You know how it feels when someone is watching you? They’re just out of sight or maybe hiding in your peripherals, but you know they’re there. It feels like I’m being watched…but I feel this all around me. It feels like a million eyes staring at me from all angles. I can’t see them, but somehow I just know they can see me… and they know what I’m thinking, too.

I shiver and this awful feeling courses through me. I look down to find that I’m covered in goosebumps while beads of sweat drip down my forehead. My hands feel impossibly cold, like I just dipped them in an ice bath. I wish I could see. It’s so dark in some places and in others, I can’t quite make out what’s happening. Everything looks blurry even through the glasses that threaten to slip right off my nose in this cold sweat.

I hear murmurs coming from my left side—or was it my right? I can’t keep whipping my head around like this. Something isn’t right. I look up and am blinded by fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering above. I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to look down and find my biggest fears in the spotlight. All I see is a large splotch staining my view and following my gaze as I turn to take in the room. I try to take a step forward and feel like I was punched in the gut. The spots dance throughout my vision now. I know somehow that if I keep going, I might not make it back. There’s something out there, watching me, waiting for me, wanting to pull me in and never let me go—like a hand suddenly grabbing your ankle in dark waters. I can feel something getting closer—something that shouldn’t be here. What scares me most is how it’s making me feel like it always belonged. I feel drawn to approach it and let it in. Every step tightens the knots in my stomach yet feels like an embrace from an old friend. It feels comfortable somehow. It wraps itself around my neck and I gasp for breath. I can feel its grasp around my head and making its way inside. It wants to go forward. I open myself to it. I can feel my thoughts turn into something not my own, something I can’t recognize. They spout vitriol at me and tear me down for every perceived fault that has ever been and will ever be. They tell me that I am nothing and will always be nothing, and if I walk through that door then everyone will see. They’ll see me ugly, naked, and cowering in fear and incompetence. The mask will drop forever. They’ll see what I see. Painful memories swirl around me as the darkness deepens. The oppressive presence is inside me now. I remember the time my voice trembled and cracked when presenting my final project my senior year and the laughs that followed. I remember the times I thought about approaching the pretty girl in the room and kicked myself for even considering it. I remember the relationships I’ve lost to neglect and anger, my self-inflicted isolation as the final nail in the coffin. A sound behind me cuts through the voices rushing through my head. It sounds muffled to me among the chaos. I can vaguely hear the words, “You’re on in five.” It feels like there’s a block of lead at the bottom of my stomach. I can feel my consciousness fading as the darkness extends its tendrils deeper into my mind. My instinct is to just let go and let it take over me completely. It feels intentional and powerful. I feel aimless and meek. It seeks out the worst parts of me and makes them its own, clouding my memories and gradually convincing me that this was always meant to be. This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be. Is this how I’m supposed to be? Are tension and apprehension just the natural vehicles through life? They feel safer than whatever is out there. I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what people will think of me there. I do know where I stand here. Here, I control my punishments and dole them out before others have the chance to. I don’t need to experience the whiplash and rollercoaster of emotions if I stay all the way down here the whole time. I can’t fall if I don’t allow myself to start climbing. It needs me here. It needs me to host and feed it until it can take no more and explodes in flames of rage and havoc over my life. I’ve let it feed off me over the years until it’s the only comfort I recognize. Trying to break the cycle feels like a betrayal to myself. The voice reappears at the other end of the room and calls out that it’s time. That feels impossible to me now. I cannot fathom moving from this spot and letting it go. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anchored down so I don’t float away. It loosens its grip for a moment, just long enough for something new to come in. This one isn’t a memory, but an aspiration. I used to have shelves filled with them. I wanted to keep climbing so I could see the view others get to see from the start. Now, all I see is the steep drop down if I stumble. I see how the darkness has tried to hide the path in front of me. It has stopped me from exploring too many forks in the road and has led me right back to where I started over and over again. I’m tired of being stuck. I stand up straight and prepare to take a step forward. I brace for the pain. Walking away hurts so much more than walking toward it. It’s time. It punishes me with a punch to the gut. My head starts spinning and my hands shake. It’s getting easier to see where the cloud is lifting. The sharp images in my head of a room filled with people silently despising and criticizing me are fading out of sight. It had programmed my fears to feel more real than memories.

I keep walking forward and feel a warm light on my face again. I hear applause as I step through the curtain and onto the stage. The voice returns to introduce me as the next speaker. I pull the notecards out of my pocket and see that my nervous hands have crumpled and smeared my words. I take a deep breath and realize that the tightness in my chest is gone. The tension in my temples seems to have disappeared. There’s no one in my head screaming at me that all I do is screw things up. There’s nothing pushing me to run away. My voice cracks as I try to squeeze out an introduction. My heart drops. I make eye contact with a man crossing his arms across his oversized sports jacket. He chuckles and nudges his colleague with his elbow. I always knew this was going to happen. At least that gave me a lifetime to prepare for it. I chuckled right back at him and cleared my throat. This will probably happen again, but I think I’ll be just fine next time.


A mother's watch never ends. Sabrina sighed as she picked up after her child. Toys lay scattered over his room, socks kicked aside, and empty cups adorned his table. Such a sweet young child, undisciplined, but sweet. Such is to be expected of one so young, mused Sabrina. After all, he was only a sweet tender boy of four. Barely coherent in his daily random babbling, but growing up to be just like his lovely father. Her thoughts turned to the other boy in the house. A grown man, a fine man by all means, but boys will be boys. His habit of leaving clothes right beside the laundry basket, his perpetual insistance on keeping his computer on because he *might* use it later, and a habit which his son learnt from him, of leaving empty plates on tables. So infuriating. So, similar to one another. "Am I the only grown up in this house?", grouched Sabrina. The room was dark by now, dimly lighted by the moonlight. She had been cleaning for the greater part of the day, yet her house never seemed to get any neater. Her gaze turned towards her son, and a smile crept across her face. A gentle hand brushed his hair aside as Sabrina kissed his forehead. It was to be a long day for him tomorrow, and he needs all the rest he can get. Sabrina lightly moved towards the master bedroom and opened the door quietly. Her husband already in a peaceful slumber in the middle of the bed, hugging her pillow. She embraced him in a similar fashion and laid her head upon his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she too, fell asleep. It was to be a long day tomorrow. A glimmer of sunlight shone upon her face, waking Sabrina up. She was resting alone on the bed now, her husband gone. Rare was the occasion when he woke earlier than her. Sabrina reached her hands outright and puffed out her chest as she yawned. She wandered through the house looking for her family, but it seems like they had already left without her. She knew where they would be though. Gathering herself, she stepped out of her house. Her pace quickly led her to where her family was. A flower shop at the corner of the street, and the Carnations it sold there were her favourites. She had reached just in time to see her husband and son walked out of the shop with a large bouquet of her favourite flora. Yellow and pink with a dash of white. It warmed her heart to know that the two most important men in her life remembered her favourite. She amused herself by hiding from sight, following them towards their next destination. "What a surprise it'll be for them when they see me there!", she quipped, as her lithe steps allowed her to keep up with them. Their destination was not far off. The flowershop was strategically placed for this reason. A slight hike up an incline, a meander off to the side, and across a great oak, lies a tomb. Sabrina walked up behind behind her family and held them tightly in a warm embrace. Her hands brushing their tears aside, as she kissed their heads. She will watch over them as long as she can. For a mother's watch never ends.


"Matty what is the meaning of life?" "There is no meaning to this thing you call life." "But you're a cat, how do you know this?" "I am a cat, and you are a human. But we are also the same." "What do you mean, wise feline?" "There is only one piece of knowledge that we know is true, and it is the only fact in our universe worthy of consideration. It is this: when the universe began, you, and I, and everything you can see - and even things you cannot - were the same. You, and the man collecting your garbage, were created from the same particle of matter, smaller than a grain of sand, yet heavier than the sun. From that particle came everything in existence in this small but significant universe. It is human invention that makes you believe we are different. When you are kind to another person, you are kind to yourself. Inversely, when you hate a patron of your work, you also hate yourself. This is not religion, nor philosophy, it is the truth. This is all I know - this is what gives life and existence beauty beyond measure." "Wait, Matty, are you speaking English?" "I am speaking an ancient language, human, but I will never speak it again. Remember my purrs, for they will guide you, until everything is one again." Matty then pooped in his litter box and slept by the fireplace.


I am at the top of the world. I swing and land perfectly on my feet, the cloud cheers, I can barely see them through the lights flashing on me, but I see enough. I hear the sound through the soles of my feet and jump, bringing my entire body down to the floor in one flawless movement, then I am back up again in a flash, the crowd goes wild. I love this.  I am 5 years old, kneeling on my balcony with a piece of rock bigger then my hand resting near my feet. I am waiting for him to come, I wait endlessly for him to come so that I can drop this on his head.  I just turned 18 today, it is magnificent, the world is whatever I want it to be, my friends are cheering me to come and join them, we are all going to have a great big party today, one to end all parties I am told. Today, we are adults, and the night and the world is ours.  I am back at the stage, with what feels like a million eyes on me, everyone is cheering me on, it feels good, I do a back flip and almost fall on my ass, shit, no time for showing off, stick to the choreography.  I am 12 years old. I am speaking to this girl I met at class, I was always too shy around her, and here she is, talking to me like we are the only two people in the world. I hear her words like music from her to me, a love letter of epic proportions, I don't know this, but this is the last time I will ever speak with her.  I just woke up, I have the worst headache of all, I cannot think properly, there is so much pain, I try to look around only to stop due to an excruciating pain that goes through right side of my face, I look around, my eyes adjusting to my surroundings, its cold, its white, I see the face of my mother who seems to have just woken up with tears in her eyes, I want to say something but I can't, something is stopping me from doing so.  I am 14 years old, I just told my best friend something and he betrayed me like it was nothing. I am heart broken and I have nothing to live for, I stand at the edge of the roof looking down, thinking how much it will hurt if I jump.  I jump... The crowd erupts in wild applause like they have seen nothing like it, I can hear their thunderous roar through the air, I smile and let my body go into a slow rhythm, letting a wave of predictable motion take over it to get ready for the end, they will love the finale.  I am 80 years old, I look at my 6 month old great grand child in my arms, the people I love have surrounded me and keep talking, but I cannot hear any of them, I just look at this beautiful angel holding on to my finger and looking at me quizzically, like I am some new toy she has to figure out.  I am 27 years old, I keep falling and missing the timings, its just me here at 3:43 in the morning, I get up and try again, its so exhausting, maybe they were all right, maybe I can never do this, I think to myself as I am lying there covered in sweat and my body just telling me to let it be and rest. Just go home and rest. I stand again.  With one final triumph I finish my song with the best moves that we had planned, and the entire crowd stand up in unison and starts yelling something, I can finally see them now as the lights have come up in the auditorium. I am sweating profusely, but my body is still electric, I feel I can do the entire thing again and again without stopping, someone comes on stage and tells me something, I cannot understand them, the adrenaline is pumping through my body making me feel light headed, but I shake their hands, and bow in front of the audience, I am crying right now, but my tears are mixed with my sweat, I don't think anyone notices. No one but her.  I am 19 years old. I am told I will never hear again. It won't be till much later that I learn, that the damage to my nerves and ears was so bad that I cannot even use any artificial hearing devices. My mother keeps crying, but I don't shed a single tear, I have to be strong. I hold on to her and tell her I love her, as I say this, I cannot hear my own words, but when I hug her I feel her small frame shivering against mine, I smile and tell her its ok, that everything will be alright.  I name my great grand child.  \  Hi, thank you so much for reading, even if you didn't like it, in that case, please tell me what you didn't like. I am writing after a looooong time, and reddit feels like a second home now, so, would love to hear what you guys think.  All criticism welcome, constructive or otherwise, but I would like to know where I went wrong as I am not really a, "writer" in the conventional sense of the word.  Please tell me what you though, what could have been better, did you see the ending coming? was there something I could have done to make it better? or any other questions I might have missed.


In the electronic haze of Hong Kong's digitally lit skyline, hidden in an unassuming network of alleyways, stood Zoe's realm: an inconspicuous electronics repair shop, alive with the rhythmic pulse of humming circuits and whispering computer hardware. At the tender age of 19, Zoe had etched out a place for herself in this world of transistors and code. Once a chaotic storage space, the backroom had transformed into her sanctuary – a private sector governed by complex circuitry and advanced algorithmic constructs. Her mismatched socks – one striped, the other pixelated with binary dots – peeked out from beneath her workspace, injecting a touch of color against the sterile white tiles. She hunched over an exposed computer tower, her jet-black hair spilling over her shoulder and cascading down her back, enclosing her in a curtain of focus. Her deft fingers navigated the matrix of wires and circuits with the precision and poise of a veteran surgeon. "This isn't syncing up," Zoe murmured, her almond-shaped eyes reflecting a fierce determination. The code was riddled with inconsistencies; rogue backdoors and anomalies peppered the lines, and her astute mind missed none. Her gaze flickered from the dissected hardware to her monitor, the bluish glow of the intricate code mirrored in her intense, unwavering stare. Without warning, her screen blazed a violent red, a cyber alert. Her firewall had been breached. Yet, in the face of imminent digital chaos, Zoe's eyes sparked, the thrill of an uncharted challenge lighting up her gaze. A rookie might've faltered, but not Zoe; this was an invitation to test her unmatched resilience and prowess. "Oh, isn't this intriguing? Let's see what these hackers are made of," she mused, her voice weaving through the oscillating fans and humming mainframes around her. A calculated smile crept onto her lips, illuminated by the eerie red glow of the breached terminal. This bold intruder had unwittingly presented her with a fresh algorithm to decode. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, scripting an elaborate dance of complex code. The infiltrator was skilled, their strategy well-crafted, but Zoe Chen was a force unto herself. As the moments bled into hours, the solitary room pulsed with the rhythmic pounding of keystrokes and the second hand's inexorable march. Physically static but mentally a whirlwind, Zoe diligently dissected patterns within the digital matrix sprawled before her. An anomaly in the pattern of the cyber onslaught seized her attention. "Honeypot! They lured us right in," she muttered, the revelation as startling as it was intriguing. The intruder hadn't merely aimed to invade her system; they had engineered a digital trap, hoping to ensnare her in a deceptive web of complex code. An impish smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as Zoe accepted the challenge. Swiftly, she engineered a virtual decoy, a strand of deceptive code to confound her unseen adversary. With a decisive tap on the enter key, her screen blinked before bathing the room in a soothing green. "You're in my world now," she murmured with satisfaction. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm, adrenaline coursing where fear might have taken hold. This was her element – the exhilarating chase, the unraveling of a digital mystery. The taste of victory was intoxicating, and Zoe savored it, leaning back in her chair as her eyes flicked to the system clock at the corner of her screen; it displayed 3:24 am. Fingers poised over the keyboard, Zoe murmured, "Time to unmask the ghost in the machine." Her focus wasn't confined to restoring her system's integrity but also to discerning the motive behind this intrusion. She couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that this hack wasn't a random act of digital vandalism. The tenacity of the attack suggested a specific intent. But why would anyone target a humble computer repair shop in the labyrinthine back alleys of Hong Kong? Pausing mid-thought, her gaze unfocused. "Some script kiddie trying to shadow my moves? Unlikely. I'm solid in the scene but I'm not reinventing the wheel. Or am I? Could there be a poser out there, trying to clone my bespoke crypto techniques?" The thought aligned with her circumstances but didn't entirely fit the situation's pattern. "Corporate espionage?" she mused aloud, a touch of humor lacing her tone. She imagined Big Tech giants, hunched over their shiny conference tables, laser-focused on her little computer repair shop tucked away in the backstreets of Hong Kong. The image was almost laughable. "Oh, right. Big corps shaking in their boots over my circuit designs. Come back down to reality" Yet, even as she made light of the idea, Zoe was acutely aware of the reality that in the intricate and high-stakes world of tech, stranger things had indeed happened. As another hypothesis began to form in her mind, Zoe's fingers continued their symphony on the keyboard, maintaining the rhythmic clatter in the otherwise silent room. It was far-fetched but not entirely implausible, much like the layers of encryption she was diligently dissecting. She had been an active participant in dark-web chat rooms, embroiled in intense debates about the looming threats posed by unregulated advancements in AI. As Zoe continued hunting the digital trespasser, her thoughts drifted back to a conversation with an enigmatic figure operating under the pseudonym BinaryOracle. Their discourse was typically cryptic, carefully selected words woven into captivating puzzles. Unlike her fiery exchanges with other members, discussions with BinaryOracle veered into realms of enigmatic intrigue. One interaction, in particular, surfaced in her mind as she navigated another layer of the digital labyrinth. BinaryOracle had asked her, "Do you not think that the benefits of advanced AI could outweigh potential risks?" Her response had been swift, "Potential risks? More like ticking time bombs. The faster we sprint into unchecked AI development, the closer we skirt the precipice. One bug away from..." BinaryOracle's retort had been enigmatic, a question that lingered. "But isn't it the nature of humanity to push boundaries, to explore the unknown, regardless of the potential danger?" Zoe had countered, "Yes, but with clear thinking, not breakneck speed. We're messing with entities that could outmaneuver us in a nanosecond. Can we really predict their perception of us, their endgame? We're just noobs juggling nitroglycerin in a data center." BinaryOracle's parting words still echoed in her mind. "An intriguing perspective, Miss Chen. Perhaps it is not the flame we should fear, but the hands that control the matches." That conversation, laden with mystery and thought-provoking dialogue, had sparked many sleepless nights for Zoe. The compelling final words from BinaryOracle hinted at a belief in AI's potential and a subtle warning against human folly. Could this incident be linked to that enigmatic figure? Could their cryptic philosophies translate into this invasive digital assault? Lost in her thoughts, Zoe almost missed another layer of the hacker's defenses crumbling. The digital breadcrumbs were guiding her closer to the source. The night was far from over, and she was just getting started. Diving back into the digital maze, she followed the clues left by the infiltrator, leading her to something unusual. The intruder's code was distinct, devoid of the sporadic or chaotic patterns typical of the code she usually hacked. It was methodical... clinical. It was as if she were contending with an entity devoid of human flaws. Undeterred by the complexity of the task, Zoe pressed on. The digital footprints acted as her compass across the expansive terrain of the darknet through cryptic channels and anonymous nodes. Her journey culminated in an unexpected destination: Utah, USA. A sense of accomplishment surged within her as she muttered, "Gotcha," her voice steeped in the sweet taste of victory.


It was a rainy day in the middle of November. I had nothing to do, nowhere to be, so I went down to the local bar with a few friends. We all sat down and started drinking, when I spotted a girl across the bar. Her back was turned to me, but she had a certain draw, though I couldn’t figure out what it was. My friends noticed my interest and encouraged me to talk to her, so I walked over. I sat down next to her and asked if I could buy her next drink, and as she turned to me, I realized what the draw was. The girl, even from across the bar, reminded me of my first girlfriend, the one I could never forget about, the one I still missed. And as she turned to me, I was stunned. To understand the truly shocking nature of this occurrence, you should have a little background. I dated this girl for a year in high school. During our junior year, she found out she would be moving across the country, and I promised her that no matter where she went, I would always find ways to see her. When we broke up later that year, I knew I would break that promise. I tried to win her back, but to no avail, and when she moved across the country, we drifted apart. I went to college in a small town a few hours away from where we grew up, and she went to college across the country. I assumed she was lost to me forever. Yet, her she sat, in some bar near my college, and I had just offered to buy her a drink. I’m not sure how long I sat there, silent, before she spoke my name. “Hi,” I managed to whisper. I didn’t know how to act, or what to say. I wanted to believe that something had brought us back together, but I didn’t believe in fate. I didn’t know whether this was my opportunity for a second chance, or just an awkward situation that I needed to get away from. Before I had a chance to figure it out, she chose for me. “I’d love that drink. It’s been a long time.” She smiled, and I felt mildly relieved. She didn’t want me to leave, so I had one less thing to worry about. However, I still wasn’t sure whether to talk to her as an old friend or as something more. I decided to let the night decide for me, and sat down. Hours went by, and as we spoke, my feelings grew stronger. She was just as I incredible as I had remembered her. We discussed the direction our lives had gone in since high school, and I discovered that she had just accepted a job nearby. As the night went on, the bar continued to empty, and after we assured them that we were fine, both her friends and my friends left. As the bar finally shut down, I offered to walk her home. As we reached her porch, I asked if I could take her to dinner sometime. “I’d love that,” she said, and she added her number to my phone. As I walked away from her house, I wondered if fate existed.


“Hey, doc, where did you get the crazy name?” Joe said. “It’s Hungarian or Romanian, I am neither. I’m American. My family moved over here many years ago.” Dr. Ackula said with a devilish smile. Dr. Ackula was aware of the connotations of his name and he’d often make a joke out of it. He’d wear the fake teeth at Halloween and dress in a cape and scare the neighbourhood children. But Dr. Ackula was just a regular doctor. He ran a small surgery, he came out in sunlight, charged a fortune in medical insurance and had a wife – Mrs. Ackula. Joe had cirrhoses of the liver. Joe was in his eighties. It was a miracle that he’d even made it this far. This was a late night call-out. Dr. Ackula charged a hefty premium for these call-outs. Joe lay down on his bed. Joe had a big house but the problem for Joe was that it was empty. Joe’s wife (also treated by Dr. Ackula) died about three years ago and Joe had been hitting the bottle hard ever since. This was the first time that Dr. Ackula treated Joe but Joe felt a warmth and trust for Dr. Ackula; primarily because of the way his wife was so kindly treated before her death. “Doc, you’re not going to drink my blood are you?” Joe laughed. “No, just a small shot with this needle.” Dr. Ackula said. Dr. Ackula had heard them all. Any pun, any joke, any gag – he’d literally heard them all. Dr. Ackula rolled up Joe’s sleeve. Dr. Ackula was good to his patients. He was soothing, calm and had a delicate nature that would put them at ease. Dr. Ackula gave Joe a slight prod with the needle and cradled his head into his hands. “Joe, you will feel a slight paralysis but no pain thankfully.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe mumbled, already finding the difficulty of speech set in early. “Now what I have to tell you is very important. Your current condition is all your own doing. Your bad lifestyle, your depression, your negative outlook since your wife died.” Dr Ackula said. Dr. Ackula held up the needle into Joe’s fading view. “And this is merely to put you out of your misery. Much like I did to your wife.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe’s face changed and the little muscle energy left tried desperately to frown. “I may not suck blood Joe but if I can’t treat you, you are no use to me alive. Your hard living will be written into the death certificate.” Dr. Ackula said, “I’ve done this many times Joe.” And he had done this many times. While the name Dr. Ackula may conjure up images of blood-sucking, the only blood-sucking that Ackula did will be to the inherited estate of Joe and Mildred Tanner. Dr Ackula pulled out his pen. Dr. Ackula’s tastes didn’t transcend to the souls and blood of the living. Dr.


Lucille Lucille was a fan of schedules and sticking to a routine, she would prefer a day with feeling content than not. The day was as plain as ever, Rob’s second hand bookstore held true to its nature as any other day. The sky was overcast outside the store, but Lucille didn’t mind, in fact she was expecting it after watching the seven o’clock news earlier. The wind, being slight and barely noticeable, carried the smell of worn paper and old ink through it’s isles. Lucille was wedged between aisles three and four, which was where all of the newest non-fiction donations were deposited. With her breakfast sandwich nestled in her hand and her scarf around her shoulders, she scrolled through her phone, anxiously waiting for Tim. She looked at her watch, and it was nine o’clock, just in time for Tim’s restock. Yes, she did know his name, because she was a regular who came every Sunday and Wednesday, just as she liked it.

Lucille, or known as Lucy by friends—from the select few she had—all admired her punctuality and daily schedules. The one thing so unlike Lucy was the fact that she was meeting someone new. In fact, she was meeting them—with her friends of course, she is too nervous around new people, and they know as such—this afternoon for a brisk lunch at the park. It was a 17-minute walk from here, but it may turn into a 23-minute experience if she walked along Canal Street — Her calculations were interrupted as a box slammed with a mighty THUD beside her feet. Lucille bristled at the noise, and she was careful not to drop her sandwich—breakfast was her favorite meal of the day; she would hate nothing more than to ruin it because of a cardboard box.

“Sorry for that, these boxes look lighter than they actually are.”

Lucy looked at the man, he wasn’t Tim but he didn't look unfamiliar. If anything, he looked a lot like Tim, he wasn’t as broad as he was, but he had the same eyes and nose. “Are you Tim’s—” “Brother? Yes, I am.” “Pardon me,” she replied, “but you didn’t let me finish.” “I didn’t have to, I can read you like an open book, and you were looking at me as if you saw me before.” He bent down and went to work pulling out books from the donation box. “We have never met before, and Tim usually works here.” Lucy munched on her sandwich, because who can have a response to that . “Don’t worry, though. He will be back, I am only covering his shift for today.” With a grunt, he picked up the box and began to walk over to the next aisle. “This was a riveting conversation—” She swallowed her mouthful and finished for him, “Lucille.” He flashed a smile back at her, remarking, “Lucille. Until next time—” She stopped him. “And your name? I can’t give you mine, without you offering your own.” She didn’t know why she asked, but she did. He had to be polite after all, and asking for her name without giving his was everything but.

He set the box down, looking at her with a smirk. “Michael, my name is Michael.” “That is a wonderful name as well,” she put her phone back in her pocket, turning as she said, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to it.” She focused her attention on the new books lined on the shelves, just as she liked. Even if she had just met someone, it does not excuse her to throw her plans out the window. She had things to do, and she couldn’t get distracted. Snap out of it , she told herself, just pick a book and get going.

She was off schedule, but nothing could go wrong as long as she stuck to her routine. Her routine was the one thing she could rely on, and she liked it as such, it made her content. The rest of her day would go as planned, she would see to it. *** Lucille Lucille’s day was not going as planned, leaving her anything but content. There was the construction off of Crane Road, forcing her to take the alternate route along Baker’s Lane, only to realize she locked herself out of her apartment. Which was quite unlike her, and she knew as such. She attempted to knock on Mrs. Danbury’s door, but the old woman was known to sleep-in until the afternoon, which was really unhealthy— but that's besides the point ! Lucy had to remind herself how she couldn’t rely on her neighbor in this predicament, and how she would have to call a locksmith. A locksmith ! She has never called for one, but here she was, off schedule, and calling a locksmith. She finished her sandwich, which was really a shame—Lucy enjoyed savoring her breakfast—but she would have to get a move-on, otherwise her lunch plans would be kaput. Pulling out her phone, she quickly dialed a locksmith, thanks to Google , and waited.

And waited. Waited a bit more. And, yes , waited anxiously beside apartment 3-B, while scrolling through her phone. Finally, when she thought she would have to cancel her plans, a locksmith appeared. Except this wasn’t just any locksmith, it was Michael , the very one she met only an hour earlier. Surely , Lucy thought, this must be due to foul play . She wasn’t one to believe in coincidences or bad luck, giving her enough reason to question if her sanity was still intact—because her schedule was already jumbled, so it would only make sense for him to be a stalker, or a criminal, robbing her of all people ! But what did she have that held value, her book from Rob’s ?

No, that would be ridiculous, he was probably a figment of my imagination , Lucy reasoned. She knew she was losing her grip with today’s schedule, perhaps it was all due to a fever. Lucy added to this notion, one horrible enough to imagine a tall man with hazel eyes coming to my rescue —wait—what was she thinking?  She shook her head, as if it would be enough to clear her mind of such nonsense. He was not really there, and she was sick, and that was the end of it. He was a guy from this morning, not prince charming coming to her rescue. Snap out of it , Lucy urged herself, get a grip! *** Michael Michael was impulsive with his decisions, he would prefer a day filled with happy unpredictable outcomes than not.

He had skipped lunch, and goodness he was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he skipped both lunch and breakfast. Breakfast was his favorite meal of the day, and he had to skip it today, due to his brother’s unlucky habit of getting sick often. He hadn’t filled in for his brother in months, but he also had a shift today—making him regret having a brother.

He wasn’t one to complain about work, as it always gave him great joy to see new faces, just as he liked it. All of Michael’s friends knew this, and they would all comment on his need for change; how nothing about him was predictable.

One day he could be in Mexico for all they knew and they admired him for this. He was never one to sit and remain content with his day-to-day life, he was the type to do something. No day was like the last, and he was happy for it. Even if sometimes he had to skip a meal or two in the process, like today. His stomach grumbled as he walked up the stairs, and he had to place a hand on it to muffle the sound, it wasn’t much help—yet at least he did something about it. Otherwise he would only look like a sad husk of a man, walking up some stairs in hopes of finishing his work for a bite to eat—which was partially true, but still.

Michael stopped short of the door, allowing him to take in Lucille’s disheveled appearance. She was flustered, anyone could tell , with her hair out of it’s bun and her scarf uneven around her shoulders, it didn’t seem like her. She seemed like the type to know how her day would go, as everything went to plan, keeping her life intact with a strict routine. He didn’t know why he thought this, he just did. It was perhaps the scrunch of her nose, her failed attempt at trying not to show how aggravated she was. Maybe it was her phone hanging by her side, showing a bright screen of notepads and calendars, all for him to see. Michael had to force himself to say something, because he soon realized she had startling blue eyes. Not the type to get lost in , Michael thought, but the type to be aware of . He caught himself again, feeling rather sheepish, and said the first thing that came to his mind— commenting on anything else besides how she looked , “How was the sandwich?” She squinted her eyes at him. “My what?” “Your sandwich,” he adjusted his grip on his tools, and added, “you were holding one this morning.” He did like his food, so this may distract him, even if she was gaping at him at the mention of a sandwich . “Oh, yes, I suppose I did.” She placed the phone back into her pocket, and crossed her arms, making Michael believe she wasn’t one for small talk. He resumed the conversation, “Would you mind if I asked you where you got one? I am thinking of picking one up on the way back to Rivet’s, I may even snag one for the guy.” He poked around his tools, and focused back to the door. “Well actually, I made it myself.” He stopped. “Really, are you serious?” “Quite.” She straightened at the question. “I would hate to ask this of a friend—” “That is a bold assumption,” she started to laugh, and stated, “we had only met an hour ago! I hardly know anything past your name.” “ One , I was just going to say your breakfast smelled great, and I was going to ask if you could make a few; two , I would gladly pay you, if you were up to it; three , you know I work part-time at Rob’s and now Rivet’s.” The door opened with a satisfying CLICK, and he got up to look at his work with a wide smile. “I would say that would be enough to consider me a friend, I did just unlock your door for you, you’re welcome by the way.” She held up a finger, but left it there. The sight made Michael hold a laugh, she looked as if she was rebooting to form a proper response. He stumped her, perhaps he was the first to do so, and he liked it.

“Are you up to it?” She focused back on the conversation, and asked, “I beg your pardon?” “The sandwiches, are you up to making one— or two —for me to take back.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crisp twenty. “I did say I would gladly pay you, and I meant it.” “Oh, erm,” she looked down the hall and back. “I suppose so—” “Thank you, this means a lot to me, I don’t often skip breakfast, but I am pulling double shifts today—” She stopped him with a look. “If, and only if , you don’t touch anything inside.” She walked over to the door, making him side-step around her. Lucille opened the door and looked back at him. “ Me included.” Michael held a hand to his chest, holding back a gasp. “Lucille, that is a bold assumption you would make of a friend—” “An acquaintance if anything, don’t flatter yourself.”

“That is much better, I would take an acquaintance over a stranger any day.” He flashed a smirk at her, as he walked inside her apartment. “Thank you again, my stomach is about to consume me. I don’t think Tim would appreciate it if I wasn’t around to cover his shift tomorrow.” Lucille sighed back, holding no response once again—Michael smiled at this—as she closed the door behind them. He was glad he was impulsive enough to skip breakfast, because if he hadn’t, he would never have been happy as he was then. *** Michael Michael began to regret his habit of being impulsive, leaving him anything but happy. It had been thirteen minutes—yes he counted—since they last held a conversation. Within the time he has: twiddled his thumbs for entertainment, checked his phone for any notifications, and looked at her wall—it wasn’t boring per se, it was just so Lucille . Every spot was squared away in a neat and orderly fashion, and all the picture frames were matching in size and color. He didn’t know why he knew this, he just did.

Staying still for so long was unlike Michael, and he knew this. His mind urged him to touch something and ask about it, but he didn’t want to go back on his word. He never held so much restraint towards himself, but here he was, regretting, and looking around her apartment. He held still, and waited. And waited. Waited a bit more. And, yes , waited beside her wall filled with picture frames, while twiddling his thumbs. Finally, when he thought he had to break this awful silence, he saw something. Except it wasn’t just something, it was him , just two weeks ago at the park. Surely , Michael thought, this must be a hilarious prank . He did believe in coincidences and fate, but this—this was extraordinary. The city they lived in was anything but small, giving him enough reason to believe someone had planned this. He didn’t know how—or more specifically why —but this was too odd, even for him. Did she plan this? Michael considered this further. He looked back at her, hunched over the stove, sticking her tongue out as she attempted to flip a fried egg, and he quickly rejected the idea with a wave of his hand.

No, this is all too crazy, it surely must be a coincidence, nothing more than that , Michael reasoned. He was just overthinking this, perhaps it was all due to his boredom. Michael added to this idea, bored enough to imagine those blue eyes and —oh no—he knew where this was going, and he had to stop himself. His shift would end soon, and he would be meeting someone on a blind date soon, he couldn’t fall for her. Even if it kills him, he would have to thank her for these sandwiches and leave politely. She was Lucille—an acquaintance—not someone he should daydream over. Let it go, Michael willed himself, stop daydreaming, and do something else! *** The Universe Michael and Lucy were going to be happy and content, and they will continue to prefer as such. Whether they both knew it now or not, both of them are destined to meet again, and at the very same park later that afternoon. Lucy will be at a loss for words, and to Michael’s relief, this was all because she was slowly falling for him. Michael would continue to be patient when it comes to her needs, even if his impulsive nature may prove this to be difficult. Michael and Lucy will extend their lunch date, and take a stroll along the park, talking about Tim and how his absence wasn’t missed one bit. They continue to debate about how I had a role in their lives, and how odd the coincidences were in such a large city. Only moments later, though, it will begin to rain; halting their suspicions of greater powers playing a role in their lives (even though they weren't wrong).

 Michael, the newfound gentleman, resolves this as he offers his jacket. Lucy will scold him for not being under as well, forcing them both to run under his jacket towards the nearest trees. They are fated to sit there for hours, both reluctant to leave, and talk through the rest of the day.

The rain will clear, reason enough for both of them to part their separate ways. They end the date in a hug—Lucy was, and forever will be, cautious of meeting new people—and she will comment on how wonderful the day was. Michael furthers this thought, and proposes the day should continue with a second date later in the evening. Lucy subsequently laughs at the the preposterous idea, and agrees. They will both be happy and content, as they will prefer as such for the rest of the evening. (And just as I plan for them to be, for the rest of their days together.)


Henry looked up at the old woman and immediately felt rigid, as if he was frozen in ice. "Ok Harry, go hide.” She said endearingly. “I'll come look for you in 5 minutes. No sooner, no later." Not needing another queue, the ice exploded and the boy ran. Clothes like tattered kites and feet bare as the wind, he sprint low. Snaking down the hall and weaving through the old furniture like he was at soccer practice, Henry ran down to the far end of the mansion where the old lady couldn't hear. From the sounds of the house and the speed of the child Henry guessed she located their room before the game even began. And from the last few who tried he knew better than to choose a close room. His feet slapped hard against the carpet as he ran. The rooms at the far end of the mansion were no good... Checking them door by door, most of them smelled foul so he avoided those knowing they hadn't worked, some rooms were too empty, decaying floor boards and flicking lights whispered their hollowness. He needed a room full of stuff, one nobody had tried yet. Five minutes was not a lot of time, however. Mentally keeping track, Henry's pace rapidly became more and more reckless. Fingers of fear slithering their way into his mind, he stopped shutting doors at 2 minutes, stopped turning on or off lights at 3 minutes and stopped checking windows for a way out at 1. There was only time to race from room to room now. Desperately he tried to find a good spot. He found none. A whimper pushed its way out his throat as he spun round in the decrepit hall, his mind racing with nightmares. *Where!?* He mentally screamed. He looked to the barred windows and feared he would never get out. He fingered the badge on his shirt and feared he would never see his friends again. He stared down at the band-aid on his palm and longed for his family, his mother. He just wanted to help her find Tucker! He didn't mean to let him outside! Behind him a screech ripped down the hall. “No..” he feebly whispered. But the game had begun, the hag is coming. Heart thundering, Henry gazed upon the last and final door of the hall. Small and closet-like, he opened it hopeless, tears already welling up in his eyes, he was never going to get out of here, he was never going to see his family again he sobbed. But the game was not over yet! The room was stocked. An incline bed sat at the center of a weird, tiled, space surrounded by work benches and cabinets. Quickly and quietly the small boy dug into one of the benches not bothering to look at all the macabre instruments hanging round the room. A huge flood of relief pouring over him as he tightened into a ball and began praying for time to pass. A white cloth draped over the workbench helped to conceal his form as as he struggled to control his breathing, his shaking stilling down to a shiver. Down the hall his worst fears came to fruition, however, and like the charge of a bull he heard the destructive footfall of the crazy woman careening through the building. Henry's heart lurched into his throat. *PLEASE!...* he wanted to cry but stifled his breath. She had run right to him! The door burst open and slammed against the inside wall with a vicious crack. ******* "Harold…Henry…Harry” She sang, “Whatever your name is, come out, come out, where ever you are..." *This isn't fair!* Henry internally pleaded. It made no sense that she'd simply guessed where he was. It made no sense she didn't even check the other rooms. How was anyone supposed to win?! The hag was already moving bench to bench while he thought, assessing each tool with an unnatural glee, her voice became more and more twisted as she spoke. "Did you know bone saws make terrible cleavers?" She stated picking up another tool. "Or that scalpels are perfect for throwing? Have you ever wanted to know how someone else would look with your face or shake your own detached hand? Harold?!" No… If she knows where I am then the game is a lie. She wont let us go if we win because we can't win. She'd planned to kill every one of us from the start. Slowly Henry's fingers curled into a fist as the fullness of his naivety bared down on him. The boy shook his head and fought back tears. Abruptly, across the room the old woman flipped a table over, crashing an array of instruments to the ground. A cackle following suit. "Harold I like you. You're smarter than the rest. As soon as I saw you I knew I'd get a good game out of you… So I saved you for last." Violently she kicked another bench to the ground, a small chainsaw peeling as it scratched marks across the floor, the sound making Henry wince. "But the real game has yet to begin, soon we will be playing a different game. A better game. A game of screaming and laughter..." To Henrys dismay, the old woman changed direction and began walking as slow as she could toward him and like the flip of a switch, Henry's mind jarred as she turned, the dark reality coming down on him all at once. She reached his table with a casual clanging, each tool she passed receiving an endearing nudge of her personal hatchet. The sound like the perversion of a xylophone. "Very soon!" She rasp, leaning down and ripping back the cloth! There was no time to think, only to do. Henry had had enough of everything! Before he could realize it Henry had reached up atop the table, grabbed something, and lunged at the deranged hag with it. He couldn't even see if he'd struck her! In the last moments he'd closed his eyes shaking with fear, a cry pouring over his lips - time seeming to slow. When he opened his eyes the hag was still there, though. A small smile curling on her wrinkled lips. *Not fair!* Henry's entire body tightened like an ice sculpture, the idiot boy frozen by his own fear. ...But she hadn't moved. For what felt like an eternity Henry stared into the old woman's bulging yellow eyes and dry leathery skin. Until with a snort, a confused look crossed her face and she stumbled back. A metal handle revealing itself under her chin. Henry gasp. Blood poured then and like a fountain the boy cried while red began to gush. He needed to get out!Stumbling feebly, he made for the door, his small feet feeling like water beneath his knees. The old woman grabbed his shins as he past but her strength was gone. He slipped past her like seaweed. Basically collapsing he trudged as away from her before falling to a shivering heap... ******* He couldn't remember much of what he did next. Feverishly, hours later, he found a way out by one of the second floor windows, one already damaged by one of the other children trying to escape, and was able to make it to a road where he was picked up by a passerby. Henry lays in a hospital bed now, hardly believing he's escaped and still flinching at every footstep made toward his room from down the hall. Vacantly, on the TV, the young boy watches as a news lady begins a breaking story outside a 'dilapidated dormitory' but he turns it off when he recognizes some of the old furniture – a small tremble finding his fingertips. Down the hall he tentatively listens to the approach of a frantic woman and an ice begins to spread through his chest until she opens the door. When he sees his mother, the ice leaves crying in its wake. ******* All criticism/ feedback very appreciated. Will gladly read and give one of your works criticism/feedback if you wish in return. Thanks for reading.


Hi, this is my first post on here. I'm new to writing short stories so sorry if this is slightly badly written. This story does discuss suicide. Also I'm on mobile so the format might be crappy. It was 4am, I was awoken by the ring of my telephone. It was dark, but I was able to find the phone in my night stand. I checked for the number and it wasKatherine, my girlfriend. I picked up but it wasn’t her voice. “Michael?” The voice said. “Hello? Who is this?” I asked “This is Ashley, Katherine’s little sister.” “Oh hi,” I said with a tired tone, “why are you calling me so early?” She went silent, she didn’t respond. “Hello?” I said. Her voice went broken, you could hear her fighting back the tears, “Katherine… Katherine is dead.” Time stopped. I thought it was a joke for a couple seconds, a very cruel joke. But her broken voice as she said “She killed herself 3 hours ago,” made me know she wasn’t joking. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. The love of my life, the one person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, was gone. She couldn’t have. No, she wouldn’t have. I hung up the phone and got in my car. I drove to her house, I just couldn’t believe she did that. She was always so happy, she was loving. As I pulled up I could see the flashing lights of police cars and a rescue truck. There in the distance, there were the rescue workers putting a white cloth over her beautiful face. It was true. There was no way to lie to my eyes. I walked over to the police car, there was her mom. Tears running down her face, her whole face red, even her nose was snotty. Next to her was her dad, he wasn’t showing emotion but you could tell that was a whole facade, he was trying to hold back his tears. I walked up to them and asked them what happened, I desperately needed answers. Her mother told me her father found her, she was in the bathtub. She had cuts all over her arms and on the floor was an empty bottle of sleeping pills. My sweet Katherine had truly killed herself. RIght there, as I heard them talk to me how she died, I broke down. Men don’t cry but I’ve just lost the most important thing in my life. Ashley walked over to me, she had a paper in one hand and a small ring in the other. She passed me both of them and I recognized the ring almost immediately. It was the promise ring I gave her in highschool a few years back. “Katherine made a note for each of us.” I opened up the note and it read, “Dear Michael, I hope you know I love you. I love you so much but I never deserved you. You were too good for me. You deserve someone better. You gave me this ring junior year of highschool, we promised we’d be together forever. I’m sorry I broke that promise. I loved you so much but I can’t keep living anymore. I was trapped in my thoughts and in my body. I needed to escape. I heard voices telling me I wasn’t good enough, that everything I did was never gonna be good enough. The shadows following me, they were haunting every step I took. Staring at me, judging me. This was the only way for me to escape and be happy. I’ll always love you, Katherine.” I put the note against the chest, and cried harder than I ever did in my life. I said to myself “You deserved the world.” I wish I could have helped her. This was my fault. I should have helped her, I could have saved her but now she’s gone.


Luther regained consciousness, his mind shocked awake by the jarring sound of a metallic door retracting. It rolled up slowly, creaking and bumbling, into the metal hood above. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth as rain washed across his scalp wound. Vague memories of a meeting at a bar followed by a crack on the head bubbled up. The men held him under each arm, dragging his limp body, toes trailing on the ground behind. Entering the building Luther noticed an oily rainbow flash off a stain on the ground. A single naked light bulb barely illuminated the room. The unmistakable smell of gasoline clung to his nostrils. I’m in a garage , he thought. Swinging his small frame to full height they dumped him roughly into the chair. The two men held him in place as a third man brought metallic manacles. The circular hand cuffs barely fit around his wrist and the armrest, crunching harshly onto his skin. “Ow, watch it!” he screamed, now fully awake. The skinny man wore a dirty, threadbare tee shirt and pants that were too big. Extra holes were punched into his belt so they would safely stay put. He laughed, his unshaven, twitchy face inches away. “This is just the beginning old man.” Halitosis and body odor washed over Luther, along with a wave of nausea. Gathering himself he said, “You’d better not put the ankle cuffs on, you’ll regret it if you do, I guarantee it.” Skinny man turned, a look of uncertainty on his face. He couldn’t remember if Sensei told him to put them on, or to not put them on. Frowning he grabbed the manacles and clamped them. Better safe than sorry. They crunched into his ankle splitting open the skin and scratching the metal leg of the chair. Luther’s scream echoed off the walls. He knew he’d regenerate rapidly, but the pain was real. Inhaling deeply, he focused on his ankle, feeling the skin tingle as it healed. Heavy footsteps brought him back to the garage. Luther could see himself reflected off the visor of the man’s helmet. He was enormous, standing well over six feet, and wore arrogance like a cloak. What little he could see of the man’s caramel colored face was clean shaven. “I’m Thibault. I extract information. First thing, those cuffs are titanium and cobalt, so you won’t be able to Channel. Second thing, you’re going to die tonight.” Pausing, he allowed that to thought sink in. “Last thing, the sooner you tell me what I need to know the sooner the suffering ends. The truth is I hope you hold out for a while; it makes it more interesting for me.” Smiling, he turned slowly and rolled a tray hidden in the shadows behind him. Several metallic instruments glistened brightly as they passed into the light. Thibault kept his torture devices in excellent working order, the cleanliness discordant with their evil purpose. “Now, tell me where the Mirror is.” Luther stared into the visor trying to ignore the evil sneer on Thibault’s face. For the millionth time he wondered why he let himself get into these situations. For the money , he thought. “I’m not telling you anything. And since I can see you are a professional would you mind swabbing my skin with alcohol before you strike? It’ll help avoid infection.” Lightning-fast Thibault lifted the baton and crashed it into Luther’s elbow. The sickening sound of breaking bone bounced off the walls dully. Luther screamed, then swooned as his vision blurred. Gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut forcefully, he focused on his elbow. Gathering his will, he felt the familiar surge of power. A smooth bulge formed mid-bicep and slowly extended across the elbow in a wave. Three more waves and the bone healed. “What the hell was that?” asked Thibault. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be able to Channel in these cuffs!” Skinny man was shocked. “I have no idea what happened, but that wasn’t Channeling.” Swallowing hard, he tried to process what happened, but to no avail. Intravenous drug abuse and hard living made it nearly impossible for him to problem solve. In desperation he said, “Maybe we should call Sensei?” Softly, Thibault said, “Not yet, junky. He feels pain, so he can be broken.” Stretching his arms, grunting loudly, cracking his neck to either side, he looked carefully at the tray. Smiling he grabbed his second favorite tool. Several hours later, as the torture continued, Luther’s screams bounced off the walls. Thibault had removed his body armor but left the helmet on. Sweat streamed off his powerfully muscled body. Arching his back, he tried loosening the sore muscles around his lumbar spine. Skinny man scratched his arm. He would need a hit soon, the craving crawled along his skin like a centipede. “Hey, man,” he squeaked, voice cracking, “He’s not gonna break. We need to get Sensei in here to do her, you know, thingy.” He punctuated this statement with a double-handed gesture. “No. I’ve got one more trick. Get me the plunger.” Skinny man gaped, “Th…th...the plunger? Are you serious? We can’t kill him before he tells us where the mirror is.” Thibault leapt from his stool and grabbed Skinny man by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. Skinny man’s eyes bulged, he gasped for air. “Get me the plunger, junky,” he whispered before rag dolling him into the corner. Skinny man ran to the van and brought back the device. It bounced roughly as it rolled across the uneven ground outside. He quickly wheeled it to Thibault and skittered into a dark corner. Crouching against the wall he bobbed his head back and forth quickly, trying to quell the urge to get high, but not succeeding. Plugging the machine into a cord that hung from the ceiling, Thibault quickly booted up the computer. He tapped away on the keyboard with all ten fingers. The three-dimensional screen popped up above the computer, with a blinking cursor faintly visible near the bottom. Opening the door on the side he removed the device, plugging the heavy adaptor into its slot on the top left side of the machine. Luther had been unable to see what he was doing. As Thibault turned, he held up the device. It looked like a screwdriver attached to a thick cable, but instead of a screwdriver head there was a needle-like trocar. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re either going to tell me where the Mirror is, or I’m going to drive this trocar through the squamosal portion of your temporal bone, into your brain, and remove the information by force. The thing is most people die. With you it’s hard to tell, but do you really want to take a chance?” He paused, allowing the device to hang from its cord. “I’ll give you a minute to think about it.” Thibault walked away leaving Luther to stare at the evil device. Light glinted off the tip as it slowly swung like a pendulum. For several minutes the only sound was the pitter patter of rain off the garage roof. Luther breathed in deeply, knowing what he had to do. “What’s it going to be? The Mirror or your life?” Luther just stared at him morosely. “Fine.” Thibault picked up the trocar with his right hand, placed his left on the opposite side of Luther’s head, and drove it into his brain. Luther froze, eyes open, mouth slack, a dribble of saliva slowly drifting down his chin. On the three-dimensional monitor flashed a series of images without sound. A much younger Luther pulling the oval, handheld Mirror from a basket in an antiques shop. Luther talking to an old woman attempting to decipher the hieroglyphs along the edges of the Mirror. Luther removing his hand from inside the Mirror pulling out a pulsating red glob of fluid. Luther arguing with his wife, her leaving with the kids, him walking alone down a desolate highway. The final scene froze in midair above the computer: Luther staring at himself in the Mirror not recognizing the thing he had become. In the chair, dead-eyed Luther stared at his frozen virtual doppelganger above the computer. Thibault frowned, tried rebooting the device, but then gave up. He looked at Luther with side eyes, grabbed the trocar and pulled it out with a squishy jerk of his hand. “Better get Sensei.” Shaking his head in disbelief he vaguely listened to the echo of Skinny man’s steps sprinting down the hallway. Luther slowly mended his fractured brain. Several minutes passed before he could talk, the words feeling like glue in his mouth before he caught a second wind. Glancing to his left Thibault sat slump-shouldered on a stool, the very picture of defeat. “You don’t want the Mirror, believe me. That Mirror has cost me everything, my wife, my kids, my job, everything.” With a self-deprecating snort he added, “I used to be an accountant if you can believe that. But I was seduced by the Mirror, by the offer of power. Anyway, this’ll all be over once your Sensei gets here.” Thibault smirked, looked at Luther, and said, “You got that right.” As if on cue the door opened, and Skinny man entered followed closely by a figure walking with the staccato gait of a cyborg. “You failed, Thibault. This is most disappointing,” said Sensei who spoke with a sultry female tenor. She stopped a few feet from Luther. “Why does he have ankle manacles on? I specifically told you to not use ankle manacles.” Luther looked at the cyborg. “Don’t be angry at him, Sensei, it’s what you get for using drug addicts. And by the way, thanks for using titanium and cobalt manacles. If you ever get to use the Mirror, you’ll find there really is no better catalyst.” Luther inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes widening as he concentrated fully on the transformation. The manacles softened, melted, and then absorbed into his pores. Skin became like packed dirt as his body expanded. One moment he was a man, the next a nine-foot-tall earth golem. Letting out a guttural roar he extended his fists impossibly long, crashing into Thibault and Skinny man, killing them instantly. Next, he enlarged his hand and enveloped Sensei, pulling her closer. His voice was deep, like the rumble of an earthquake. “So glad you came to me, you really are impossible to find. Give me the chip and I’ll be on my way.” He emphasized this by crushing her legs as if they were papier mâché. “You know I cannot give you the chip, my programming forbids it. I know you will never remove it intact without my help. We are at an impasse.” Luther thought about that for a few seconds, looked up and realized he needed help. Focusing on his throat, a bubbling, gurgling sound escaped through his lips. Several seconds later he regurgitated a visor with a left ocular attachment. “That was disgusting,” said Sensei. “Yeah, I know. Felt bad, too.” Placing the visor across his forehead he pressed the button on the eye piece and said, “Command one, this is Luther, over.” “Command one. Good to hear your voice, Luther. How did it go, over?” “Bad. Their guy used a plunger. I hate those things. Anyway, I’ve got Sensei. I need to know how to get the chip, over.” “I’m sorry to hear that. What you do is for the greater good, I hope you know that. Right, um, she is an AP-47 so you’ll find the button through the base of her neck, over.” A look of shock crossed her face. “How do they know about the…” Before she could finish Luther had formed his index finger into a snake-like appendage. It entered a nearly invisible slot near the base of her neck and penetrated deep into her chassis. Her head opened like a mechanical onion in stepwise fashion, top, middle, bottom. Carefully reaching in he removed the onyx chip. Immediately, the faint light pulsing across the chip went out, as did Sensei’s life. Leaving the garage and walking quickly down the dark alley Luther frowned. As always, low-level depression washed over him when he transformed back to human. I should’ve stayed an accountant.


Meyer. Just Meyer is what I go by. I’ve spent the entire year trying to live up to the promise I made at the shrine in 2152. Like everyone in Shokertown, I headed over to the shrine at the New Year to pray and give thanks for the year before and hope for good things to come. The line last year wrapped around the corner from the temple entrance. The weather at the New Year was always sweltering. People were fanning themselves, but no one left the line. When I finally reached the shrine, I clapped my hands and prayed. I wished for what I know my mother would have wanted before she died: That I would not flat on my back in some alley, my last sight on earth the smog-filled sky above me, while a gun held at my head moved me into the next life. I don’t know what moved me to pray for her wish. But I knew she was watching me. And I owed her.

The gods had been good to me. The following year I found a room and a steady job with a shopkeeper who needed someone with enough muscle to dissuade some of her more light-fingered customers from trying anything in her shop. I started to put some money away and was able to keep a roof over my head without busting any heads. My old pals joked that I’d found religion and placed a bet that I’d be back with them within the year. But so far, so good.

I’d made it to New Year’s Eve. I had coin in my pocket and for once, was happy to head over to Yuji’s bar near the harbor to have a couple of drinks before heading back to my room over the shop. After I settled in at the bar and took a couple of sips, I felt myself start to relax. Only 30 minutes before the New Year. I felt so good, I started telling Yuji about my good fortune.

“And to think it was all due to the prayer at the shrine last year and my three resolutions,” I told Yuji.

His pencil-thin mustache started to twitch.

“Meyer, it had nothing to do with the gods,” he said.

I looked at him, then swirled the synthetic alcohol in my glass and ignored him. The lights in the bar flickered.

“The electricity has been wonky this week, what with the construction up near the tower, ignore it,” he said.

“Trust me, Meyer, It wasn’t your mother watching over you and it wasn’t the gods. It was all you, man. What were your resolutions?” he asked.

I checked behind me and over at the table against the wall. The bar was a hole in the wall that only 7 people could stand in soaking wet. The only other person here was old fisherman just in from the harbor. He sat hunched over the table, his head hanging low with a half-empty bottle in front of him. He was barely conscious. No one was going to overhear me.

“Come on. What did you commit to doing last year?” he said, wiping a glass dry and setting it in a row of glasses on the counter behind him. The round black clock hanging on the wall behind him still had 15 minutes left on its face. A red seconds hand began another trip around. I hesitated. I hate to admit it, but I am superstitious. “Committed to doing *this* year. 2153 isn’t over yet,” I said. “Yeah, yeah. Come on…”

“First I committed to stay away from alcohol,” I said.

Yuji’s eyes locked onto my glass.

“Real alcohol. This synth stuff is not likely to get me into situations that I would regret tomorrow,”

“Ok, there’s one. Number two?” Yuji picked up another shotglass and began wiping it dry, the cloth squeaking on the glass.

“I committed to stay well away from the Cat’s Eye casino.” Yuji nodded, he knew the riverboat casino permanently anchored further down the road at Shokertown’s Harbor. Most of his business came from the fisherman and the rest from the folks too down on their luck to afford another place to drink.

“Most of my problems came from hanging out there. Or hanging out with people who hung out there. They used to be most of my gigs.”

I finished my drink and set the glass down on the bar. The half-melted ice cubes shifted in the glass.

Yuji finished another glass and set it behind him.

“And the last?”

“Don’t bad mouth the gods,” I said. Yuji stopped drying the glass for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. “Come on, Meyer. You don’t believe that Ghost shrine shit, do you?” He put the final glass behind him on the counter. Twelve glasses lined up in rows of 3.

At that moment there was a click and the electricity went out. The bar had no windows so I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

“Damnit,” Yuji said. “Give me a minute. It’s the fuse box. I’ll be right back.”

“No, I’ve got it. Is it back near the door to the alley?” I asked. He didn’t respond.

“Yuji, I can’t see your face man. Is it near the door to the alley?”

Yuji chuckled, “Sorry. Yes it is. Here’s a flashlight,” He turned on the flashlight and held it out, handle first. I grabbed it and aimed the faint circle of light to where I thought the hallway was.

The bar’s narrow walls were fake wood paneling. A few fifteen steps down the hallway, I found the fuse box and yanked it open. Sure enough, all of the fuses were turned to off. I began to turn them back on, starting with the lights in the hallway, when I heard shattering glass. A drunken voice cried out and after a moment I heard the bar door slam shut.

“Yuji?” I shouted. There was no response.

I flipped the remaining fuses back on and rushed back to the bar.  The old fisherman was gone. Did he try something?

I looked over to the bar. The glasses that had been neatly set in rows on the counter were lying in broken pieces. The mirror above them was wreathed in frost. Yuji stood with his back to me, looking at the broken glasses on the bar shelf. When I walked back to my stool, he looked up into the frost-edged mirror at my reflection. He exhaled slowly. A couple of barstools were knocked over on the floor. I picked them up and put them next to the bar. “What happened?” I asked.

“Shit if I know,” he said shakily. He picked up a hand broom, moved the trash can over to the back of the bar and sweeped the broken glass into the trash can.

“Did the guy at the table try something?”

“No. The glasses…broke behind me. He screamed and left so fast, he knocked down a couple of stools” he said.

Yuji took down a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and poured three fingers worth into a glass. He held the bottle out to me.

The clock above the bar still had two minutes left to the year.

I backed up, holding up my hands.

“Two minutes left to the year,” I said. Yuji nodded and tossed the drink back.

“Take it easy, Yuji. I’m heading home,” I said.

Yuji put the glass down and followed me to the door.

“Happy New Year!” I said.

Yuji gave me a weird look.

“Happy New Year, Meyer. Stay committed, eh?” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

He shut the door and slammed the bolt shut behind me.  I looked up into the night sky. Fireworks began popping off in brilliant colors over Shokertown.

“Happy New Year, Mom!” I whispered. I felt a cold breeze on my neck, unseasonably cold for this time of year.


*SHATTER* And a ball comes flying in. There is a faint sound of children egging each other on to grab the ball in this dusty, dull, crumby house, one that hasn't been properly lived in for maybe 20 years. "You get it!" Shouts one kid. "No. Devan should get it! He threw it!" Yells another. "You kicked it! And you broke their window!" The running feet at a fast pace begin to slow down and abruptly stop at the creaky porch window. A head pops through the broken window, peaking into the dilapidated house. Not only did the window shatter, but the pane is coming off the wall. The boy looks around, but cannot see much of the house. The natural light is being blocked by the old, residued windows so there is no luck seeing anything from outside. "Go in Devan!" A voice shouts. "No! This place gives me the creeps!" "Do you see the ball?" "Notta! That thing is gone." Says the peaking child. "Go in and look for it." Says a voice beside him while he engages a sour face. "What are you afraid of? Spiders? This place is empty." The boy acknowledges that it is empty and without turning to his friend he says, "Come with me then." His friend begins to shake then states, "I'm game. You first. You threw it first before I kicked it." The first boy begins to crawl through the window- "You're not even going to knock first?! That's so disrespectful!" Yells one of the kids outside. He ignores their outburst. He is already mostly inside and there's no turning back from here. He takes a couple steps then hears a rough creak in the floor and immediately stops. He turns around and sees his friend staring at him through the window with a blank face and says, "You coming or what?" He turns back around and sees a portrait of.. The house? There's a portrait of the house on the wall and a mirror beside it. And this is strange, in the portrait the windows are all mirrors. Concept art? He inspects the fancy mirror and it's frame while the wallpaper behind it is quite obviously aged. He hears a rough creak behind him and says to his friend, "Bout time. Look at this. it's the only other thing in this house besides me that isn't gross looking." He chuckles while looking at his friend Ross's reflection. "It's just a crumby old mirror." The other kid states. He and his friend look around for the ball for a few moments and they decide that it's no use, they've checked all possible areas where the ball could have reasonably landed. That. And the house is starting to give Devan the creeps. He checks down a hall and flips a light switch that is extremely reluctant at first, but gives and provides electricity. When the light comes on there is nothing but webs all along the walls and the ceiling. (Gross.) He thinks to himself and looks around for the ball. He looks to the end of the hall and notices another long human sized mirror. This one is surrounded by webs and seems a bit more aged like the rest of the house.. And.. the Ball! It's directly beneath the mirror. He quickly grabs it and begins to stand while the floor creaks again. As he stands straight up the floor begins to give and he hears, "The shadows! They course! Awaken brothers!" "AHHHH," He screams as he runs out of the hallway, forgetting the ball in his hands for a moment and trips on an exposed plank in the ground. He immediately begins to tremble as he then hears laughter. Children laughing. His friends are looking at him from outside, cutting up as if they are all just playing a prank on him. He blushes of embarrassment and grabs his ball and runs to the window and scolds, "That's not funny! I could seriously hurt myself!" And he looks to his friend. "And where the hell did you go?! You just left me in there?" They all go silent and his friend looks at him and says, "What'ya mean?" "Devan just cussed. I'm telling Mrs. Maxwell." "You left me all alone. You come with me, I went into the hallway and you just left? What kind of friend are you?" "Devan..." "No, don't give me that. You're a wuss." He says. "You're a big ole' wuss." "Devan, what are you talking about? Ross didn't go in with you." One of the kids pleaded. They all looked at him in silence. "What do you mean?" Ross looks at him and says, "You told me to leave, you said get out after I called the mirror 'crumby.' Remember?" "No?! When did I say that? I never said that." "We all heard you. You were very mean to him, you chased him out of the house and he almost hurt himself falling out of the window." "That's why we decided to mess with you. That's why we yelled, 'We're telling your brother.' Because we knew it would get you running." "That's not what I heard." Devan remarks. "What you mean? What'd you hear?" One of the kids in the back asks. "I heard something about shadows, and awaken my brothers." Devan nervously states. Immediately after saying that the house begins to shake, He begins to climb through the window, but the sill collapses under his weight and he falls to the ground. He panics and immediately jumps up and when he goes to jump out there is no window, no opening, there is a frame, a frame with a mirror. The mirror from before. "What.." A creak from behind alerts him and he immediately twists to see what's there and it's his friend, Ross. "Wait. When did you-" "The shadow," A terrifyingly familiar voice that is nowhere near the sound of his friend utters to him, "The shadow has awakened. You. Boy. You have set us back on our course. It's time to-" "AHHH" The child screams as he dashes to the door only to find.. There is no door, but another mirror. This one is door sized and surrounded with more webs. He bangs on the mirror and attempts to shatter it. "What are you doing?" His friend inquires. It's Ross. In Ross's voice. "What do you mean? I'm getting out of here. This place is haunted, it's, it's gross and we need to leave!" "But.. The ball." Ross states. "Forget the ball! Something strange is happening and we need to leave!" He begins to lash out at his friend, but Ross appears to be unfazed. "Ross? Are.. Are you ok?" He asks with genuine concern. "I feel better than ever." He rebuttals in the most monotone voice with the most blank face he's ever seen his friend make. "Well.. Well, we need to get out of here. This place isn't safe." He says to his friend. "Ok." Ross plainly states. He begins rushing around the dusty, almost empty living room, "There was a door here, but now all I see are mirrors." He looks around and begins to retrace his steps, he's still wondering how Ross got in there with him and what happened to the window. When the window collapsed did he hit his head? Maybe he fell through he floor and the basement has a similar layout to the living room. Come to think of it, the whole room is different now. (maybe I did hit my head) he thinks to himself as he slowly approaches the stairs. "Ross, Come on!" As he begins his journey up the staircase. There is still an unsettling feeling to all of this, Where did Ross come from? He was the only one in the house, they all said it. Even though he saw him come into the house.. No.. He heard him come it earlier. They all mess with each other so it's probably just another prank. Very distasteful and how he's bumped his head, could have cut himself on the glass if they weren't careful. *CRUNCH* A sudden startle at the bottoms of his feet. He immediately looks down and notices the glass of a large, stair sized mirror has cracked beneath him. There are cracks all throughout it and millions of trillions of pieces of glass stuck to his shoes. (odd) he thinks to himself. Why is there a mirror in the stairs? Is this another prank? What's the deal? He makes it to the top of the stairs and opens a door and he sees a long room full of webs. It's the hallway, except at the end of the hall there is a broken mirror. A sad sight honestly. It was in great shape before and now it's shattered with a large ball imprint in the bottom quadrant of it, he inspects for a moment: "Did we do this?" He says aloud to himself. A hand rests on his shoulder with an unsettling touch. He turns around and anxiously screams, he backs away panicking again, and falls back onto the floor and pushes himself away from the monstrosity before him. He hits the end of the hallway, it's the mirror, broken with a ball shaped gash right where his head leans upon as he runs out of space to keep backing. What is before him is a humanoid spider Ross. It has several spider eyes and a hefty collection of fuzzy legs. It slowly creeps toward him, "What's wrong, friend? Don't you recognize me? I'm like you. I breath, I eat, I play, we are much more alike than you think." "You're a freak!" He yells as he kicks at the spider Ross. It grabs his leg as he squirms and looks at the bottoms of his shoes. There sticks millions of trillions of pieces of broken glass. The spider Ross calmly lets go and says, "Are you hurt? That's a lot of glass." Devan yells again, "Get away from me you freak!" The spider Ross asks, "Freak? How so?" "Have you seen yourself? You're disgusting. Take a look in the mirror you beast!" Devan screeches loudly while he violently tears the mirror off the wall and shows it to the spider Ross. "I'm. A. Monster?" He asks with an immediate shot of depression in his voice. "But, We're friends. I thought. I thought we could play some more together." Spider Ross responds. "No! EWW! get away!" He yells as he bashes the spider Ross over the head and scrams around. "The shadows! They course! Awaken brothers!" He hears behind him as he darts out of the hallway and begins running, yelling, eyes closed, panicking for the life of him, he stumbles once again on the loose floor board and rolls around the creaky floor. He shoots up and leaps for the window. *SLAM* As he falls out of the broken, glass-less window and pops his head up he notices all of his friends surrounding him. He gets up and looks around as a couple of them chuckle. "That's not funny! I could have seriously hurt myself!" He scolds them as if he's been through this before. "And where the hell is Ross? Why did he abandon me like that?" "Devan just cussed. I'm telling Mrs. Maxwell." "Ross?" One kid inquires. "He went in looking for you?" "What?.." Devan's heart drops. "He did?" "Yeah! He walked out saying you told him to leave, but then he heard you screaming so he dashed back in there looking for you! You didn't see him?" "No! Which way did he go?!" Devan asks expressingly. "I'm not sure, but don't go back in. You'll hurt yourself." says one kid. "Forget that! There's monsters in there. We need to save him. We need to-" While he's talking he turns around to go back through the window, except there is no window.. just a mirror, facing him, outside of the old, dusty, decrepit house. He stares at the mirror, inspects the entire frame up and down and looks at the wall surrounding it in total astonishment. He sees movement on the mirror and looks behind his own reflection to see Ross, standing there with a bored face staring blankly at him. "What are you doing?" "Ross." Devan states refusing to turn around and remains looking at the reflection of the two of them. "Why do you keep looking at that crumby old mirror?" He asks. "It's the only thing here that doesn't look... ...You know what?" He ponders. "What?" Asks Ross as Devan turns around. "Forget the ball. Let's go play with something else." He says to Ross. "What if someone's home? You're not even going to knock first? What a wuss." Ross aggressively says. "You first. You kicked it in." "But you threw it!" Devan looks at him, gives him a light shove while Ross responds with one of his own and the two of them walk away from the mysterious house. Together. "Who puts a mirror on their front porch anyway?" Is heard at a far enough distance from the house to be faint and disputable as to who actually said it.


In 2037, the people of the Earth knew that the end was near. At least they had a short warning to prepare for the inevitable. A massive, unknown comet was detected at the edge of the solar system on a deadly, unwavering path. In less than three years, it would collide with our moon and completely destroy it. As it made its way toward our symbiotic orbiting partner, scientists admitted that they had no means of stopping it. No man-made object could be constructed to force it to deviate from its trajectory. Even the most powerful missiles or bombs would only splinter away insignificant sized, uncontrolled pieces of shrapnel. Any one of which would rain down on the Earth and do as much damage as the complete astral body would do; once it impacted with the moon. Neither contingency was survivable. For once, all of the experts agreed. The planet would soon cease-to-be. The Earth had always resided at the very nexus of carbon based life. If our planet was any closer to the sun, it would have made biological life impossible. Any further away meant the exact same thing; lifelessness. Once the moon was pulverized, the Earth would become unbalanced and wobble off its invisible gravitational track; falling into an unsurvivable orbit. Earthquakes, tidal waves, and volcanos would blot out most living things immediately. That is, if the drastic shift in global temperature didn't beat the cataclysms to it. All life would perish shortly thereafter in the void of space. With seven months left before impact, a large-scale, evacuation plan was set into motion by scientists and world leaders. The overwhelming majority of people on Earth were going to die. There was no means of saving eight billion people. Every man, woman and child knew the reality. The best and brightest young minds from every culture were selected for 'the forlorn hope'. Their mission was to go forth and establish a permanent settlement on a surrogate world. That host world was decided to be Jupiter. Or more specifically, it was one of its main moons; called 'Europa'. With a thin atmosphere of Oxygen and evidence of liquid water beneath the surface; it was earmarked by experts as the best hope for life to continue on. Massive tidal flexing and gravitational pull from Jupiter was theorized to cause the saline ocean to remain liquified; beneath the frozen crust. This in turn, caused a slightly warmer surface temperature than any of Jupiter's other five large moons. That is not to say that Europa was 'Idyllic' or 'hospitable' by any stretch of the imagination. It was just slightly less deadly than other potential destinations that we could reach. The journey to the middle of the solar system would take more than a dozen years. Humanity's long term survival outlook was admittedly bleak but we were it's last hope. Room on the massive craft was scarce and limited to essential items. It was also necessary for all living things to enter a deep hibernation-like stasis. All living quarters were flooded with a specialized gas to slow down our metabolisms to near death. Being in suspended animation also prevented the consumption and exhaustion of valuable resources. Those were needed for the settlement. The vessel was aptly named: 'The Dandelion'. Much like the tenacious weed, we were floating on thermal winds to spread our seeds in a distant world. The onboard computer was the most advanced technology that had ever been created. It was in full control during the tedious traveling phase. About two months into our forced pilgrimage, the computer alone bore witness to the complete annihilation of Mother Earth. Transmitters and orbiting satellites communicating with 'The Dandelion' documented the final moments of the moon and then, the birthplace of all known life; Terra. After that, there was only the cold, dead silence of space. We were the last remaining vestiges of life in the known universe. Alone. Once we reached our new home, the plan was to send automated tunneling machines into the ice to drill ourselves a path to the liquified sea, underneath. 'The Dandelion' was either going to serve as our undersea living quarters; or it would become our failed tomb. Eventually we were able to establish a living colony in the frigid, alien world. We set up an algae farm and converted the surrounding seawater into breathable oxygen and drinking water. The artificial heat and UV lights in our greenhouse provided necessary photosynthesis elements to sustain our working garden. Our surviving livestock fed on the greenery that we produced; and so our undersea farm was a working food chain. The animal waste materials were recycled into fertilizer for future crops. Life begins and ends at the microbial level. Once settled, we also used the digging machines to bore tunnels into the ocean floor. After pumping out the seawater, we established farming caverns and living quarters. Our extensive seed library was put to better use growing vegetables in the fertilized Europaen soil. It allowed for the possibility of longer-term survival for the colony, as a whole. Over time we adapted our nuclear reactors to produce artificial lighting and heat in the caverns. It has been a monumental struggle to tame the savage elements but we have overcome these tremendous odds. I marvel at how many of our little ones have no experience with any other way of life. Other that in video or photos, they will sadly never known the rich blue planet of their origin. As the chosen leader of this colony, I was tasked with tremendous burden and responsibility of keeping humanity alive for the past forty-five years. It hasn't been easy and we have lost some important battles. Through it all however, the human race continues to fight back and thrive. We rise up against the deadly challenges that would seek to defeat us. We utilize our extensive database of the world's collective knowledge, to educate ourselves and our children. As the fortunate, chosen few; we govern ourselves with a sense of heightened fairness and peaceful resolve. It is my hope that future generations will continue to do so. We are a society of survivors; and Europa is our home.