded to be of myth. Wish me luck and please, save the boy from this fate. *** Fully charging still didn’t take long as my vehicle didn’t require very much. I had hoped that driving back might be what could return me to my time. My father worried it could make things worse but I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do now as it is. I flew off and kept flying following my onboard computer until I felt it was safe looking enough to land. Unfortunately, it never felt safe enough and I kept getting worried so, not paying enough attention led to my computer blaring, warning me that landing was necessary. I landed in what looked like a fairly populated area. These men with big blocks ran over and held them to their face. Lights flashed when I stepped out of my car. Everyone was dressed in suits and uniforms, even more dated than what I had seen previously. Guns came up and aimed directly at me. I raised my arms in surrender and asked more out of fearful confirmation than curiosity. Everyone looked confused like they couldn’t believe I was speaking to them. One man finally stepped forward and offered the newspaper, seemingly curious if I could understand. It was from the previous day… The date written was Monday, July 7, 1947. If I would have paid more attention and not let fear get to me, I might have been able to avoid landing in Roswell.


Alexei stood before the forest. In the distance, he heard the whispering of the engine of the truck that brought him before these woods. His air tank hung heavily on his shoulders and dug into his back. His radiation suit stuck to his sweaty skin. His mask felt choking and heavy. Alexei heard the footsteps of the soldiers that accompanied him. He took a look around and saw dark shadows moving forward in the thick fog. Alexei stepped forward into the mud. Massive dark trees stood over the group and disappeared behind the fog. Their leaves were mixed in with the mud underneath his feet. Their blanches hung bare and dead, murdered by the outrageous amounts of radiation spilling from the center of the forest. Alexei’s Geiger counter ticked away on his chest. The soldiers formed a single file and started into the forest. Alexei blindly followed in the group, clinging onto the straps of his air tank. The fog stayed close to the group, sprinting and weaving between the members of the group, casting a blur over them. Blurry outlines in the fog were hidden behind the dark and scorched bark of the trees that stood within the group. Alexei made sure not to break eye contact with the leader or any of the soldiers. They had been walking for some time now. Alexei was growing tired. His legs ached and his vision blurred. He muttered to himself, hoping that the group would hear him. He bent forward with his hands resting on his knees. He shut his eyes tight as he tried to regain his breath. The ground shifted beneath his feet, causing him to fall backwards. Alexei opened his eyes. Before him stood a massive wall of contorting metal and lead blocks. Spinning, diving, and climbing, slamming against each other, each time sending ripples across the floors Alexei now sit on. The top of the wall no longer disappeared into the fog, the fog no longer surrounded Alexei, but the wall disappeared into the dark. Into the nothingness that lies above Alexei. The wall loomed over him like a man looking into a fish tank. Alexei’s eyes drifted to the floor. Through the darkness he saw the rough outlines of lead cubes and metal. The sound of his Geiger counter broke through and entered his ears. Panic came over him as he scrambled and pushed himself away as fast as he could. The sound of his gasping filled his mask and his hands brushed past rough and cracked blocks of lead. His back slammed into something behind and caused his hands to slip. Alexei felt something strong grab onto his arm, and when he turned to look, his view was once again filled by the looming dark forest. “Sergei…” Alexei whispered at the soldier. “Come on doctor, keep moving. We’re almost there.” Sergei pulled Alexei back onto his feet before he turned and continued deeper into the forest. Alexei ran his hands over his radiation suit and checked for any damage. He suspected that there must’ve been some kind of leak, or perhaps one of his systems failed. Anything to explain what he just saw. He found no reason for his vision, other than the realization that his radiation suit might not be enough. He quickly caught back up with the group that was beginning to disappear one by one into the fog. Two hours later, Alexei was once again exhausted. He stopped and leaned against a tree to try and catch his breath again. But before he could close his eyes and take a deep breath, Sergei bumped into his shoulder, causing him to stumble forward. “We don’t have time for rest.” Alexei looked back up. Just behind the fog was a sharp shadow that didn’t resemble anything he had seen in the forest. The group seemed to be moving in that direction anyway, so Alexei decided to take a look. As he came closer, the rough outlines began to become more and more clear. He began to make out the large rectangular shape of the object. It seemed to be lying crooked. Alexei reached the object and noticed that its door had been opened. He rested his hand on the camouflage surface and leaned in. His flashlight poorly lit the inside of the helicopter. Through the darkness and the fog, he made out the shape of two feet. Alexei stepped into the cargo hold and hesitantly approached the shape. As he grew closer, the light from his flashlight cut through more and more fog until he finally reached the body. Through the cracked glass on the corpse’s gas mask, Alexei saw brown skin drawn tight over its protruding cheekbones. Its eyes had sunken into its skull. Its clothes were contorted around its half decomposed body. Alexei felt his breath catch in his throat. Alexei quickly backed out of the helicopter cargo bay and back into the fog. He stumbled back into Sergei, almost knocking himself over. Alexei looked back at Sergei only to hear him mutter, “So this is where they kept their vehicles.” His arm slowly rose and pointed into the fog. Alexei followed his finger and saw the outline of the warehouse behind several silhouettes. “Come. We need to keep moving.” Sergei began to walk after the group and Alexei quickly followed. He didn’t want to go off on his own again. Alexei had lost track of how much time had passed. They must’ve spent most of the day walking by now. He couldn’t tell. The sun was blocked out by the tall naked trees and the thick fog. The same measly amount of sunlight made it through. He couldn’t even tell which direction the sun was. He was going to ask them to stop. There was no way they expected him to continue on for so long without rest. This was outrageous! The only thing stopping Alexei from falling over asleep was the occasional spike in radiation that caused his Geiger counter to squeal. Before he could demand a rest, the group suddenly stopped. Why did they stop? Alexei focused his gaze to the front of the group. Through the dense fog, he saw five dark figures standing before the group. And there the two groups stood, motionless and silent. Alexei stepped forward and approached Sergei, who was at the front of the group. “Sergei, what’s going on?” Sergei didn’t speak. He slowly turned his head and looked at Alexei. Alexei couldn’t see his eyes through his vision, but he felt his gaze resting upon his shoulders. He felt everyone’s gaze resting upon his shoulders. “What’s going on?” he asked loudly, to the entire group. Alexei turned and faced a member of the other group, the man who stood closest to him and Sergei. He wore a different suit compared to the other four of his group. His suit had a massive visor that stretched from his head all the way down to his chest, while the other members wore plastic suits sealed at the face with gas masks. “You didn’t tell him?” the lead asked. “Tell me what?” Alexei questioned. “Do you think he would’ve come if I told him?” Sergei replied in a monotone voice. Alexei took a step back, and then another. He turned and tried to take a step, but before he could, the members of his group all raised their rifles. “Sergei, what-?” he asked as he turned back to Sergei, but his sentence snagged in his throat as he noticed Sergei’s rifle was also pointed at his head, “This isn’t what I signed up for…” Sergei motioned for Alexei to move forward. Alexei took a shaky step forward before Sergei reached out and pulled him before the man in the visor. The man stared at Alexei motionless for a moment before he stepped to the side. The sound of grinding stone filled Alexei’s ears in an instant. His hands instinctively covered his ears, but the thickness of his radiation suit stopped him from fully pressing down on his ears. The sound was deafening. He grit his teeth in pain as he slowly looked up to look behind the man. In a clearing of fog and trees, dull white sunlight shone down on a deep crater. Within the crater, held off the ground, was a mass of stone and lead, in a constant state of movement and dance. Up and down, back and forth. The mass contorted and shifted, never stopping, never resting. Pulled and manipulated by unknown forces. “What is that?” Alexei yelled over the sound. “Approach the object, Alexei.” the man said. Somehow, through the deafening orchestra of noise, the man’s voice could be heard clearly. “What?” Alexei yelled again as he turned. But he was met with no response, only the sparkling tips of their barrels. Alexei looked at the man and only saw his arm pointing at the mass. Alexei turned back and took a step forward. He felt a wave of resistance wash over his body, pushing him back and almost causing him to lose his balance. His Geiger counter screamed. He took another step forward and again, a wave of resistance. This time stronger, like a warning. He stepped forward again. And again the resistance washed over him, but the pressure didn’t leave his head. His Geiger counter now produced a single note. With every step the sound coming from the mass grew. It was shattering now. The wave was much stronger now. Alexei stumbled back. He shot a quick glance back to the group, but still he was met with the same greeting. He stepped forward again. This time he didn’t feel the push, but it felt like something pierced his forehead. His head exploded in pain. He felt his mouth open to scream, but before his breath could escape his mouth, the pain disappeared. Alexei fell to his knees as a cold sweat raised goosebumps across his body. He forced himself back onto his feet, but before he could step forward, a pain exploded from the innermost part of his head, radiating out and down his spine, dispersing throughout his body, reaching every inch of his flesh. Every part of him hurt, in the most intense pain possible. His mind went numb as he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Through the pain, the single idea, the single thought, of what he was sure to face if he turned back floated to the surface. Digging in his fingers, he forced himself forward. Somehow, the pain grew more intense. He now no longer felt the pain, all he knew was the pain. Pain. Pain. Or… Or death. Death for certain. So loud. Back there. No. Can’t go back. Forward. Forward? Sound. Pain. Pain? Maybe. He looked up and stared at the mass. Maybe. With all the strength he had left, he dug his hands and feet into the mud. He tried, he really did, but to no avail. He was stuck. Between certain death and eternal pain. He contemplated turning back. Anything, *anything*, was better than this. He had to turn back. He felt his body relax, despite the pain. It was deafening… A single thought rose in his head, so alien and clumsy, so random. A single thought, one word, one command. *Stay* He didn’t know why, but he listened. He wasn’t aware of his choice, nor his thought process, only aware of his final decision. And so, he stayed, his muscles tensed. The pain reached a pinnacle. Alexei passed out. His face mask pressed against the cold mud. And all fell silent. He opened his eyes. He was now standing. His mask was clean. His suit felt new. The stickiness and humidity was gone. His air tank felt like. His Geiger counter was silent. He looked forward and noticed the mass, quiet and unmoving. Calm. Settled. He stared at it, felt it staring back. And both stared, an equal mix of curiosity and fear between the two. Alexei slowly raised his arm forward. He was so close to touching its surface. Before he touched its cold surface, the world changed. The mass returned to its violent state. Alexei jumped back in fear. Above the sound of the grinding blocks came a screaming, a screaming so violent and feral, so desperate. Above the mass, the man with the visor could be seen, paddling and struggling within the mass. He pushed and shoved, and begged. He screamed at Alexei. He screamed at him to help, to save him, to take away his pain, and, finally, to kill him. Alexei stood motionless, shock overcame him. He was frozen. Blood pooled at the feet of the mass. Blood spewed forth from every opening. The sound of tearing flesh and crushing bone echoed throughout the impossible space. One final scream, one final fight. Alexei awoke and pushed himself off the mud. He stood up, adrenaline pumping, and tore off his mud covered gas mask. He took in a full breath in what felt like days of strangulation. Before him, in a neat half circle, were the bodies of the men, all with their blood dripping down and into the crater. All artificial in appearance. The mass was gone. The fog was gone. The sunlight now dominated the space. And above all else, it was quiet. Silent. Finally. Silent.


It was a long, cold hike in the snow, but I had finally reached the perfect position on the mountainside. I took the stool, easel, paper, and charcoal from my pack and set up my little portable workshop. Through my gear, I could tell it was freezing. Thankfully, for my comfort and for my work, the air was still this morning. I sketched the outline of the bell tower first - such a quaint vision, a church in the middle of town with a bell rising above all else. It was the first thing to catch my eye in the town below and the perfect centerpiece for my work. I loved creating new art, and was appreciative that I was allowed to do it so consistently. My job was difficult, so it was essential to find joy in small things such as that. Plus, for the same reason it was difficult, I was able to look upon each of my landscapes in a way no other artist had before. Certainly in a way I never had, at least. Not when I really should have done so. That's the thing about hindsight, I suppose. I'd resolved to never make that mistake again, and it gave me a unique view of each new scene. I had to convey information through my work that people would never be able to see for themselves. It was a fantastic responsibility, and I did not take it lightly. Once I had finished with the basic structure of the homes and small shops, I made sure to include the flora around the town so they wouldn't be forgotten. Whether preserved or planted, they existed today because somebody cared, and that deserved to be noticed. As I outlined an evergreen tree on the outskirts of town, I recalled a time celebrating Christmas with my family. We decorated a tree in our backyard as the sun went down. When we were finished, the kids played in the snow as my wife and I sat by the firepit exchanging small gifts for one another. Christmas wasn't 'til morning, but we had a Christmas Eve gift tradition just between us. She got me a pair of silly holiday socks; a simple gift, but the socks she bought me made me smile all through the year, every morning as I got dressed. This time, a snowman, half-melted with its head plopped on the ground beside it as the sun shone above it; not unlike the one my kids were making now, only the head in the snow was newly-crafted and nearly ready to be placed atop its lopsided body. My daughter finished packing the snow together while my son added extra arms to the torso. Those kids were my world. I was lucky enough to realize it in the moment, each time I looked at them. My wife opened her gift and smiled through tears as she realised two things simultaneously: First, it was exactly what she wanted, and second, it was far more expensive than a pair of socks. This was a game we played every year. It was never my intention to show her up as she playfully claimed, and truthfully I never saw it that way; my favorite gift was seeing how happy she could be because of something I had done. Back on the mountain, my heart ached, longing for my family. It had been too long since I could hold them; longer than any person should have to go without such joy, but I was certainly not the only one these days. I was forced to wonder about the families in the town below, constantly making new memories that they didn't yet realize were all-too-fleeting. I checked my watch: Nearly 0300 hours. Not much time left. I was grateful to think these people had at least gotten to enjoy Christmas the day before. Again, small joys. But I had to work quickly, now. I was careful not to miss anything. I added the finishing touches of moonlight glistening on the snow-capped rooftops and the small bit reflecting off the bell in the tower. It was important that I capture every detail. After all, I was memorializing the town. I signaled to the company that I was finished. I gingerly placed the drawing into my folder to keep it safe; it was the most precious thing in the world right now. Until the next one, anyway. I folded my stool and easel, packed them away with my charcoal as the planes began to sound in the distance. I waited in the cold, silent morning watching the town. They deserved that much, though they couldn't possibly realise why. I felt a tear burn my cheek in the winter air and quickly wiped it away. The planes flew overhead. The bombs dropped. And just like that, like so many before, the entire town lived on only in my drawing.


I met an old man dying on a train. When you hear something like that, you prepare yourself for the inevitable moral conclusion that will come at the end of the story. You settle in to your comfortable chair, and you begin to wait patiently for the praiseworthy denouement. Well, let’s hear some truth. I met an old man dying on a train. He didn’t say much of anything when I sat down across from him. Maybe he made an odd noise that old people are prone to make, I honestly wasn’t paying much attention. The room was hot and stuffy - and normally I’m alright with a little bit of heat and humidity - but for once - I noticed. I noticed the way his breathing was labored, shallow on the inhale and weezy on the exhale. I noticed the way sweat collected around the sides of his neck, tracing beady lines down his deathly pale, wrinkly, blotched skin. I noticed when he closed his eyes, he dreamed of being young again. How when he closed his eyes, our roles were reversed and he was staring at me in my debilitated condition, silently judging my existence as a matter of my condition. The train came to a screeching halt. I would say I smelled burning rubber - but that’s impossible because trains don’t work like that. I smelled my own mortality, right then, I think. When I walked away, I didn't look behind me, not for *one* second.


#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, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Image: ** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - Use at least **three** of the following words: wilted, starstruck, bucket, gastly, whirlwind, Corpse Lily.* This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.). The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings ###Two Weeks Ago: The day began like any other - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/FyeNite   - - Submitted by u/gurgilewis   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666 *** ###This Past Week: Destiny was calling - - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - Submitted by u/AliciaWrites   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/FyeNite *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


July 2019 ‘So you had just started telling me Stan, whatever happened to Aunt Ada? She seemed so fit for 93.’ ‘She was. Good strong bones with plenty of meat still on them. You know how old people often get really skinny. Lose all muscle tone. But not Ada. She went to Pilates twice a week, right up until she was almost ninety. And she played tennis at Wimbledon when she was in her twenties. Hockey too. Taught PE at the local convent school. Received an MBE for services to sport after she retired.’ ‘Wow, she sounds like a remarkable lady,’ Jean was ramming another slice of roast meat and horseradish into her mouth and chewing appreciatively.

‘Didn’t she leave her body to medical science or something?’ she continued. ‘Something like that.’ replied Stan, ‘Something like that. Pass the potatoes won’t you my dearest.’ January 2015 ‘I don’t want to be cremated after I die,’ said Aunt Ada. ‘Well we won’t do it beforehand,’ laughed Stan. ‘How’s your crackling by the way? Is it crispy enough?’ ‘Mmmm. Delicious. And the apple sauce is to die for. Are the Bramleys from old Mr Johnson’s garden.’ ‘All home grown my dear, all home grown.’ ‘What happened to him, that Mr Johnson? Didn’t he die quite recently?’ ‘Funnily enough, it was only a couple of weeks ago,’ replied Stan. ‘Went quick. Heart just stopped. Shame, because he was in really good condition for 78. Played five-a-side football up until his sixties and coached the youngsters from the deprived areas.’ ‘In really good condition...you make him sound like a prize heifer Stan.’ ‘It’s the same thing really. And he didn’t want to be cremated either.’ June 2019 ‘It’s good to know I’m helping the environment. No grave to dig and tend and take up room in the cemetery. No smoke to pollute the atmosphere.’ Ada was in bed at home, no hospital for a hardy old duck like her. Nothing like dying at home in your own space. It had always been her wish. It didn’t take long. She went to sleep to the sounds of Classic FM and didn’t wake up the next morning. Stan was with her of course. She’d never married or had any children. He was her only remaining relative. And all her friends had passed long ago, Madge who she’d known since they were children at 77, Edith from the corner shop at 81. She had even outlived Maud who was a right old dragon in her time. Used to be the caller at the Bingo. Clickety click, sixty six. Eighty eight, two fat ladies. They said it was her bad temper that kept her going till she was almost 90. She said it was because she was one of the two fat ladies. But even she couldn’t match Ada’s rude health and sharp wit. January 2015 ‘I was just thinking, Ada. If you don’t want to be cremated, have you thought about what you’d like done with your body? Afterwards, I mean.’ ‘You can stick me in a bin liner and chuck me in the dumpster for all I care. I won’t be here to see it will I?’ ‘That wouldn’t be very good for the environment would it and the bin men would never get over the shock. All those limbs sticking out of the bag. It would be like a horror film or one of those crime thrillers. You know when they come to collect the rubbish and there’s a hand poking out with a digit missing.’ ‘Stan, you are awful. I think that’s why we get on so well.’ ‘There are other options of course.’ ‘I’m not being buried at sea, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she continued. ‘Always hated the water. That’s why I never learnt how to swim.’ ‘You won’t be swimming, Ada my dear. Not even floating. But I wasn’t thinking of anything like that. You’re far too valuable to be fish food. Let me explain my after-death plan. I think it might take off and become popular if people could just stop being so squeamish.’ July 2019 ‘Stan.’ ‘Yes Jean my sweet.’ ‘I was just wondering whether this is beef or lamb. It has an unusual taste, lighter somehow.’ ‘It’s neither actually. It’s Aunt Ada.’ ‘Ha ha Stan. You do make me laugh. You have such a warped sense of humour.’ ‘I’m not joking Jean. It really is Aunt Ada. She and I made an agreement a few years ago. She didn’t want to be cremated...’ ‘Yes but….’ ‘You see, you were enjoying it before I told you. We were having such a lovely dinner. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it. It’s good meat, human. Bit like veal or chicken, especially if the person lived a healthy life. No smoking or too much alcohol. Stay out of the sun at noon times. Moisturise every day. Plenty of flesh but not too much fat. There’s loads more in the freezer.’ ‘Please tell me you’re joking. I’m going to be sick, Stan. I think there’s something stuck in my throat...’ ‘Don’t be like that Jean. At least finish the roast potatoes and the cauliflower cheese. It’s your favourite.’ August 2019 ‘So you had just started telling me Stan, whatever happened to Jean? I gather she passed away quite recently.’ ‘Very sad it was, Margaret. We were going to be married next year.’ Stan was chewing the meat off a lengthy femur. ‘Quite sudden actually. She choked on a metatarsal. It was such a lovely dinner we were having. Roast with the full works. Yorkshire pudding, bread sauce, spiced parsnips and my special gravy. And cauliflower cheese of course. It was her favourite.’ ‘Oh Stan. I love cauliflower cheese, but it’s the meat part I like best. This is like veal. Very tender,’ said Margaret. ‘Funny you should say that my dear. I like the meat best too. And this is very special. Cooked with love as they say. And there’s plenty more in the freezer.’


"We can't afford that." Despite the promises, she heard the sentence again, and to amplify the injury it did anyway, she heard it right in front of the salesman, who had patiently shown them the twenty three thousand dollar leather couch. She thought she saw in the eyes of the salesman, the worst, the most humiliating and insulting of all emotions, pity. Though it was just a flash and though after all, Camilla could still somewhat rely on being much wealthier than this neat and inconspicuous man, it nonetheless ruined her day and her mood. Being pitied by an ordinary. Wordless she turned around, stuck her nose up in the air and left, stomping her heels on the marble floor. William looked after her then made a brief, explanatory gesture in the salesman's direction, whose friendly manner, William thought, couldn't hide a sort of commiseration, which half amused and half angered him. Though Camilla's temper at times would run wild and ruin an afternoon, William was certain that his wife possessed countless times the beauty and ability for societal grace than whomever the man in front of him shared a marital bed with. "Shall we reserve the couch for you, in case you reconsider?" the salesman asked. "Yeah, do that." William answered. "It is reserved for two weeks." "Thanks." said William, knowing that in two weeks, nothing about his financial situation would have changed and they would never come back to buy the couch. And then when money was coming in, and who knew when that would be, for the disgrace, they would shun this expensive and exclusive furniture store. So William was aware, he would never see the salesman again and thus was even less anxious than before to display any excess courtesy. William Stephenson was a man who couldn't help but reflect his inner workings onto the world around him. Three prosperous years of ascent in the banking sector had left his environment under the impression to be dealing with a man of constant, mellow satisfaction. The last year, where this ascent had come to an involuntary halt had left William many days agitated and short fused. Where there had been good manners and an unobtrusive interest in the people he encountered, were now a more or less concealed indifference and a certain uncivilness. The latter was inherited from his late grandfather, who had become known, in the elderly days, for an offensive and intended lack of good breeding, which had seemed like an attempt to alienate the most amount of people possible before his death and William, until this day, suspected the old man of having had a thievish joy in it. William turned around and left and gave no response to the "Good day, sir." The salesman thought nothing in particular of William and Camilla. He was too much of a professional and dealt with too many moody snobs, to do that, or to take any of their behaviour personally. He was rearranging the cushions of the couch with stoic, butler-like neatness when the entrance door shut behind William. He found Camilla in the car, browsing through a clothes catalog and he, in a burst of impatience yanked it out of her hand and only a piece of the page she had been holding remained there. "Asshole." she muttered and crossed her arms and looked out of the window. She carelessly dropped the snippet from her hand to the floor and William turned to her and said "Pick that up." "What?" she returned indignantly, in theatrical disbelief. "Pick it up." he repeated. "Pick it up or you walk home but you won't be littering my goddamn car." he wasn't in the mood to fight and wanted to make a definite, indisputable point. But Camilla, when she was defiant, always made it her mission to show William how little she took him seriously. She just chuckled, took the snippet up, ripped it in half, and dropped both pieces to the floor again. William got out of the car and was at her door before she could lock it from the inside. He yanked it open and she gave a shriek when he seized her arm. He began pulling and her shriek enlarged to a hysterical scream which attracted attention all around and even from the little, neat, butler of a salesman inside the furniture store, who was as far as a monk removed from any nosiness or gossip. Foaming, William let go of her arm and shut the door and cast a challenging glance around. But as this glance was reflected in one or two witnessing faces of men, and he was in no more of a mood to fight with them than with his wife, he got back into the car and drove off and for a while they both said nothing. Their drive home, from downtown back into the upper suburbs, was forty minutes. Camilla switched on the radio and William switched it off again directly. She rolled the window down and he rolled it up again. And condescendingly, trying everything to sound bored by these antics, she said "Really? How old are you William?" and as he didn't respond she added, more to herself, "That might be illegal." "You know what's illegal?" he returned "Embarrassing everybody who is with you by acting like a damn spoiled child." "Oh, Willy…" she said sarcastically but as he stopped the car, almost making it an emergency stop and drove on to the parking lane, she sat up straight, aware to have crossed the line. “Get out.” he said. “No.” Camilla said. “You get out of the car, now.” “I am sorry, William, can we please just go home?” “Get out.” “You can’t throw me out. Please. Just let us go home and then we order food and tonight all will be forgotten and tomorrow we will laugh about our silliness.” William pulled the key out of the ignition, opened his door and stepped outside. It was a beautiful day. The snowwhite clouds painted manifold shapes on a richly blue canvas. He took a deep breath and realized at once how tired he was and how much in need of tranquility. He looked to the left and right and then crossed the street, where on the other side he spotted a small book store. He saw himself now, finding momentary peace between the bookshelves, maybe opening one or two and reading a few pages, smelling the young paper and new ink. Way too long he hadn’t found the time to read because his weekends were usually spent now on brunches and then dinners with Camilla’s friends or boring, exhausting and meaningless shopping sprees. Not for the first time, he noticed how much Camilla’s shallow interests were mercilessly consuming his time and energy. He had, for this briefest interval, in his joyful expectancy of the little world of peace, almost forgotten his car behind him, in which Camilla was still sitting. The moment he laid his palm on the book store’s door handle, Camilla’s voice, screaming after him, served as a painful reminder. “William!” she screamed. But he overcame the moment of hesitation and despite her protest, entered and pulled the door shut and was embraced by the pleasant silence he had anticipated. The place was like a mellow dream, like every book store, a secluded, little, parallel world co existing, in a state of perfect harmony, next to all the rush and the din. As a child and a youth, William had done nothing rather than reading and had there been a career path, making him an underpaid man whose only purpose was reading books, he would have taken it without hesitation. But then there had been college and then some years later, half through connections and half through headless dedication, he had ended up in banking. There he forfeited, each day, mirth and mind, occupied solely with the soulless shifting of money and it weighed on him heavier than he would have admitted. He was grandly paid but they had promised him a promotion, a huge leap for his career a while back and in anticipation of that, he had begun living above his income, significantly propelled by Camilla and her longing for luxury and the upper class. Then they had withdrawn their offer and postponed William’s promotion until an unknown point in time. They were contractually obligated to give him the promotion sooner or later but they could and would do it at their discretion. Something that William was content with but also something, a narrow mind as Camilla’s, clouded by status conscious egotism wasn’t able to grasp. A fairly young woman, who had, in her upbringing, never experienced a delay in the gratification of her wishes, she had grown up to be under the constant impression, that the world’s purpose was her own entertainment. It became harder and harder for William to conceal his wife’s raging character flaws from his own scrutiny and the day where he finally had to acknowledge and face them approached inexorably. He traversed the rows of books with long, slow strides and the carpet absorbed every noise his steps would have made. He was looking for the section with english classics and soon found it and stood before it. It was like he was revisiting a familiar place of his childhood and the memories overwhelmed his comprehension. There they were, his havens, the sites of his childhood fancy, neatly placed, shoulder to shoulder, ready to invite and to welcome and supply every seeking soul with all of life’s endless possibilities. He picked out one of the books, some Fitzgerald, and couldn’t help but feel that the story of his own life was sometimes inspired by a recent reading of this virtuoso. He picked another one, a Dickens book and was transported back to his grandpa’s fireside, the most sheltered place of his childhood where he had devoured the stories of Copperfield and Pip. As so often, when the greatest pleasure, and even passion, invokes the wildest fancy, there came ideas into William’s head as to never go back. Never go back to Camilla or banking. For a moment he was sure he could find a job as a librarian or open his own book store, easily. For a moment he was sure, the only thing separating him from this dream of a life, forever surrounded by books, was a bit of courage that he yet needed to muster. For this brief interval of wandering thoughts, all of the economic sacrifice that came with a life as this, seemed negligible, even thinking of it appeared like a petty by-product of a spoiled and weakened mind. He took the two books he had opened, and a few others, with him to the counter. There he waited a moment before a young woman of maybe twenty two came out of the back room. William had inhibitions to start a conversation not related to their business transaction, as one usually has around strangers. But the vehemence of his inner workings, simply rendered it inevitable. And when he had paid, after the usual, small-talking friendliness, he said “Could I ask you another question?” “Sure.” the young woman replied. “Has it always been your dream to work in a bookstore?” At this moment, so entirely taken up by his imaginations, the only possible reason, in his mind, for anybody, to work in a bookstore, or own one, was a higher calling, a purpose and a life’s passion for literature and the written word. The young woman however looked at him in amused disbelief as to say ‘Are you kidding me?’ but as he didn’t waver and in earnest waited for a reply, she said “Oh, no. my dream?” she repeated the word as if she had to make sure that she had understood it correctly. “How much money do you think I make?” William was taken aback and found the question endlessly chastening. It was like a rude awakening from his romantic fantasizing. He was at once brought back to reality. A reality in which money was important. In which you needed to do things like banking in order to make it. And one in which not every bookstore owner or employee was part of a detached society which held the key to happiness without it. The young woman repeated the question but William was sullen now and unwilling to answer it. The world waiting for him outside of the bookstore had materialized again, returning from its brief repression, and him living in it, without a quick way for escape, was inevitable. It was a world in which Camilla would nag him about a new couch and about dinner with her boring, empty friends, in the course of which, William knew, he would become more boring and more empty himself because you are guilty by association when it comes to shallow stupidity. “Goodbye.” William said. “The answer is not a lot.” said the young woman, who was now, judging by William’s rudeness, under the impression that his question about her dream had been a mocking, ironic one. William was in no mood to further engage with her. Deep down, he did not like himself when he was unfriendly but there were moments in which he couldn’t help himself.