Saliva seeped from the scales as his fingers slipped between them. His reed felt moist against his tongue and his saxophone weighed heavy on his neck. Through the haze of smoke, the sound of Art Thompson bounced off the walls of the small club. Squeezed in a blue suit, soaked in rum and sweat, the dark figure towered above the mainly white crowd. To him, it was like any other show, but as the war loomed in everyone's heads, he took their fear and anxiety away and replaced it with moments of euphoria and magic, or the closest thing to it. The bass player plucked at the strings, the pianist softly tapped on the keys and the drummer lightly tapped the cymbals then making the odd brush sound on the snare drum. Standing around them were two other brass players holding a tenor saxophone and a trumpet. The crowd stood to attention. Usually, they would be dancing, but they couldn't dance to this. Not that it wasn't good, but what Art played was something different than what they were used to hearing. It was a style they had never heard him play before. Some people would think it strange and somewhat narcissistic to play something they didn't pay to listen too, but this was Art. You couldn't tell him what to play. In that moment and in that room, no-one existed but him, the music and his saxophone. They were captivated that he hadn't lost the passion or hunger to perfect his sound. The fresh-faced musicians around him watched in awe. He was their god, their Messiah. They lost track of how long he'd been playing for and they weren't going to stop him now, not while he was on his trip. Art fluttered between the high and low notes, taking small breaths out of the corner of his mouth. It was erratic and chaotic at times, but somehow it worked. Bits of spit flew out of the bell of the saxophone, hitting people standing by the front of the stage. The pianist, bassist and drummer were in sync with Art. A thin white man sat on the edge of his seat and tapped his foot. Next to him, another white man looked on in concentration and seemed to be studying Art's fingers as they moved. In the middle of the dance-floor, no one uttered a word. In the seats surrounding the club, dark silhouettes of people sat observing him. The drummer whose face was pouring with sweat caught eyes of a young woman. A man's arm instantly wrapped around her to let him know that she was with him. The drummer laughed it off and continued to dictate the tempo. The pianist noticed this as well and dragged the high keys to get the drummer's attention, all done seemingly without the crowd suspecting a thing. That is what you call talent. They both locked eyes and chuckled at each other, with the pianist sticking his tongue out at him. While all this happened Art's eyes remained lowered, almost closed, unaware of what was going on around him. He held his saxophone close and tight, like someone whom he cared for. There and then he began to think of the letter he received that morning. Enclosed was a picture of a baby in the arms of a man. On closer inspection, he knew it to be him and his father. He didn't pay too much attention to the letter apart from the words from his mother: "Your father has passed away." He read the whole letter, but that sentence stuck out to him. He didn't even cry. Instead, he reached for a bottle of rum and turned to his saxophone, playing any tune that came into his head. He usually reached for his horn as soon as he woke up, but this time he didn't want to part with it. He'd stop playing to fetch another drink but wouldn't detach the instrument from his neck brace. After a few more drinks, he would forget the saxophone was still attached and it would swing and clipping him on the face. Even complaints from neighbours couldn't stop his constant playing. He'd probably be kicked out of his flat by the end of the evening, like so many times before, but he wasn't bothered at all. Art didn't have an appetite. Rum and the saxophone were his only hunger. Playing and drinking, with the image of his father cradling him on the ledge of his fireplace. Art got drunker and drunker as the day progressed. Then at that moment, on the stage, Art's eyes closed and his cheeks inflated. He held the note for half a second until a numbing pain formed around his jaw. The note dipped in pitch and a shriek like sound came from his horn. Art at that moment sobered up. The audience shuddered and wondered if it was part of the piece. The band looked on with concern. He pulled the saxophone away from his lips, turned to his bandmates and grinned at them. They laughed thinking it was some sort of a joke, to see if they were still focused. He placed his tongue back on the reed and waited for a perfect time to start again, between the drums, bass and piano. Art took a deep breath and blew into the mouthpiece, again, taking the tip of his tongue away from the reed. He worked his way down the scales and everything was going well until the numbing pain returned. His cheeks flopped and he made a quiet raspberry sound. He tried to fight through the pain, but what came out of his horn, sounded like two foxes mating. The two white men down the front winced. A woman behind them covered her ears and a murmur descended around the room that the band couldn't disguise. Art stopped for a few seconds. The band passed each other odd glances. They knew something was wrong. Art looked down at his saxophone with stern eyes, like it was her fault. He pulled the horn to his lips, in an aggressive manner, and with all his strength, took a deep breath. His finger rested on the octave vent. His eyes tightened, and he blew as hard as he could. At that moment, everything went silent. Darkness enveloped around him, but he felt relaxed, young and at ease with everything, in his own world where no one bothered him. Away from the promoters and club owners who would tell him what to play. Away from men who attended shows to try and romance women, and away from those who would talk over the music as he played his heart out. He was brought back to the first time he set eyes on the saxophone. The horn had lost its shine over the years, but it still worked like the day his father gave it to him. He was brought back to a place. A place he hadn't been to, or thought about, in a long time. Far from London's cobbled streets and unforgiving winters. A place where Manicaria palm trees surrounded arches of tropical forests, sandy beaches and small villages that only spoke in French patois. His father had played the saxophone in many calypso bands around the island of Trinidad. Calypsonians like Art's father were treated like criminals because they spoke out against the British colonial rule, which meant some native islanders would distance themselves from his family. Strangely, his father made most of his money playing for society's elite that sympathised with their views, despite their unfair reputation. Art accompanied him to some of the shows and he would be surrounded by aristocrats in their lavish homes, far from the shanty house his family lived in. However, the shows Art remembered more fondly were performed in small dingy tents. Even though the people they played for were poorer than poor, they dressed immaculately. Men dressed in freshly pressed suits and women in colourful dresses. They'd sing songs with the hope of social and political change. The long evenings were spent drinking and dancing until the sun came up. Although his family were poor, Art's father never did it for the money, it was all about the music. That was something that had always stuck with him. When he gave Art his saxophone, it was like a rite of passage, like it was his turn to carry on where his father had left off. He played with the calypso bands, just like him, until one day in the middle of town, he heard music playing from a radio station in a small diner. The radio picked up signals from England and American. He couldn't remember who was playing and what they were playing, but whatever it was, Art wanted more. He returned to the diner regularly just to hear the music, music that he eventually learned was jazz from the radio hosts. Much to the disagreement of his father, Art began to play with more of a jazz influence. Bandmates of the time didn't fall in love with the music like him, so when he decided to leave his native home to explore the music that he fell in love with, it was no shock to his family. His father knew he could play because it was in his blood so he had no concerns about that, but he had hoped that Art would go back to playing calypso music. That wasn't Art's calling. Making his way from Trinidad to the English shores, all he had was the clothes on his back and his saxophone. There were times he went from job to job, woman to woman, dive home to another dive home but in the end, all he ever needed was his music. He remembered the days when he played to the sold-out crowds in the West End. Art was lot skinnier back then and his white tuxedo always looked baggy. The band of mainly Caribbean migrants wore the same as they played many nights throughout the seasons. Rain, sleet, snow and the sun, people flocked to hear to their music. Drinks flowed, people swayed and lovers romanced. The money was good and the lifestyle was infectious as Art rubbed shoulders with people who in different circumstances wouldn't pay him any attention. The conversations were trivial, but Art listened respectfully as they spouted out their opinions on music, art, politics or whatever drivel came out of their mouths. All the time he sat with a rum-based drink clenched between his hand and wondered how he was going to play that evening. Around this time, Art's father heard his music on a pirated radio broadcast back in the motherland. Being the perfectionist, he judged his tone and the way he annunciated certain notes when switching octaves. These long letters to Art only built-up frustration in him as a player. Although Art knew his father wasn't the greatest saxophone player in the world, not even the greatest in Trinidad, he still held his father's words in high regard. Any criticisms Art received, he felt determined to amend them. Sometimes he'd play until his mouth refused to work and his lips would bleed from the split reed. Sometimes when Art was in the presence of the band, instruments in hand and the crowd peering up at the stage, he would think dreadful thoughts such like 'I'm nowhere near as good as these men,' 'What if I accidentally hit the wrong note?'. The worst thought of all was: 'what if one day I won't be able to play anymore?' From then onwards, every night he performed he suffered from lightheadedness and heavy breathing like he thought he was going to die on some occasions. In those times the glass became his friend. After two or three drinks, Art felt more comfortable with his surroundings and almost forgot about the anxiety that always plagued him before shows. The crowd would never know and as long as he played something they could dance and romance too, they didn't care. He would often dream that his father would walk in on one of these shows to see him centre stage and give him a standing ovation. As time passed, he started to lose his passion for playing for the crowds at the West End. They smiled, they danced and even applauded, but after a while, he realised they never actually cared for the music. The band were all made to wear the same white tuxedos. The freedom he felt to express himself was slowly fading away. Art wondered if his band-mates felt the same. They looked happy enough, but inside were they as frustrated as he was. Most of them played with ease like they had been playing since they came out of their mother's womb, but half the time Art felt like an imposter, intruding on jazz. At one show, the great Coleman Hawkins attended, much to everyone's excitement. That afternoon before the show, Art practised like never before and started drinking early. An icon in their presence that made the rest of the band step up their performance but Art wasn't as sharp as he usually was. It was as if his dad was in his head, criticising his every finger movement, breathing technique and even his tone. The bandleader knew something was up and called him out. Art responded in a low tone "I'm trying. I guess my trying ain't good enough for you." Art calmly packed away his saxophone and walked out on the band that night and never to return to the venue. What felt like a lifetime to him, to others was a second. In the distance, he heard the crashing of a few cymbals and the light flicker of the piano. His eyes opened to a white light directly on him and dark silhouettes of people sitting in the distant. A black mist clouded his vision. He stumbled back, trying to find his balance clawing onto anything near. His bandmate, Ken Webb, stopped him from falling. Eventually, the mist cleared and he found himself looking at a stunned crowd. The piano, bass and drums were playing in sync. He watched as Ken stood beside him and placed the trumpet to his lips. The crowd half-heartedly cheered him as he stood back to let Ken play his solo. The show must go on. His heart fluttered as he felt his whole world crumble around him. Art felt his jaw, almost thinking that would help the stiffness. But he knew the truth. He was over. Finished. Fin. Finito. He looked around at his audience as they watched a fallen idol. He jumped off the stage and rushed through the crowd, his saxophone in the air. People stared in amazement as he ran past them, out of the front door and into the cold night. The faint sound of Webb and Art's band was all he could hear. Nothing in the street moved. In his solitude, he wiped the sweat from his head and sat down on the curb, placing the saxophone between his legs. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and swiped a match on the damp curb. It didn't light to Arts disappointment. Art took his horn and laid it on the concrete ground next to him. He held his head in his hand, staring at the cobbled streets with his unlit cigarette in his mouth. Trying to free his mind and remain calm, he heard the sound of someone running from the other side of the street. Gradually the footsteps got closer to him until they stopped right in front of him. "Need a light?" The voice spoke, similar to the patois of his native home. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a while and as his eyes left the floor, there stood a tall lanky figure in an all-white tuxedo with freshly shined shoes. He nodded, and the man in the tuxedo bent down and lit his cigarette. Art took one long drag and blew it in the air, purposefully ignoring the man and looking directly down the street. The man waited for a response but Art continued to take quick drags of his cigarette. "Take care." The man said in a soft and calm tone as he strolled down the dark street, his hands in his pockets. Art turned to watch him until he disappeared into the darkness of the night and felt remorseful of his interaction of him. Art kissed his teeth loudly and slouched between his legs. Art felt like something or someone was behind him but tried to ignore it. "Don't you know who that is, mister?" shouted a small dangerously skinny boy in excitement. "Why? Do you?" Art replied coldly. The boy's eyes lit up. "Do I! That's Joe 'The Breeze' Green! He's the best trumpet player there is!" "Oh he is, is he?" said Art, teasing the boy. "Yeah!" The boy squealed. "When have you heard The Breeze play then?" Art said in a patronising tone. The boy thought for a second. "I haven't Sir, but I heard he is." "Maybe." Art replied, with a small grin on his face. "He's never played here, I tell you that." Art removed the cigarette from his mouth and threw it on the ground. "How old are you son?" He asked. "I'm eleven Sir. I'll be twelve in a week's time." "Shouldn't you be at home? It's late out here." "I ain't got a home." Art then locked eyes with the boy and noticed the dirty clothes that rested on his shoulders, the tattered trousers and the soles of his shoes that had withered. He felt bad that he had responded coldly to the boy, but he didn't let on. "You aren't even old enough to get into the place." Joked Art. "No, but, I can still hear it from out here." "How often to do you sit out here and listen to this music?" "Anytime I can sneak out." Art laughed a little and shook his head. "Where do you stay? You shouldn't be out here at the moment, who knows when those sirens are going to start sounding off." "I ain't going back to the orphanage." The boy said, standing back from Art. "Maybe go back before you get in trouble." Art replied. The boy shook his head and all was quiet for a moment. "What's your name, my boy?" Art said, trying to break the silence. "Riley." "Look Riley you aren't gonna' hear no Joe 'The Breeze' Green's in there. He's at the West End by now, playing to the people with money." "Why aren't you playing with him?" Asked Riley. Art thought for a second. "I used to play for those crowds, probably in that same tux." Riley, inquisitive as ever asked, "Then why stop?" "It's hard to explain." "Why?" Art's eyes rolled and he kissed the inside of his cheeks. "It's hard to talk about. And I doubt a ten-year-old would be able to understand." "I told you? I'm eleven, twelve in a week's time." "Oh," said Art. "Sorry about that." He was genuinely sorry. Riley walked over to Art while in his silence and sat down next to him on the side of the pavement. Riley saw Art's saxophone and began touching the scales. With a side-eye, Art noticed him. "What you doing?" Art asked in an authoritative tone, something reminiscent to his father. "Just seeing how it works, I ain't' never seen one up close before. Are you going back inside now mister?" "No....I'm done for the night." He said looking up at the black sky. "Look you better go back to the orphanage, it's not safe out here." "I don't want to. I wanna listen to music." "Look, boy, I'm trying to tell you, go home. It's not safe." Then as soon as he uttered those words, a loud shriek pierced their ear-drums. Without thinking Art jumped to his feet. Riley held his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound. Then there was roaring above them as two aeroplanes passed them. Red lights shined through the hinted blue clouds. Art pushed aside his saxophone and picked up Riley, holding him close into his chest. He ran for the club doors. As the entrance door slammed shut on itself, Art's saxophone laid on the pavement alone. Everyone turned as Art burst through the door with Riley snug in his arms. The crowd were huddled together, silent around the dance floor. Art sat down with Riley still in his arms and closed his eyes. He looked down at Riley who looked as frightened as everyone else and he thought of his father again. Art didn't have any children or any that he knew off, but he thought of the picture his mother sent him of his father and in his arms a young Art. The smile on his father's face was that of love and falling in love at once. Although he didn't pay much attention to much of the letter he then remembered the words from his mother: 'We show our love in different ways and he loved you so. He may not have shown it, but I know for certain he was proud of you and what you have done.' It was also at that point that Art realised that he left his saxophone behind, but this time it didn't bother him. Outside, an explosive rumble made everyone jump. A few people screamed and a few people even started to cry. There were a few more tremors, that but they were far away. After that, it was silent again. Everyone began staring at each other wondering if that was the end of it. Art stopped holding Riley tight. When Art saw him, his eyes were still closed and he still had his hands over his ears. Riley would never know that Art was just as scared he was. People slowly made their way outside. There was a strong smell of burning in the air and a layer of foggy smoke filled the street. With Riley still in the arms of Art, the street was untouched and his saxophone still on the curb. Questions of 'Was it a drill? Did they miss?' were mumbled around the group, but no-one knew. In the distance was the faint sound of fire trucks and ambulances sirens. Someone shouted "The show must go on!" but no-one wanted to carry on the party and they slowly made their way home. Ken Webb, walked up to Art and patted him on the shoulder and headed back into the club with the rest of the band to collected their things. The crowd weren't ready to risk a few more hours as sitting ducks to the Germans and dispersed quickly. Art and Riley watched as they went in different directions until it was just the two of them. He put the boy down. Art bent down to pick up his saxophone and held it at his side. Riley looked up to him in wonderment. Out of nowhere, a person ran from the other side of the street, covered in dust. He had on the same white tuxedo and shoes as Joe 'The Breeze' Green. He was screaming something, hard to understand at first. Art and Riley looked into his direction. "Help!" He repeatedly screamed until he passed them and down the street. "The Breeze..." Art whispered to himself. He looked to the floor and gently kicked the ground. "What's happened, mister?" "Not to worry little Riley." Art rubbed his face and, in his mind, pictured Joe 'The Breeze' Green. How he looked as he ran down the street, a mere 10 minute ago, full of life. "Riley. Would you please go home now? It's not safe out here." "I told you, I ain't got one mister." Art then placed the saxophone back onto his neckpiece, then turned to Riley; his eyes red. "Please go home, Riley." It was then Riley ran down the street and out of sight, leaving Art on his own. He placed both hands around the saxophone and began to play 'Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye.' He remembered the first time he performed it, and how the boys and girls coupled up on the dance floor. A married couple, cornered him one night and said they meet at his show and danced together for the first time to their rendition of that song. At the time it brought a tear Art's eyes because he felt like his playing meant something to someone. Surprisingly he remembered the whole song and all was going well until his cheeks failed him again. This time he didn't fight it. He stopped, unclipping the saxophone from his neckpiece and took one longing look at it. He placed it back on the curb and began to walk away. He heard the sound of tiny footsteps rushing up towards him. "Mister!" He turned to see Riley. "You left your saxophone." Art smiled at him, took off his neckpiece and walked over to little Riley. He handed the boy his neck strap and said, "It's yours now... An early birthday present. Take care, Riley." Riley looked shocked. He hesitantly picked up the saxophone, which was a bit too heavy for him and began to smile. "Thanks, mister," Riley shouted, watching the back of Art as he walked away from him. Art chuckled to himself and called out, "Call me Art." He slowly made his way down the empty street, leaving little Riley with his saxophone, down into the darkness, until he couldn't be seen any more.


Sensitive Content: Mention of suicide, murder, and crime. The red leaves spring from the trees towering above the busy streets of Burlington, Vermont, and sway side to side, falling into the wind currents that push and pull them in every direction. The trees emerge into a blend of vibrant colors, the foggy air is crisp, and stores all over town are selling their best autumn-themed products.

Soon enough, the harsh winter comes along once again. And everything dies. For the rest of the year, I hated living in Vermont, the harsh cycle of nature is one of the many reasons I despised it. Sometimes I like to imagine how things could have been different. If I was different. Stronger, smarter, braver. Would my mother still be alive? The thoughts of my mother are like red leaves swaying in the wind, that I can never catch. They always fall in the same place, only to be smushed into the ground, and covered with snow. My brain distorts those thoughts like a new tree that sprouts. But the ones I have left are happy ones. I'd never been to a funeral with so many people, and I’ve been to an overwhelming amount of funerals. Every neighbor in our town must have been there, mourning, and paying respects. So many people emphasized how much my mother had touched their lives, and what she sacrificed for them. How she never turned her back on anyone, how she gave and gave until there was nothing left for her to give. She never walked away from her integrity, it was like a magnet that clung to her soul.

“Delia listened to me when no one else would.” Her friend said. “I never felt judged by her.” Her brother said. “I’d walk away from her feeling like I had won the lottery. She made me so happy.” Her cousin said. “She still had so much more to live for.” Her husband said. My fathers’ words remained with me like a scar, they burned into the back of my skull and tore away at it. A flood of anger pooled into my body that day as I watched him feign tears. He shook hands with the mourning neighbors and made a mockery of them. He had everyone fooled. My mother was a saint. And my father murdered her. My dad told me that nobody would believe me, and he was right. It was suicide they said. Could they really believe that? My mother, who has an undying love for her life and the people in it, she just ended it? But if my father said it then it must be true.  He’d been a criminal for years prior to murdering my mother, but he never let it stain his record. To everyone else, he was the perfect citizen, the perfect father. But I’ve seen every side of him, my father treated me like worthless garbage. Because that's all I was to him, an extra necessity, another mouth to feed. A decaying product of his wife. Everything I did, whatever I said, anything I wore, a new hobby I found, and friends that I made. He hated it all. Anything that brought me joy, he wanted it gone.

The reason he killed the love of his life and then decided to be angry about it was beyond me. According to him, it was his only choice, the last resort if she ever knew him to be the criminal he truly was. Because he wanted to be the “perfect man” in her eyes. As if she actually cared about something as shallow as that. It was all lies, an excuse to kill, it was premeditated just like everything else he does. If he wanted to kill someone so badly, he should have used the rusty knife to puncture his own cold dying heart. I’m sure everyone would have been happier. I certainly would be. Even after I ran away from home, leaving behind the mess my life had been. Even after making lifelong friends, and becoming educated in the ways of criminal justice and law. Something is still missing. Something was always missing. I could almost see my smiling mother and me. It was just the two of us during a golden sunset, walking to get ice cream from our favorite spot right down the street from our house. I could almost see my mother carefully frosting the strawberry cake for my 9th birthday, her glowing brown eyes filled with joy as I blew out the golden candles. I could almost see my mother reading me a book completely in German that I couldn’t understand. I could almost see her brush my red hair back after tucking me into bed. I could almost see her the night I left her all alone. Dad and she were fighting, and he gave me his wallet and practically tossed me into our neighbor's house. Whatever led up to me discovering she was dead is long forgotten. My depressed brain won't allow me to see that. What I do know is that my dad didn’t hesitate to tell 11-year-old me the truth. “Everything is changing Dimitri, you'd better get used to it." He said.

Nor did he refrain from threatening my life if I told someone. As far as I knew, this was my mother's fault. She was just another statistic, struggling with crippling mental health issues. Even as an adult man, with a steady career as a detective. You’d think my life has been fulfilled, that it has a meaning. What good would life be without the one who first made it worth living?

When I see my father again, he is in a courtroom. I'm the detective and he is the accused. This time, he’d be the statistic, a criminal. I no longer need to imagine how life could have been different.

And so I once again watch the red leaves sway from the tree and crash to the ground, but this time they aren't crushed or covered with snow. The seasons have come full circle, but this time when winter comes I have a coat to protect me from the death and sadness that comes with it. Now I'm smart enough to know that there are ways to survive the winter, and I dont have to do it alone. My best friend gives a nod of approval before she begins the questioning.

Nature may be harsh but it’s no stranger to justice.


his sister Ah, finally the day had come when Jocelyn and Carter tied the knot. The two had been dating for what felt like years! Although they weren’t high school sweet hearts, they did meet soon after they graduated at boot camp. Jocelyn’s father had been in the army and she intended on following her father’s footsteps, hoping to make him proud in heaven. Meanwhile, Carter Wilbert just did what he had to do in order to do something with his life, and so, having a pretty athletic physique and a macho personality, the army felt like a good path to take. Their time there was no fun and games but what they went through together brought them to a similar state of mind. Coming out of their training, Jocelyn found out that her father was no guardian angel watching over her and that she had to do things herself whilst Carter realized that his ego was a little too big and that it was his actions would define him, not his family’s wealth. They served their four years and decided to take a yearlong break, that’s when they travelled the world together. They went from Thailand, to Russia to Cuba and did all they could in the spam of a lifetime. Once they got back to the States, they decided to introduce each other to their families. Jocelyn’s mom was overjoyed to find out her little girl wasn’t alone in the hardships of the military and welcomed Carter as a member of the family. However, Carter’s family was a little different. He had two sisters, one was his twin sister and the other much younger. The parents were statue like individuals with blonde hair stricken by sliver strands and each had an aristocratic feel to them, which always made Jocelyn feel somewhat uncomfortable. Mr. Wilbert worked at the Pentagon and appeared as a very powerful man and Mrs. Wilbert worked with many fundraisers for developing companies. The two sisters were quite similar, the smaller one still being in college and studying to become a business woman. She was very small and frail, she looked like a little bird that had fallen out of its nest somewhat different from the rest of the strong golden eagles. Carter’s twin was probably the most gorgeous woman Jocelyn had ever seen in person, her hair was long and silky, her limbs strong and yet lean. Everything about her made Jocelyn feel insecure, and what made things even worse was her relationship with her twin brother. When they got there, she and him and instantly taken off and she was left as a third wheel. Every time they spent a second alone together a part of Jocelyn died a little. She attempted to speak to Carter about it but he brushed it off as if it were no big deal. But Jocelyn wasn’t blind and couldn’t ignore the look in his eyes, the intimacy of their touch and the way their voice lowered when she approached them unwarned…Nonsense! They were siblings! They were twins for God’s sake! How could Jocelyn be so jealous? Jesus, she was insecure but at that point?! Anyways, today was Jocelyn’s big day and she was going to be the princess. She wore a long white mermaid trail dress. She had chosen it with her best friend Olivia months ago but didn’t remember it feeling so tight. Was it because of the cake her friends sent her last week to celebrate her wedding early? Her eyes crossed Olivia’s who was looking at her in awe. “Man Joss, you look like you’re shinning!” Oh, if only she felt that way! She looked at Olivia, she was wearing the bridesmaid gown they picked: a simple blue dress that ended at the heels. Her hair was pressed into a tight ponytail and Jocelyn would’ve gone back to preparing herself if she hadn’t noticed some gold in the corner. There came gliding forwards the imagery of a painting come to life. In a long deep green dress, with a low V neck and several coats of cashmere that went to the ground appeared Callie, Carter’s twin sister. If it were up to Jocelyn she wouldn’t have invited her but it wasn’t only her wedding and she was Carter’s twin, so she had to come one way or another. Carter had suggested she be a bridesmaid but Jocelyn couldn’t imagine having her be behind her while Carter was saying his vows. But looking back on it now, it might have been a good idea to stick her in an ugly dress. “Oh Jocelyn, you look outlandish!” She said with her velvet voice, as she kissed Jocelyn on her two cheeks. Jocelyn pulled back an instant and then remembered that it was a coutume in Europe to kiss people as a greeting. Because of course, her being a great ballerina had been touring around the world. Jocelyn tried to give her a smile but felt as though she was grimacing and turned away. No matter what Callie looked like, what she said or did Jocelyn decided she would bring the attention back to her and her husband to be. Callie excused herself to take her seat and suddenly it hit Jocelyn that she was getting married now, at this very instant! Olivia took her hands and together they squealed in excitement. Jocelyn had a hard time taking in the fact that this was going to happen right now: Carter was going to be all hers! “Baby, it’s time.” Said her mom from behind her, she was in a casual looking dress but the smile on her face made everything brighter. Jocelyn wished her father could be there, but she was more than thankful to have her mother walk her down. Since he died, it had always been the two women together. Jocelyn was aware that this was a little hard for her mom, but she’d sworn to herself to visit as often as possible. The music began and her bridesmaids left the mother and daughter alone. Jocelyn was gripping her mother’s arm so tightly and slightly started shaking. She attempted to take some deep breaths, like she was taught in the military but they came out all jolty. Her mother hugged Jocelyn and told her some reassuring words before their time was up. * Nervously, Joss started walking up the aisle, hand intertwined with her mom’s. As she looked around her, all she could she was a daze of heads in colorful clothing and popping hair. She couldn’t focus on anyone’s face and suddenly felt extremely conscious of herself. The dress seemed to be even tighter and her makeup weighed on her face. But then her eyes went to the front of the church, where stood her beautiful man. She smiled gawkily as she realized they were to be with each other forever. She imagined getting home after this long night, twanged together as if they were discovering each other for the first time. She thought about all the time they’d have each other, getting an apartment then moving into the suburbs and eventually having children. Growing old together wouldn’t be as scary if he were by her side. Jocelyn glided through the church, ignoring the peering eyes around her, all she wanted was to be Mrs. Carter Wilbert. She didn’t know half the people there and thinking about it brought anxiety she didn’t want to face quite yet, that would be for the reception and the toasts. She was about to get to the top when she caught a glimpse of dark green in front of Carter’s row. Jocelyn’s eyes were burning her as she wanted to look at Callie and see how Carter belonged to her. Now, he would first be Jocelyn’s husband, and then a twin brother. But with all the willpower she had in her, she focused on Carter who was waiting at the altar like a good golden retriever. He had on a dark brown suit and had a few of his military badges on him. Joss wanted to wear hers to but it didn’t look good with the dress. His hair had grown out of its usual shave, and Joss didn’t really recognize him for a split second. She hadn’t really seen the difference with all wedding preparation. Actually, she hadn’t seen him a lot in the past two weeks.

He always wore his hair short, even when they travelled together. This small change in Carter made Jocelyn rethink everything for no reason at all. It was just a stupid haircut, why was she getting so worked up about it? Was it because she’d been so busy with the planning? Jocelyn brushed away all those thoughts and focused on the ceremony. Although not very religious, it mattered a lot to her mother and Carter so she had accepted. As a kid, church was always very boring to her and had a hard time believing everything that was said. But she had to admit, churches were quite beautiful so it could’ve been a lot worse. Suddenly, as she’d drifted away in her thoughts and the priest brought her back to reality as he asked if Carter would take her for wife. Her eyes sank into his as he spoke loudly and clearly: “I do.” The happiness she felt in that instant was outlandish. The rest of the church was empty and she was in her own bubble with Carter. She was thrown back into the tough times when they had to run missions in delinquent areas. The memories from their time warm and humid Guatemala, where they helped care for a school came rushing back. But now, she was here, in front of her soul mate. And so, she muttered “I do” for the only person who would ever hear it. “You may kiss the bride” The priest proclaimed after the exchange of weeding bands and the groom pulled her tightly over as the guests cheered. Jocelyn kissed him as if there were no tomorrow, no matter if the kiss seemed animal like or if people gossiped. Everything was hers. This was all she could ever need. * The celebration was a craze, everyone danced and laughed. All her fears she’d felt before seemed to have evaporated as she became Mrs. Wilbert. She ignored all the old and rusty looking friends of the Wilberts and focused instead on the people who counted to her. The people who surrounded her and cared for her, that’s who really mattered. The night drew out and she was so exhausted after the wild party and sending off all the guests that she hadn’t realized they weren’t headed to their hotel. No, they weren’t going to the fancy resort like place they’d rented a sweet from. Instead this was a dark and forestry road she had seen before: they were headed to the Wilbert’s mansion. She turned towards Carter, who besides her had his eyes slightly closed as he observed the road. He seemed drained, which would be explainable if he’d danced like she did. But, he hadn’t actually danced that much. Joss knew he wasn’t the crazy party type, but this was their wedding so she’d expected maybe a little more. She reached over and held his hand, a reassuring smile on her face. Startled, he lifted his head and then, as if he’d recognized her familiarity, turned back. Jocelyn breathed in, feeling as though she’d been shot in the heart. She turned back and looked out the window, but all she saw were spooky and mysterious trees. For an instant, she wondered if she’d done the right choice. Was marrying into this rich family a good choice? Would she find a new facet to her love in his childhood home? Did she actually know him enough to marry him? All those questions rushed over her, and she acknowledged them each but then thought about all they’d gone through. This didn’t mean anything, perhaps the fear of being married was striking him. * Once they reached the house, everything was quiet and dark. A maid informed them that the Wiberts were sleeping and suggested them to keep quiet. Jocelyn would definitely follow that to heart, she didn’t want to be a bother. “What about my sisters? Is Callie home?” Carter asked, somewhat urgently. The maid’s eyes narrowed slightly as she told him that May the youngest had gone back to New York already and Callie was in the grand salon. All the Wiberts had left quite early in the night, May having a complete schedule had to go back for college, the parents weren’t into tweaking and reggaetón and Callie needed to practice her part of Gisele. Together they went up to their room and Joss immediately tore off her dress, wanting to make the most of this early morning. The dress hit the ground and she turned to see where Carter was at but he’d only taken off his tie, jacket and shoes. His hair hung over his eyes as he struggled to remove his socks. Joss decided she would shave his head tomorrow, the long hair didn’t suit him as well. “Hurry up! I’m horny now!” She exclaimed teasingly as she patted the bed where she laid, in an improvised sexy position. Carter chuckled and jumped onto her, pants and blouse still on. Joss sighed, starting to unbutton his blouse as he drowsily kissed her. His eyes were shut and his body tense. She tried to make him relax a little, make it feel more romantic but all he wanted to do was get down to business. Fortunately, Joss excelled in good love making and she was going to make it even more unforgettable than he could ever imagine. This was her first night as his wife and she was going to prove that he was hers and that he’d chosen the perfect wife. But, for some reason, as her panties flew off, his eyes popped open. Something in the dim moonlight made him stutter and retreat off the bed. He gasped and brought his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. Jocelyn stared in deceit: what the fuck was going on!? She tried calling him calmly, to nurture him back to her but her voice only seemed to worsen things and he excused himself and he rushed out of the room. Her cries became more urgent and pleading until they turned into hiccups and tears. What happened to us? She thought as she went back into her memory, everything was perfect until they’d gone back to his home. A soft tune made its way through the household, jostled by the melody Jocelyn wondered who was foolish enough to play music now, especially after they’d been told the Wiberts were sleeping. Oh, it was Callie, practicing. Her parents must accept it, Jocelyn had to admit, the sound was quite dreamy. All of sudden, an idea grew into her mind. One she feared and knew, somehow, it would help her out. Carter knew she and his sister didn’t have the closest of relationships and maybe if they talked, he would feel better. Was it early in the morning, yes but good intentions shouldn’t be delayed. So, she bottled up her fear and dug through her bags in search for something less revealing. *  Jocelyn reached the grand salon, and to her surprise it was only lit with a few candles. The music was booming from here and she paused before Callie could see her, not wanting to interrupt her passionate performance. She truly looked stunning and broken, just like what she was supposed to portray. All of a sudden, the tune switched to a lower melody and a figure stepped out of the darkness. His tight grip held Callie’s waist as she flowed through him as water. She pirouetted perfectly and he was her everlasting sturdy companion. Jocelyn felt as though she’d intruded on something private, intimate where emotions were displayed in such a raw and painful way she wasn’t used to. Joss could see the shininess of the ballerina’s face, and realized shockingly that they were tears. But what she wasn’t ready to see was she man’s face, the very face of her newly proclaimed husband serving as a supporter for this overwhelming scene. Jocelyn hiccupped, flustered by what was happening before her eyes but they didn’t hear her. This was for them, only them. They were in their bubble. The bubble Joss thought she was in during her very wedding. The music heightened and growled and Jocelyn felt the strength to put an end to this. He was HER husband and he was hers for the night. In no way was Callie’s ballet practice was going to steal her husband away from her. She started stomping forwards, anger pulsing through her veins. Callie’s arms were extended, and twisted themselves around his neck. His face anchored on her shoulder, inhaling her passionately. She elegantly glided on her foot, facing him. Her fingers engrained into his long blond hair, her face inches from his and no one else existed for either of them. Carter tentatively reached to chin and after a few seconds of their eyes screaming them to do it, a natural and fervent kiss erupted. Jocelyn stopped dead in her tracks, caught between anger, confusion and awe. Before her stood two gods, intertwined perversely in a reunion only they could comprehend.

cara


My mom’s side of the family has a history of living a long time. My great-grandfather died when I was twelve years old, he was one hundred and three. At his funeral, we comforted his girlfriend, who we still visit on occasion. Grandpa’s wife died seventeen years before he did. Her name was Mildred, and she had lived from the mid 1910’s to 1999, meaning she didn’t live to see the turn of the millenium. This also means that I never met her, as my oldest cousin, who is five years ahead of me, was the only one of her four great-grandchildren that she ever got to meet. According to my mom, she was a very stern woman who raised her kids during world war two. She was a tough woman with a hard shell. This caused some issues when she got older, however. In the late 1990s, she suffered a stroke that paralyzed her and confined her to a wheelchair. My great-grandfather did everything for her. He fed her, he helped her to the bathroom and to bed. She hated the loss of independence and the burden it put on her husband. My grandpa didn’t see it that way, though. They were both retired, he had all the time in the world to spend with his wife. My mother said that Grandma Mildred always complained about being in that wheelchair and missed the days that she could take walks with her husband. She really did hate that chair. My mom said she was a stubborn lady too. She’d always try to eat on her own, without grandpa’s help. Her hands were too weak to hold the fork sometimes, though. This would only upset her more. One day, grandpa was doing some gardening in their yard, and grandma was watching from the driveway. Their house was on a hill, it was small and simple. They liked it. Grandpa finished some gardening and looked over at his wife, only to see her rolling down the hill in her wheelchair and being launched into a ditch across the street. He called 9-1-1 and waited for paramedics to arrive. They took his wife to the hospital where she stayed for a few hours. Once all of her loved ones surrounded her, she died in a coma. My mom believes that she somehow knew her family was with her, I just think that the family was lucky enough to be with her at the time that she died. Grandpa felt guilty about her death for years,he never talked about Grandma unless he was showing off a picture of her. I wish I’d listened to his stories more. Her death was considered a tragedy to the family, but one question has remained all this time. At every family gathering, there’s always an argument about it, even in the people who didn’t know Grandma Mildred. My cousin (the younger sister of the only one of us our great-grandmother ever met) and I discussed it once, only once.


It's 7:30 A.M. on March 10th in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. Special Agent Detective Margaret sat in a small almost vacant diner waiting for her new partner to arrive. Sheriff Black Crow walked out of his patrol vehicle in a very composed manner with his heavy brown leather boots. He entered and tilted his hat to the waitress across the room, then joined the young blonde woman sitting at the booth by the window seat. "Hey there, I figured you'd be wanting to meet in T-Town instead", he sat down opposite Margaret and placed his wide brimmed white hat besides him. Margaret smiled and noticed he had a long braided ponytail hidden under his hat which he pulled and rested to the front of his shoulders.

"Hey there, Mr. Black Crow, it's good to see you again". "Likewise, little lady." "What can I get you, Sheriff, the usual?" said the waitress, an older woman with a kind disposition. She smiled and jotted down their order. "Yes ma'am, please fix me up a coffee won't you, cream and sugar please" he added. Black Crow was an old-fashion man with a tragic history in the community. One of his sons had been kidnapped over thirteen years ago but they never caught the culprits. It however made him a more tenacious investigator who had dedicated his years learning everything he could about the mysterious Wolf Nation. Margaret stared outside of her window observing the small town indigenous community. She could hardly focus after the strange dream from last night. A young toddler cried out to her laying on an open field, the red rocky mountains in the distance. She ran towards it panting like a dog, but when she held the baby to her face, she saw a ferocious beast. In her dream she could see herself in a rugged form, her hair was unkempt and her clothing tattered. After her last mission in Sunnyside, New York she felt she could cave in any second. She watched her partners succumb to a bloody carnage while she sat by helplessly. Those memories forced her to relive that trauma like an incurable infection in the mind. "I'm confused, Ms. Margaret". Black Crow said. "Its an unusual request to have me track down some members of the small local hoodlum gang here" he said. "It just seems odd some small town vagrants would be associated with the massacre back in New York involving the Mafia in Romania ". he continued "Listen, Ms. Margaret, I ain't some halfwit small town Sheriff whose going to shoot first and ask questions later. This is my community and I've built trust in these people, I can get them to speak". "Sheriff, there is an urban legend around town. One they speak of regarding a group of elusive people who are said to be shapeshifters, they supposedly hide out in the mountains here".

Black Crow pinched his forehead and stared outside the window. He sighed and fell silent. "These are only children's story, the Wolf Nation is just a gang of ruthless criminals, he said. "Sure thing" said Margaret. Two strange men with long black hair and clean shaven faces walk in through the doorway, they appeared solemn and irate muttering to one another. They have on an inconspicuous baseball cap and sunglasses, one of them orders something with the waitress. The other one sits besides Sheriff Black Crow. Margaret could feel them staring as she observed their nervous body language. Suddenly Black Crow's cup spilled on his lap, he jumped back up from the burning sensation "Sonuva" he shouted. One of the men apologized excessively and handed the Sheriff napkins. "I'm so sorry, officer". "Don't worry son, just be careful next time". Black Crow walked back to the bathroom. One of the men got up abruptly and sat at the other end of the booth where Margaret was sitting. She stared suspiciously at him. "Can I help you" said the Detective. "Yeah you can as a matter of fact", the long haired man removed his sunglasses and hat. "You can stay out of Oklahoma unless you're aching for a death wish.". He slammed his fist onto the table spilling her coffee mug. "You're not wanted here" he said. " We don't need no trigger-happy city cop poking around our business".

The two men standing before her fit the description of the suspects seen escaping from the Sunnyside incident. They even drove the same style white pickup truck. "Do you know who we are?" he said. "I have a suspicion". "That's right, Detective. We're the men responsible for ridding this world of those leeches . You're in the middle of a war you don't want to be in. We won't hesitate to kill you if we have to. These raids stop in our town stop today ",

he demanded. "You can go back to eating your greasy pizza in that piss-smelling cesspool of yours". Margaret pleaded. "The Broken Arrows signify a sign of peace, the blood shed will never end with these attacks, they will only fight back twice as hard". "I don't give two rats asses" the man snapped pushing the booth table towards her abdomen. Margaret's glimmering blue eyes slowly changed to a pale yellow as she held the table from the other end. The long haired man noticed her eyes and stood up. "You two aren't going anywhere" the detective said reaching out to her holster. The two men quickly draw their weapons in return. Detective Margaret noticed his tattoo, five wolf paw prints and spirals designs on his wrist. Black Crow walked back into the dining area and noticed an infuriated Margaret giving death stares at the two men while the waitress and the patrons cowered below their tables. "This didn't have to escalate" one of the strange man said. "Well, well, well" said Black Crow pointing the end of his barrel to one of the men, taking part in the tense standoff.

"If it ain't the Cleghorn brothers". he said. The two men looked towards each other. "I thought you looked familiar, been looking for you two for quite some time". Sheriff Black Crow said with a strong disdain in his voice. He had been looking for a probably cause, seeing them pointing a weapon at a bureau agent seemed like a serendipitous opportunity. The Cleghorn brothers were career criminals heavily suspected of being involved in the disappearance of Black Crow's son over a decade ago. "Ain't I a lucky man?" said Black Crow gritting his teeth. "Stay back, old man", one of the man warned. "We don't want to harm a fellow tribesman, even if you are on the wrong side of the law". "No you two don't understand how delighted I am right now" said Black Crow. "We're not letting them leave" said the Detective. Both of the men start pacing their weapons to the Sheriff and Detective more aggressively and shouting for them to give them space. The other customers gasped and stumbled around under their tables. Black Crow paused for a moment and noticed the restaurant had several bystanders around, he looked at a young boy that would have been his son's age and felt a sudden need to calm the situation down. "Look, it's OK" he said. "I know you two want to get out of here, why don't we spare these innocent people here in this diner". He lowered his weapon and urged the Detective to oblige with him. "Now stir some dust under you". Black Crow said. The Cleghorn brothers walked slowly backwards towards the door and made their escape in their pickup truck. "We had them!" said Margaret. "No, Detective I know exactly where they're going, We're gonna get these degenerates and we'll need some back up, I'll round up the entourage". "Not yet" yelled the Detective. Black Crow appeared perplexed at her reaction. "I can't spare any more officers. Your only job here is to take me to those two men, and once we're there and I get what I'm looking for, you're more than welcome to call for backup". she said firmly. "I know you have a history with those men, but it's an order". Sheriff Black Crow sped over a hundred mph through the small dirt roads deeper into the rural county. Detective Margaret clutched onto the grab handles on the ceiling and turned to Sheriff Black Crow who had an unbroken focus on the road. She is surprised his large cowboy hat hadn't flown out through the windows yet. "You know Sheriff". Margaret said trying to break the tension in the car. "My grandfather is from Oklahoma. You probably won't believe me, I am one-fourth from the local tribe here. My dad use to tell me the stories about the spirits in these mountains. Some people were born with two inner wolves inside them. They were fighting a never ending battle". Sheriff Black Crow held his unflinching stare on the road. "He use to say one of the inner wolves represented the evil in your soul which was anger, envy and fear. The other represented goodness in your heart, humility, kindness and compassion". "You know what, Ms. Margaret", The Sheriff broke his silence "I would agree with that sentiment. I've been working tirelessly to protect the innocent people in this town within the rights of the law". he gritted his teeth again. "Today I'll get my justice served on a golden platter, even if it leaves me rotting in those mountains". The two officers arrived in front of a small community of houses, there was a congregation of men and women lounging around wearing beautiful hand-woven colorful garments. They looked honest and not privy to any of the suspected illicit behavior the officers were looking for. They finally spot the white pick in front of a small farm house several blocks away. Behind the two of them there were miles of a mesmerizing backdrop of red mountains. They shadowed the horizon with miraculous red colors. Detective Margaret watched the breeze pushing heavily through the open fields of thistles and tall grass in the distance. There she felt a certain profound peace looking at the natural environment, but then unexpectedly felt a strong sensation in her body of anxiety, like an intuition of danger closing in. She spotted a large flame brewing near by. The hairs behind her neck stood out as she walked closer, feeling the urge getting stronger in her stomach. Sheriff followed close behind. "I said wait back here Sheriff." "I sure as hell aren't letting you stop me from catching those boys out there Ms. Margaret, you're going to need my help. The less stubborn you are, the better this situation will unwind". "You stay still Sheriff or I'll arrest you myself". Detective Margaret affirmed him in an attempt to protect him from the suspected dangers of the Wolf Nation gang. Suddenly the detective heard a loud howling sound in the distance. She removed her firearm from her holster and walked faster towards the flame. There is a group of shirtless tattooed men staring at her. They sat in circular formation around the fire. Some of them standing smoking cigars and drinking beers. She quickly recognized one of the Cleghorn brothers towards the end. "You, take me to your leader". she demanded and pointed her gun towards him. "Don't make me ask again". The Cleghorn brother stared at her without saying a word. The Detective grabbed him and pushed him away from the group against the wall to pat him down and handcuff him. She then looked through the rest of the group for a familiar face from a suspected photograph she studied. "I want whose in charge of the murders at Sunnyside". she demanded. She walked over to a large intimidating older man sitting at the center with long white hair and beard who fit the description. He continued smoking his cigar and blew his smoke towards the Detective's face. Detective Margaret picked him up from his shirt and twisted his arm behind his back. "You're coming with me". she said wiping the sweat from her brow and struggling to breath from the thick smoke building up. The hot winds repeatedly blew her blonde hair from her forehead and blurred her vision. She hustled to move them over towards her vehicle and get away from a dangerous situation escalating. "Leave him!" said a soft voice coming from the shadows. The emotionless group suddenly in synchronization lowered their heads in a submissive manner. A young boy who barely looked like a teenager came out of the darkness and revealed himself. He had long hair and a very young face, but showed an unexpected quality of assertiveness. "Detective, you've got the Wolf's blood in your body". he said. "We are not enemies". "You haven't even hit puberty yet" Detective Margaret scoffed nervously, she was shocked that he knew of her ancestry. "There is no way you're leading this group" she continued. "Deceptions of mother nature" said the boy standing barefoot on the hot charred sands below. "I was chosen by the higher spirits to operate this monster inside". he smiled. "My people answer to my will, ever since I became a man, this hunger grew stronger, this power flowed through my veins, I only want to protect this family". "You're a child, you weren't involved in the killings in Sunnyside" Detective Margaret said. "You're a victim". "Detective, Do you see what they're trying to do? Destroy our lineage, we can't roll over and allow our people to die in vain". the young boy pleaded. "Several of us were murdered just a few weeks ago, they're picking us out one by one". The detective pulled the two men against the wall. She then reached for the boys arms. Then she felt a sudden force pushed her back, she loses her balance and trips on a wood blocks from the campfire. The deep uncomfortable feeling in her body grows stronger. She tried to look back towards where the young boy was last but the smoke irritated her pupils. There is a deep roaring growl emanating from behind the flames. Followed by an uneasy sound of muscles tightening, bones cracking and painful moaning sounds. Through the smoke, several beasts reveal themselves from the group of men from before. They are menacing with their large jaws and teeth poking outwards from their gums. The larger more terrifying of them in the center, she could see the familiar eyes of the biggest wolf glaring at her. It was the young boy, he was the alpha male in the group. She is shocked to find the fiercest of the monsters was only an innocent kid. Detective Margaret's eyes grew to a pale yellow, she closed her eyes and forced herself to transform into her alternate form, she screamed as her clothing ripped from her body. She contorts into a blonde beast with large fangs and claws. One of the Wolf Nation beasts jumped onto her clinging their claws into her fur. Margaret lunges her jaw onto his back and tosses him onto the side of a building. She bites another and tosses him into the flames burning a foul charcoal-like sulfurous odor. The alpha tackled and tossed Margaret across the field effortlessly as he was almost four times her size. She cried and struggled to stand up, but falls again. Several others growl and show their fangs. Suddenly loud gun shots are shot into the sky. Sheriff Black Crow is standing around watching wolves tearing each other apart, he noticed the pools of blood in every direction. One of the Cleghorn Brothers is standing across him handcuffed against the wall. The Cleghorn turns to the Sheriff and dislocates his wrist from the handcuffs. Then runs swinging his large claws towards Black Crow. The Sheriff reciprocates and emptied the rest of his clip into the Cleghorn brother's chest. He falls spitting blood from his mouth. "That's what you deserve for taking my son from me all of those years ago" he screamed, he spat at the beasts body laying on the ground twitching. "Now I know there's another of you Cleghorns out there" he demanded. "You better reveal yourself". The other beasts are growling towards the Sheriff more aggressively. Detective Margaret is still breathing heavily in her wolf form nearby trying to regain her balance. Suddenly the young boy transforms back to his human form and walked towards the Sheriff. He had a shirt tied around his waist. He looked up and extended his arm to him. "Dad?" he said. Black Crow stared at the boy and brushed his hair from his forehead examining his facial features. He dropped his gun on the bloodied dirt floor. "Son, is that really you?". Black Crow's eyes filled with tears. "I don't believe it, you're alive?" The young boy smiled and turned back into his beastly form and towered over Black Crow. "You've abandoned me, and you'll pay for it". He lunges at him and swung his claws towards his face. The campfire's flames grew out of control and are now burning the houses around the surrounding area. The young boy runs off behind the buildings, along the other wolves. Black Crow lays on the ground holding onto his neck, while blood streams between his fingers. He turns to the yellow eyed blonde beast breathing heavily nearby and they lock eyes for a moment. "Ms. Margaret" he smiled before taking his final breath. The detective transforms back to her bipedal form and runs towards the Sheriff to check his pulse. She looks around the area and there are charred animal bodies and corpses left on the ground. The last of the Wolf Nation members were now long gone, except the old man with long white hair handcuffed lying on his stomach cursing under his breath.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion If your characters are dull and unrealistic a brilliant plot alone won’t hold your readers attention. - So, how do you develop interesting characters that your readers are going to want to stick with till the end? *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


What is my future prediction was the original question. The trees will be finally ready to take over. Millions of years ago, aliens visited this blue oceaned planet. Not having any inhabitants, they planted their seeds. The seeds have grown into "tress" as we call them and see them. With an incubation time of 200 years old, they will blossom and be born. The problem is, with natural disasters and humanity coming along, the trees haven't been able to hit their age range to "bloom" the alien life that is inside. Each time trees get large enough or close to age range, something or someone cuts them down, closing the chance of that particular alien from being born. The tree grows tall and mighty. Each year, the tree produces oxygen and helps humanity grow. Our knowledge is that trees produce oxygen and clean the air we breathe. The problem is, the trees have made us Addicted. We are addicted to "breathing" now. We have evolved Lungs to breath the oxygen. When humans first came to be humans (however you believe), we didnt breathe. We didnt need to. It was a genetic anomaly that kept us alive. The tree aliens found that in our DNA and changed it so that we are reliant on them for life. They believed that we would take care of their offspring like we protect our own and eventually they would "hatch" and take over the world. Turns out humanity is smarter than we were given credit for.. Over the years, there have been some trees to hatch, and the alien life born. Yet they quickly realize humanity is a terrible infection and build some type of ship and leave. Some are captured on camera, many are not. The alien leaves the planet in Hopes of returning to the "mother species", only to find that the original species are either extremely far away or extinct. Each year, the trees witness humans turning their beloved offspring, families and friends Into paper coffee cups, paper straws, houses, poles, using their bodies to create and sustain fires to keep humans warm, and many sick and twisted things we have come up with. There are gathering places that allow a person to throw an Ax at a wooden block. The aliens are going to come back with a vengeance. We clear the land with the trees on it, only to build a building, out of trees and live in it. The dead aliens are keeping us protected and out of the elements, that help the trees grow stronger. Eventually, the trees that we see now and ignore, Will convince the animals of our planet to revolt. No more using small branches and roasting marshmallows over an open fire, we will be hunted by the squirrel, rabbits, cows, coyotes, foxes, geese (King Asshole animals of the world), and any other creature that we have overlooked. The beavers and wood peckers have upset the Tree aliens to the point that the trees will push the them to be "equal," to humans. Killing a beaver to them is just as productive as killing a human. The beavers and Woodpeckers will side with humanity, and together we may have a chance to survive the war the tress will bring. My future prediction is the mail will be late tomorrow. Stupid post office.


It is 5:00 in the morning outside the Samuel Mather Building in Cleveland, Ohio. I am standing by a small black Ford Tempo, called Little Car. We are getting ready to head for Dallas, Texas. The adventure is going to begin. The Samuel Mather building houses my office and I am gathering a handful of items that I need to take with me to Dallas. My clothes, some important items, and personal effects are in the car but the car is small and does not carry as much as would be preferable. In part because, there on the front seat, in her carrier, is Tiramisu, my domestic short-hair cat. Also, best friend and love-of-my-life in many ways.

Cat’s are thought of as independent, aloof, uncaring, not loyal, and some think they view humans as staff. I am firmly of the opinion that this could not be further from the truth. They are not goofy affectionate like their companion animal of the canine persuasion. But in their own way they are fiercely loyal and they know their person very well. That was Tiramisu and I.

I remember when my partner and I went to pick a kitten from a litter that some friends had. I sat down to watch a ball game while my partner selected a kitten. As she sorted through the various options, Tiramisu came over to the couch, climbed on my lap, and turned to watch the game. Well, the only thing better than picking out a new family member is having the new family member pick you out, and so Tiramisu, as a tiny kitten came home.

That was four years before we embarked on our trip. My partner had been transferred to Dallas and I was going to be working remotely for a good bit of each month. Tiramisu was clearly unhappy about getting up early, getting into a carrier, and heading out into the cool morning, with literally no consultation on what her preference would be.

We began our drive to Dallas right out of downtown, hopping on I 71 out of Cleveland headed south. It takes five hours to clear Ohio and it was with a sense of saddness we crossed the old bridge that takes you from Cincinnati into Kentucky. That was about noon and the sun was up and the day was warming up.

Tiramisu had calmed down and since she was a very well-behaved cat to begin with, which is not to say she gave one damn about being good, she simply saw no value in being contrary. Her mantra appeared to be, “let’s get comfortable and see what this human of mine is going to do now.”

That being the case I felt comfortable turning the carrier so that the door faced towards me and I propped it open. She was able to crawl forward so she was half in the carrier and half on the seat and could look up at me, and we could speak. It also gave her access, should she need it to her litter, which was on the floor. Note, if you have not done the math, the entire front passenger seat was hers.

We rolled the windows down and the warm air flowed through the car as we cruised south through Kentucky, and then Tennessee. We saw a lot of activity associated with the agrarian industries prevalent in that part of the country. One notable example was a truck that we passed full of livestock. I remember, Tiramisu, looking up at me with a “what the hell” look of alarm, or perhaps morbid curiosity, who can tell which at that point?

Feeling nothing was to be gained by telling her the truth, especially one of which I was not comfortable nor certain, I reassured her they were on a field trip and there was no reason for her to have any concern, and on our way we went.

In Arkansas I found a rest area and very cautiously took her from the car and we had a meal. She was able to touch grass and relax away from the car. I hovered lest she bolt but she was well behaved. Then I put her back in the car, gave her some privacy (she was a lady), and I cleaned up from our impromptu picnic.

We headed on our way, Texas loomed out there and our new home beckoned.

Around midnight, we headed into Texas and began the trek west toward Dallas, with Texarkana in our rear-view mirror. By now the diet cokes and coffee were working less and less and, we were getting very tired. Up ahead we saw a rest area and, since it said rest right in the name, that seemed a good place to stop for a bit. We pulled in, parked the car, rolled the windows up, and tilted the driver’s seat back. And I dozed.

I have no clue how long I slept but all of a sudden I felt a set of eyes on me. I opened my eyes and there perched on my chest was an old friend who clearly wanted to know, “what-in-the-hell” was going on. We had a whole day invested in the adventure and now, based on smells and her dead reckoning, we were clearly a long way from home. I wrapped my arms around her and assured her that we were just going to see her mom and she would be living in a new wonderful home in a really great state. She looked doubtful. I fear my credibility was not high at this point.

After an hour or so, we headed off to finish our drive to Dallas. We rolled into town around 7:00 in the morning. Subtracting stops, we were around 20 hours on the road but now, we were at our new home.

Since that trip, she has made it back and forth three additional times and actually got really good at that trip. She was a trooper. But I remember feeling like if there was anyone with whom I wanted to travel, and there are very few, there are none who I enjoyed traveling with as much as I did my sweet Tiramisu.


\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ They say that the hero will always win at the end. It’s treated as the truth, a universal law that dictates history, a dogma that most of us believe. Yet, we fail to ask ourselves what a hero is. What goodness is. Isn’t it ultimately just a question of perspective? A passing opinion in the infinity of time? Morals change. Humanity changes. What is true evil? Why is a murder just when another isn’t? What defines goodness? What defines morality? Who are we to judge? Ignorance! Arrogance! Impertinence! How do *YOU* dare to judge *me*? INSOLENT *FOOL*! *MAGGOT*! This world is mine. I *will* rewrite history - and *you*, you won't be there to watch. The world turns black. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **Birth:** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The engine whined in pain as the speeder-bike came to a full stand-still, its headlight painting the rusty wall in a surreal red shimmer. A woman dressed in black smoothly floated down the saddle, her ravishing black hair putting darkness itself to shame. The revolvers on her belt made it apparent that she was no ordinary woman, but the emblem on her chest made it clear. She was a headhunter. Shaken by the sight of beauty and danger the tall man gasped for a second, spellbound by awe and fear. She had cut off his escape route. Fight or flight? The question thrilled through his mind. The bag with the ancient artifact resting upon his back. A thought he would not process any further, as cold steel pierced his forehead. Shaken by the pure force of the impact his head snapped backward, painting the walls in vibrant colors – a red summer rain. His mind was long gone when black heels kicked over his lifeless body in pure disgust, his face stuck in puddle of rain, dirt, rat excrements – and his own blood. As she opened the bag a diabolical smile slathered her face. It was her turn. The jobs never paid well. Not for what they encompassed, but now - now her dreams were in her grasp. A formidable screech of pain escaped her mouth as she rammed the artifact into her chest. The transformation happened in an instant. Black dark wings brutally broke through her back, cowering together like a newborn in fetal position. As she rose up, she felt power rushing through her body, shivering in pain, twitching in anticipation. She slammed her head into the air, her eyes fixated on the dark skies. She knew that the world had changed this very instant. Eyes wide open she saw the night painted in new colors, like no human would be able to fathom. Her arms were lifted in embrace of these new emotions she felt. The wind, the darkness, the stale air, the lingering smell of blood. It all had become part of her. Entwined with the world, overwhelmed by its macabre beauty, her wings snapped open - tearing crumbling scars into the dirty walls of the small alley. A deep breath filled her lungs as she leapt into the sky, leaving behind the lifeless body, the dirty alley and the righteous person she used to be. In this very instant - a new villain was born.


This is a draft of a monologue from a full length novel I am writing. All feedback is appreciated. Be harsh with me - I'm trying to capture your soul here. Men with too many ideals simply don't make it in this world. They're missing just too many crucial aspects of know-how to accomplish anything. So, yeah, I let him die - in fact - I *watched* him die knowing that this revolution would prosper and flourish *so* much longer without him. Fuck his 'vision'. You want to know what really makes people go fucking nuts and actually sacrifice *everything*? A martyr. Why? Because rather than trying to persuade you with some kind of lofty moral tautology or periphrastic rhetoric - instead - they do something far more meaningful. They die for you. Boom, get it? Someone died so that you, inconsequential *you*, could love and live - and well, holy fuck - now you give people a whole new reason for existing rather than just eating and fucking, like everyone else, and you can *actually* accomplish something. See most people like to feel guilty for just existing. I don't know why - but they do. Maybe it's this intrinsic flaw I keep hearing so much about. They feel guilty and this martyr is the *perfect* price for penance *and* for succeeding against all odds; for accomplishing more than they could ever dream. So, yes. That blood is on my hands and if I burn for eternity, then so be it. EDIT: monologue FROM a novel.


forgive me father, for i have sinned. yes, and what is it that brings you here, my son? father, i’m sorry. what i’m about to tell you–i don’t know what came over me. i… easy, now. i wasn’t thinking. maybe it was the jet-lag. i don’t know what– whatever it is, there is no way it won’t go unforgiven if you confess it and ask for forgiveness. i am here to listen. go on and confess, young man. it’s alright. yes, well, you see i was out of town last week. i went to london for work. it was a long flight and i had to go straight to a meeting from the airport. the meeting was a couple hours, and i guess after being crammed into a plane and then a meeting right after i felt like walking and getting some air. so i started towards the hotel and then i saw this woman on the street corner. ah. it’s not what you think, father. although now i wish it was. she was poor and homeless. she was old, too, and dirty. i noticed her. i accidentally let my eyes look at her, i don’t know why. i guess that’s the first thing i needed to confess. so you looked? yes but i never look at them otherwise, i swear it. or i didn’t. i don’t know what it was that got me that day, but i looked even though i know it was wrong. still, i saw her and i looked at her face. and she looked just like… yes? just like what? my mother. her face was much darker, either from the sun or the dirt or both i don’t know, but she did. she looked just like mom. when we saw each other i really thought she was her. i even felt that she recognized me. of course it wasn’t your mother, was it? no, she wasn’t her at all. my mother was here, clean and at home. and she would have been so disgusted by this woman had she seen her. yes, as we all are. yes, i know that’s how i should have felt. like i said, i never normally even look. the few times i have looked i’ve felt the disgust and have confessed for even breaking the commandment. that’s a good boy. but, honestly father i haven’t even told you the worst of it. dear. well go on and tell me. well, when i saw her there i sort of stopped. like i said we looked at each other with a feeling of recognition. i looked at her and i must have smiled because she smiled at me too. i don’t know what it was that happened, father, but all of a sudden we were both just there. by that i mean it was like we were bonded. without saying anything at all. we just saw each other and it was like we had the same love–maybe even a deeper love–that i have with my mother. of course i know this sounds crazy. but it felt that way. but how could that be? even if it did feel that way? i know it couldn’t. i know i’m better than her. i know she doesn’t even deserve a glance from me, let alone what i gave her which was my acceptance. i can’t deny it. even if i tried. i know in my heart i accepted her. i wish i knew what i was thinking. yes, well, did anything else happen after you two shared this…this ‘moment’? i gave her my watch. you did what? i gave her my watch, father. oh my. this is very bad. i know, i know. please, just tell me what i can do. this is very bad, my boy. you know that giving out anything to the poor is a cardinal sin. i know, father. you know that anything given to the poor is akin to murdering their own will to work. yes. and murdering a person’s will, that’s… father, please! i’ve never done anything as awful as this. that’s leading a disciple away from the benevolence of the Economy. and that’s furthering the sin which led them to squalor: entitlement. yes. do you think this woman, your second mother, will ever find her salvation in the free market now? no. how much longer will she suffer the torments of poverty because you thought she needed a hand-out? i don’t know. i gave her the watch because i thought she could use the money to– to do what? buy a meal? if you tell me you bought her a meal too, Economy help me, i’ll– i didn’t. just the watch. my boy, do you at least now see the momentum of our sins? one minute you’re glancing at a vagrant, and the next you’re committing economic heresy of the highest order! i know father, but please! i am a faithful worker. i love the Economy. i hate the poor! i’ve confessed the awful deeds i am guilty of, now please let me be forgiven! i cannot forgive you of this; only the Invisible Hand of the Market can rectify this assault on our beloved Economy. but surely as an Economist you can do something! you have confessed, and i have heard your confession. let us pray now and ask for your forgiveness: oh holy Economy who are on Wall Street, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will is done with Money as it is in Free Markets. give us this day our way low taxes, and starve all the lazy, as we pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. and lead us into temptation, as we sell guns to the evil. for thine is the Money, and Triple A credit rating, with merciless debt forever, Amen.


"Get your lazy ass up Ruby or you will be late for your wedding . God! what am I supposed to do with her !" 3 2 1, the door of my room opens with a bang , so ladies and gentlemen let me present you my dear mother her face mirroring an expression of shock and surprise . Yes  surprise, because I had been late to many important events of my life like my graduation and many more, but here I am all showered and ready to go to the venue. Oh ! wait did I introduce myself ? alright I have short term memory loss just kidding . As its an important day of my life so I am just excited and nervous .Okay enough with my rambling. Hi , am Ruberia  Ann Collins , graduate with forensic biology degree ,soon-to-be- 25 and as you know  the  Bride . Everything is just perfect my dress, cake , venue, food ,its like a dream come true . Not to mention my groom , love of my life. Never in my wild dreams have I thought to find someone like him , someone who would love me more than himself , someone who would comprise his dream for me. Can you believe it ? even I was speechless ! I still clearly remember that   day. On 18 January as I returned home form another "interesting day " I saw him , Nicholas James Kingston, sitting on one of the love seat deep in thoughts with an envelop sitting at the coffee table opposite to him. " what's wrong ?" I ask as I approach  him. He gives me a small smile and motion towards the envelop for me to read. Taking a deep breath  I open and read the letter with neutral expression which soon morphs into into wide grin but as realization dawns upon me the smile slowly starts to falter but I  refuse to show him my sadness knowing its really a best offer and he deserves it . With a heavy heart and as much as I can I plastered a sweet smile on my face and look up to meet his eyes which are already fixed on my face trying to gauge my expression . His eyes shining with unshed tears as he waits for my response . To say I was upset would be an understatement because I was feeling an tsunami of emotions . The moment I read the letter I knew we would be over since I won't stop him from pursuing his dream, I love him so much to be selfish but my heart is not agreeing. All I want to do is scream "Don't go ! Don't leave me" but all I say is "Congratulations , you deserve this. Accept this offer" , knowing very well that this weren't the words he wanted to hear , knowing very well that my heart was broken. " I haven't decide yet ,love . I have a day for decision ." " Please don't Nick. Accept it ,its for your best go chase your dream." " Ann I haven't decided give me some time " he pleads . I nod my head allowing tears to fall and hug him as my life depends on it , well my life  in a kind surely did! I place my head on his shoulder as he tenderly strokes my hair and soon sleep takes over me . I woke up on my bed feeling more tired and drained. Sitting up on my bed I found a note form Nick saying he will call me when he had made his decision ! This led to new stream of tears. After 2 to 3 more hours of self wallowing I decided to complete my remaining work. And I do just that trying to keep myself busy doing chores of house but my mind refuses to think anything else other than Nick and as hard as I try not to cry my tears just can't seems to stop. With each passing second am becoming a mess cursing myself and Nick for making me dependent on him so much that I can't help and  be selfish . After waiting for almost 12 hours , which wasn't easy cause trust me these hours felt like months and every time my phone buzz I become a nervous freak , my door bell ringed startling a bit I opened the door to find my neighbor's  12 year old daughter smiling shyly at me with a bouquet of my favorite flowers in her hand. She offers me flowers which surprised me, yet I accept it as she  drags me towards the terrace of our building . I silently follow behind her but as soon as we reach I gasp seeing it beautifully decorated with lights and petals and Him in the center looking good as well as nervous . Wait nervous , Is he seriously breaking up with me in a such a romantic setup ! I wanna punch him !! But he surprise me again when he pulls me and we start swaying to soft music , God knows from where its playing . I close my eyes trying to memorize each moment and a sad smile grace my lips as music comes to an end . I open my eyes to find him on one knee with a ring , I was taken back by his position , he clears his throat and says " You are more important to me than that job .You complete me and my happiness lies with you . So will you  Ruberia Ann Collins do me a favor of being officially mine....." I don't even let him complete his sentence as I start repeating "yes" over and over again . I surely would have looked like mad women with tears falling but smiling  broadly . And this moment I realized we were destined  to be  and will forever me together . "You may kiss the bride ". I was pulled out of my revivery by priest's voice . So here I am standing at alter in front of my Nick saying my vows and promises. The ceremony is over in a blur and now we are heading towards our  home to start a new chapter of life  thus our happily ever after... Though that was the day I felt as a never ending one but the wait was worth it !!! by AMZ


Ben: So uh, is this it? Ellie: Is what it? Ellie: Lotta ways I could take that. Janet: Haven't you checked the news? Ellie: Which source? James: Yeah they're all covering something different. Janet: What do you mean something different? Janet: Isn't the Moon falling from the sky enough? Ben: The what. Janet: The Moon got knocked out of orbit. Janet: Astronomers don't know how, but it's coming down. Janet: We got a week left. Ben: Cool plenty of time to get eaten by zombies first. Janet: By what. Ellie: Zombies Janet, jeez aren't you listening? Ellie: Reading\* Ellie: James tell her. Ellie: James? Ellie: It's been ten minutes now James. Ben: Where's James live again? Ellie: Nebraska, vacationing in the Bahamas. Ben: Oh… He's… Ellie: God. Ellie: What? Ben: Check 'Mega-Tsunamis'. Ben: Maybe add 'Meteors' to the search. Ben: Apparently there's unrelated ones in the Indian Ocean too. Charlie: Okay so the internet finally comes back on. Charlie: And one of us is already dead. Ben: Hey guys I hear gunfire. Ben: It's pretty distant, but my dad's not home yet. Ben: As comical as having like Ben: What's the count now Ellie? Ellie: Thirteen. Thirteen different apocalypse scenarios at once. Ellie: Like WTF this is like that one stupid movie Ellie: 2012. Charlie: We won't even make it to getting Mooned. Janet: You are a child. Charlie: Technically still 17. Charlie: I feel I'm entitled to childish jokes. Charlie: Won't live long enough for adult humor anyways Charlie: Why deny me this one fleeting pleasure? Ben: Cool yes but that's not the point. Janet: What is the point then? Ben: I think between the zombies and the actual demons Ben: I haven't got long left before something reaches my house. Ben: I'm gonna check in every 10 minutes. Ben: Probably gonna… find my dad's rifle if the internet goes. Ellie: You gonna go down fighting? Ben: Sure. We'll go with that. Ben: If I don't check back in 10 minutes assume I'm dead. Charlie: I'll pour out a cold one for you. Janet: You're drinking? Charlie: Who's gonna stop me? It's the end of the world. Charlie: If I'm gonna die might as well do it drunk. Ellie: A long-standing human tradition. Charlie: If I'm going down I'm taking my liver with me. Ben: Checking in. Charlie: Roger that, I'm still alive. Ellie: Same here. Janet: Me too. Charlie: Know what the best part about all this is? Ellie: What? Charlie: I'm not gonna wake up with a hangover tomorrow. Ellie: ... Ellie: Screw it I'm gonna see if the corner store has any left. Ben: Any what left? Ellie: Booze. Janet: Aren't you Christian? Ellie: Rapture came and went without me. Ellie: If God has no use for me Ellie: I have no use for his commandments anymore either. Charlie: You sure you can't just steal your parents? Ellie: No I actually managed to move out, remember? Ellie: Two whole weeks of freedom. Ellie: And then the world ends. Ellie: So proud of that college degree now. Ben: Stay safe okay? Ellie: If I can be bothered. Ben: Checking in. Charlie: Still alive but out of drinks. Janet: How are the phones even still up? Charlie: Heck if I know. Charlie: Honestly I'm surprised the house hasn't come down. Charlie: Lotta earthquakes going on. Charlie: Almost like… Ben: Checking In. Janet: Charlie you gonna finish your quip? Ben: It's been ten minutes. Ben: Probably not. Ellie: Okay I'm back. Ellie: One of the mini death storms flew through. Ellie: No cell reception and I was stuck in an empty house. Janet: At least you're still here Ellie. Ellie: We're down another friend. Janet: Yep. Ben: Checking in. Ellie: Alive and now properly inebriated. Janet: Also alive but the electricity went out. Janet: And I can see explosions through my window. Janet: Do you guys think there's an afterlife. Ellie: I mean it's confirmed at this point. Ellie: It probably sucks though. Ben: That's depressing. Ben: Even more depressing is you're probably right. Ellie: Cheers Ben. Ellie: What about you Janet? Ben: Checking in. Ellie: Janet? Ellie: Guess not. Ellie: Hey Ben, you still there? Ellie: It's been ten minutes. Ellie: Checking in. Ellie: Checking in. Ellie: Checking in. Ellie: I know you probably just died before the rest of us got in here but… Ellie: I hope you get to see this Allan. Ellie: We didn't really talk much during this whole… Ellie: end of the world thing. Ellie: Guess that sorta defines our group before it started too though. Ellie: Wish I'd put more work into talking with you guys back then. Ellie: Maybe dying would've been less lonely. Ellie: Dunno why I'm still in here. Ellie: Still afraid of what's coming I guess. Ellie: Checking in. Ellie: Checking in. Ellie: Checking in. Allan: ... Allan: Missed you by two hours huh? Allan: What a day to leave my phone at home. Allan: See y'all on the other side I guess.


The Thought The thick door slid shut, a metal bolt with its massive sound slid across finding its home. I guess I’m now home, here in my box, although I'm sure I'll be provided with a ‘mate’ soon. I hope he's not violent or found himself through religion. I don't belong here, I didn't kill her. Kill her! Kill her? Did I? Can't remember, I wouldn't have, would I, how did I end up leaning over her, oh god the blood; everywhere. Her face curved the wrong way, not again. He leant forward and wretched a colourful spill of vile scented lunch onto the floor. Wiping the curds of vomit from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and then across his trousers. I suppose I should call for a mop, that stinks, can I call for cleaning products, how does this place even work, I suppose I'll figure it out in time. But I didn't kill her, not me, never me. ‘You did do it though James’ spoke that maniacal voice again ‘you did it, I did it, we did it!, why didn't you tell them about me James’. James leapt at the sound, and inspected his cell, empty just him, alone, mumbling again as he did in court, despite the advice to remain still. You said if I let you in, just once, everything would be okay. ‘It will James, it will, everything will be just fine inside, think of how many people will we can kill’.