“Welcome to the Fredrickson Internship,” Dr. Levon Fredrickson said with the world’s cockiest smile on his face. “As you know, we’re the largest government-funded psychology program in New Beckom.” He gestured for his interns to clap. Hesitantly, they did. “Thank you. Thank you. Now, we’ll start by conducting my most famous psychology experiment: The Stasis.” Dr. Fredickson clicked a remote and a presentation shot across the lecture hall wall. “In this experiment, you will all be assigned one subject that has agreed and signed a contract to become part of an experiment—without knowing what the said experiment is. You will inform your subject that the experiment is to cryogenically freeze them and they will be awakened in one hundred years. Your job is to monitor and record the subject’s reaction. The government is providing everything you need to monitor them.” He clicked to a new slide. “Past subjects have been known to succumb to insanity—” He clicked to a slide of someone swaddled in a mountain of blankets in the corner of a dark room. “— recklessness—” A person dancing on their boss’s desk without pants on. “—violent outbursts in retaliation—” A photo of a person throwing their shoes at the camera. “—and suicidal tendencies.” The next slide was blank and Dr. Fredrickson cleared his throat. “Of course, it is required by the government for you to stop the last one and report it immediately.” The presentation clicked to the last slide. “Any questions?” Only one hand shot up. An over-eager girl named Mary-Sue who hand stitched her name into her lab coat. “Should we stop the subjects before they commit any other life changing mistakes like quitting their jobs or committing crimes?” “Nope.” “But they’re acting on false information that could ruin their lives.” Dr. Fredrickson’s smirk flickered, but only for a minute, as the other interns murmured. “Listen, sweetheart, they signed a contract. They agreed to this. It’s just one lie. It’s their choice how to reaction. We can’t be held responsible for their actions—we can only record them. Anything else? Because if you are just going to continue to have problems with my amazing experiment, I think you may need to find another top-ranking internship.” Mary-Sue lowered her head, flashes of everything that could go wrong if she lost this internship invaded her head. She could fail at getting a good job. She and her cat could lose their apartment. Sir Flufftons can’t be homeless. He’s a house cat—he’ll never survive on the streets. “No, sir,” she whispered. “Good. Moving on to assigning your subjects.” *** “Alster Romans. Alster Romans. Alster Romans,” Mary-Sue repeated under her breath as she marched towards the meeting room with the subjects in it. She shoved open the door, letting a cross breath fluff her lab coat. Glancing down at her clipboard to look like she hadn’t been over prepping this moment the entire time over, she said, “Allie-star Romes?” Panic flashed across her face. “I mean… Alster Romans?” A twenty-something, tall man with a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose to his right earlobe raised his hand. “Would you please come with me?” “Sure.” *** After readjusting the paperweights on her temporary office-desk, Mary-Sue folded her hands. Then unfolded them. “The experiment you signed up for has been decided.” “Okay.” “In one week, you will be cryogenically frozen and awakened in one hundred years. We like to give you this time now to get your affairs in order. The government will be made aware of your disappearance, but no one else will and you are required to keep this a secret.” Mary-Sue bit her lip, tensing her writing hand over her clipboard as Dr. Fredrickson’s lesson replayed in her head: One of the key moments to record is the initial reaction. It can often foreshadow their bigger reaction later. Remember, there is a panic button on the edge of your desk in case of an extreme and dangerous reaction . Her left hand hovered by the secret hover button. “Okay,” he said, plainly. Not a drop of emotion crossed his face. “Okay?” She repeated, confusion. “No questions?” “Will the check still go to the requested person?” She double checked Alster’s file. The money from doing the experiment was supposed to be sent to a Ms. Lilia Theodore. No further information on the girl. “Yes.” “Is that everything then? One week and I come back here to be frozen?” He said calmly, standing. “For a hundred years…” Mary-Sue reminded, growing nervous. “Everyone you love will be dead.” He didn’t acknowledge those words and simply left. Mary-Sue rested her head on her hand, chewing on her cheek. “I got a bad feeling about this one.” *** At the sixth meeting, Dr. Fredrickson greeted them with his same cocky smile that Mary-Sue had already come to loathe. “Greetings, interns. Who’s willing to share their subject’s current reports?” A flurry of hands went up. “You.” Carter, Mary-Sue’s roommate’s boyfriend from university, answered. “Mine admitted to sleeping with his boss’s wife and told everyone at work that she preferred him in bed.” “My subject walked into Walmart, took a giant TV, and tried to walk out the door with it. She got tased in the parking lot.” “My subject did donuts in the desert until they hit a bunch of cacti.” “Mine going into a fight with a police officer, demanding to be let out of the experiment. He’s in jail.” A couple of interns winced at the mental thought. A deep pit grew in Mary-Sue’s stomach. She chewed on her cheek as she thought of her subject. Over the past six days, Alster had shown no reaction to the news and carried on with business as norm. A worry spread through her. Would she fall behind the others and lose the internship? Would Dr. Fredrickson accuse her of sabotaging his experiment and get her blacklisted? Could she ‘speed up’ his reaction somehow? She shook her head. What was wrong with her? Hoping some guy would ruin his life so she could advance her on… Her teeth bit through her cheek, drawing blood. The ironic taste kissed her mouth. She stopped chewing and just sucked on the puncture wound. He agreed to this… she reminded herself. It’s all legal. Everyone else is doing it. He’s getting paid. No wait. Lilia Theodore was getting paid for this. Most people didn’t start the program planning on giving the money to someone else. Why would he do all of this for her? Mary-Sue didn’t know, but she had a feeling it was involved with his strange reaction. *** There was only one Lilia Theodore in New Beckom. Mary-Sue double checked the address and stared at the building in front of her. “This can’t be right.” The building was a hospital. A nurse with too big bags under his eyes led her to Lilia’s room after Mary-sue told him she was her estranged aunt. “Here you go,” he said, dropping her off at a room in the children’s ward, the smell of smoke and a devil-may-care attitude lingering on his lips. Mary-Sue muttered a thank you and stepped inside. A girl with pigtails and wide brown eyes like a baby deer looked at me as she entered. “Hello,” Mary-Sue said, “Are you Lilia Theodore?” She nodded. “Okay.” Oh my god, Mary-Sue thought , just what the hell was I planning on talking to this girl about? This was a bad idea . She started backpedaling towards the door, the awkwardness pushing her every step. When she was almost out, her back ran into a stiff person. Spinning around, Alster and his now-ruined bouquet of flowers greeted her. “H… Hello,” Mary-Sue stuttered. Alster observed for a second before saying, “Did you follow me here?” “Well I… Well I…” After placing the bouquet in a vase, he said in a hushed whispered, “Meet me outside. Now.” *** More blood filled Mary-Sue’s mouth as she paced in a circle. Alster stood, in front of her, with crossed arms and a face full of cross-emotions. “What are you doing here?” Might as well go with the truth, Mary-Sue, she told herself, you know you’re not gonna remember the lies correctly anyway. Just keep it short and sweet and don’t mention the truth of the experiment. You’ll ruin everything. “I came here to figure out who Lilia Theodore was to you. Is she your daughter or niece? You don’t share the same name.” “How is that any of your business?” For the first time, Mary-Sue saw some emotion come from Alster. Though, it was a little heat of anger on his tongue, so it could have gone better. “I just—I was trying to figure out why you were acting the way you were. I didn’t want my data to ruin the psychology experiment!” Alster leaned back on the rusted railings of the wheel-chair entrance ramp. He glanced to the sky like he was trying to figure out if there really was a god in this world. “Psychology experiment, huh? So I take it that none of us are being cryogenically frozen.” “No.” “So the true experiment was…?” “To record people’s reactions to being told they were going to be put into stasis within the week after already agreeing to it.” “Well, it sounds like a shitty thing to make a person go through, if you ask me. To accept losing everything within the span of a week? That’s inhumane and not worth the money.” “I know,” Mary-Sue said meekly. “So why are you still part of it?” “This is the best path for my career—” “But it’s not the only one. And trust me, there’s plenty better where you don’t have to manipulate a bunch of poor people.” She stayed silent for a second before saying, “Can I just ask you one thing before I leave?” “Why not.” “Why didn’t you freak out about being frozen?” He sighed, taking a moment to put the thoughts he’s already subconsciously acted on into words. “Being frozen and awakened in a time period where everyone you love is dead? That’s basically dying. You were telling people they were going to die in their lives now. But it’s worse than that. Death is blissful. It forgives and forgets. You won’t remember your old life and you won’t crave it. If you were frozen, you would remember your old life. That would hurt worse than actual death.” “So why didn’t you react to it?” “Because I’ve already accepted my death. It was the day I met Lilia. Over on the two-hundred foot bridge by main street. She asked me, a sweaty college student who smelled like ramen and puke, ‘Are you gonna jump?’. I said yes. She said, ‘you can’t’. When I asked why, she said it was because seeing me die would give her nightmares. She was seven at the time. “Of course, I cared more about some random little girl than I did myself and went to leave when she asked me if I was gonna come back to jump another day. I didn’t answer. She took it as a yes. Lilia said that if I didn’t come back to that bridge and see her every day, then she’d know I jumped and was dead and she’d have nightmares. “So, every day, I came back. Sometimes, I’d just talk to her about random shit. None of it made any else. None of it had. All it did was stall me during the bad parts of my life. Eventually, I made it through them. Things always get better, she just forced me to be around to see that. I owe my life to her.” “Why is she in the hospital?” “Appendix burst. Her parents are struggling with the bill. I don’t have the money to pay it but…” “The experiment would be enough,” Mary-Sue finished. “This time, I figured I wouldn't even be dying. Lilia’s healthy now. She’ll live a long time from all the medical advancements. I’ll see her in a hundred years. That’s all that mattered.” “But… isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do? Something to act out on like all the other subjects?” “There’s nothing to act out on. I’m content with this life. I’m at peace. Acting out or acting reckless would only ruin that. I’m sure I’d be content with the future too.” He turned to me. “Are you content with your life though? Blood’s dripping from your lips. Your nerves had chewed up your cheeks. That doesn’t sound like a very healthy life.” Mary-Sue stopped chewing on her cheeks. “Well, it’s been fun spilling all my trauma to you, stranger,” Alster said with a silly grin and a cheesy salute. “But I got a life to keep living. Send me the cheek as soon as possible. And if it makes you feel any better, you can make up whatever crazy reaction you want to me have on your little charts. It doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he went back into the hospital. *** On the seventh meeting, the seventh day, Mary-Sue was late for the meeting. She’s never been late for anything in her life. Dr. Fredrickson grinded his teeth as he waited. “Where is that girl? It’s time to compile the results.” Finally, she arrived. Mary-Sue handed Dr. Fredrickson her lab coat. “I quit this experiment. It’s inhuman.” Then, she walked out, even as Dr. Fredrickson called out to her, “You bought this lab coat yourself. What am I supposed to do with it?” She ignored him and let the sunlight wash over her as she left the psychology building. It was time for the same career, but a different path. Lucky for her, she didn't need to be threatened with enforced stasis to realize that.


Flashes of memories pass by. Snippets, like the perfect trailer, spoil nothing and build an insatiable desire to keep watching. It's hard to make sense of exactly what's happening, but the genuine feelings of joy wrap around me. It was filled with a warmness only comparable to that of a mother's embrace, with euphoria quickly replacing any notion of guilt and seclusion I had previously had to endure. My muscles relax, my breathing slows and my teeth unclench. I still don’t know exactly what is going on, but those thoughts don’t bother me as I am truly happy.

6 minutes left.

The flashes start to slow, the initial euphoric sensations are subdued just enough that I can see more clearly. My vision clears to the soft glow of operating lights and I’m startled by the cries of a baby. As I look around for the source of such commotion, I see I am surrounded by nurses in scrubs and a small crowd of onlookers. These onlookers, I can’t exactly recall who they are, but their faces are familiar. I know they are not threats. Hushed whispers and cries of joy are heard over the monotone buzz of the lights.

I am lifted into the air.

“It's a girl!”

The onlookers all clammer to get a better look at me. The looks on their faces were loving, and caring. Just then, my voice starts to get raspy and the irritable cries of the baby falter. I look down and I realize I was the source of the cries. I was the baby. I don’t panic, everything seems so perfect. I am confused, but any worries or concerns about being in the body of a newborn girl disappear. I savoured the attention I was given, to be

in the spotlight, to be noticed and loved. I smile and try to speak. The baby's cries ring on again.

5 minutes left.

I am in a different setting now. I see the soft glow from the sun fall past the skyline as it paints the sky a stunning blood red. I’m in a different body now, still small, maybe that of a twelve-year-old

“Mila!” I spin around, still a bit disoriented, I see a girl in front of me.

“Ah, Amy! You found me!” I’m startled at first. Those words escaped my mouth against my will. I’m giggling uncontrollably now, laughing and dancing. I know I’m supposed to be questioning as to where I am why I am in the body of a young girl, or why I can’t seem to control any of my actions. However, those thoughts don’t linger. This all feels like a dream. I don’t need to understand anything and I don’t know anything except for the fact that I’m at peace.

I rock on the swing set, the blood-red sky now waning into a dark crimson. For a second, I see a slender, hooded figure out in the field. I squint a little bit, nothing but grass and rolling hills. I am talking and laughing with this other girl. She is my friend I think. I’m not certain what we are talking about and I don’t really care. I’m just focused on enjoying this moment. This minute.

4 minutes left.

I blink. I open my eyes. I’m in a dark room with colourful lights. The music commands my body to sway. I’m older now and the euphoric feelings from earlier wear off slightly. I can think better now as I watch my body move on its own towards the dance floor. There are a lot of people, I think they are dancing. I remember I learned about dancing in one of my old textbooks. It’s a bit strange to see this many people together and talking, but again, I’m just enjoying the moment.

A thought creeps into the back of my mind, a sudden urge to hurt these people disturbs the state of peace my mind was in.

I don’t dwell on that thought for long as in the corner, I notice something out of place, something so dark, that the shadows can’t hide it. The lights dim as this thing, this figure, glides in the shadows. It’s the same one I saw on the swings, this hooded figure is much taller and thinner up close, though it is hard to make out its exact shape in the absence of light. Fear and anxiety start to creep in through the veil of joy and serenity that shielded me prior.

Where am I? Whose body am I in? Who is that hooded figure and what does he want? The lights dim further.

3 minutes left.

Stars splattered on the dark canvas of the night sky, pulsing, each trying its hardest to grab my attention. Blades of grass poke at the exposed portions of my skin. I’m supposed to be at peace here, in such a serene setting. However, I feel uneasy, questions start to flood my mind, why am I in a stranger’s body? Call it a sixth sense, but I swear I can feel the burning gaze of someone, something locked onto the back of my head.

I spin around, my eyes take a moment to focus. I was surrounded by darkness, but in front of me, there was a figure so devoid of light that it stood out even through the darkness. The darkness grew, and whatever it was moved rapidly towards me. I turned to run, but as if trying to run in a dream, my legs grew soft and I couldn't move. Petrified as fear took over, all the previous happy thoughts were flushed away. My vision grew blurry, but I could still see the dark figure making its way closer.

I close my eyes, but I can still feel its presence looming. It brought upon a chill that froze me from the inside out. My breath starts to labour, I feel its touch, a touch so cold my eyes instinctively open. I see it now. The hooded figure moves till it is an inch away from my face, my knees start to give way and as I crumple to the ground, I try to catch sight of the visage under that cloak.

I saw my own face staring back, eyes filled with anticipation and lust. My body falls onto the grass, the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I look up at the night sky, the stars have left me and the canvas is empty. I searched for the stars that once seemed so plentiful, but there was nothing.

Then there was nothing.

“Damn it!” I yell. My mind clears up from the euphoric state I was in before.

I’m back in my own body now in this damp warehouse that was burned down a couple of years ago. I look down at my latest victim, this woman died too quickly, only lasting five minutes. It’s like a drug, I am addicted to killing people. I’m no monster though, I don’t slit their arteries because I enjoy killing. No, I need to kill to survive.

You know, in this world, people like me, we are born into this world cursed with powers. I just happened to be cursed with the ability to read people’s thoughts. However, in this desolate place, people’s minds are corrupted with so much darkness, reading other’s thoughts only brings more pain. I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t found an escape from all this darkness.

I remember my first time, a couple of years ago. I had no reason to take my sister’s life other than the curiosity of what goes on in a person’s mind before they die. As I slit her throat and watched her leave this wretched world, I entered her mind. In her mind, the minutes before she slipped away, her thoughts were pure, full of love as if her best memories had come flashing back. I have been chasing that feeling ever since. Those few minutes of euphoria come at the cost of another’s life. I do feel guilty sometimes, but as those wretched feelings grow more intense, they only push me to kill again. These days, I am much more experienced, I know where to slit so that the victims die slower, most last seven minutes before fully dying. Of course, I still make mistakes, this woman, my latest victim, I had rushed and made my cut too deep leading to her bleeding out in just five minutes.

I wipe the drying blood on my stained jeans and look down at the mess I created. The lifeless, foggy eyes of my latest victim. Her bruised fingers as she tried to crawl away in vain. Her tear-stricken face, now gray from the loss of blood. This ghastly sight brought back the horrible guilt that chases me every second of my miserable existence. I ran out the door of that damp warehouse and onto the street, my eyes searching for my next victim.

I need to escape those thoughts. I need to kill again. My eyes lock onto a frail boy by his lonesome. Hopefully, I don’t cut too deep again.


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy ! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about: The Point of No Return. This brief is going to be pretty… well… brief, because this beat is possibly one of the most direct turning points in a story. If your story is all about personal conflict, here’s when a vital character says something they can never take back, or. Folks, going into this next few portions of your story, consider it your “Second Act”. This is where all the stuff you see in the movie trailer takes place. You gave your characters some tools in the first act that they get to use (and probably fail) in the next couple of weeks. Your main character may see true colors come out in the In the last challenge they might have received information that changed how they look at the world around them-- in this installment we see This is the part where they double down on their commitment to staying the course, and where they confirm the people who are with or That isn’t to say there won’t be betrayals In this installment your characters are going to be faced with their options being narrowed to one path: forward. Imagine at this point that your characters are trapped in the desert, parched, searching for the weapon to defeat the Dark Lord. A stranger comes riding through on a white horse, offers your character a ride, and it’s that precise moment your character refuses the stranger, because finding the weapon is more important than slaking their own thirst. The Point of No Return doesn’t have to be a life and death situation. Sometimes it’s your protagonist facing the choice of standing up for what they believe in, Things to think about for this assignment: What consequences come from your main character Does your character/s have a plan? Will it be enough? **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 9/19, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, The Event That Changes Everything: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Xactar, with the most votes by a fair margin. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: aaaaaaand it shouldn’t surprise anyone here, but /u/Xactar, It’s not often that someone can land both a fan favorite and the Challenge Sash, but Xacktar really brought it home this week. Well deserved, Xacktar! And honorable mentions: /u/litcityblues, for And /u/lynx_elia, . \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: The Event That Changes Everything Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


Judas was an old German Shepherd with uncharacteristic gray, cloudy eyes. When he showed up on the front porch of my cabin a few weeks ago I thought he was blind at first. That is, until he walked right up to me and looked me directly in the eyes. I thought this was strange for a stray dog to do, especially one this old. Usually they're timid and easily startled but Judas didn't seem to fear anything. He was calm and sweet so disregarding what my mother always told me about stray animals, I took him in. He usually slept on my old rug in front of the fireplace I used to heat my home at night. I didn't mind him chewing on the corners of an already tattered and worn out thing I should've thrown away years ago. After all, living alone there's no one around to care much about what your rugs look like. He seems to enjoy his traditional spot but for the last few days he's been trying to sleep in my room. He would jump on to my ancient wooden bed while I was out of the room, probably hoping I wouldn't notice. The hallmark creeks and groans from the loose screws and rusted springs in the mattress always gave him away, though. I would gently push him off the bed and he'd scurry down the short hallway back into a dusty living room that always seemed empty, despite having much more furniture than anyone should ever squeeze into such a small space. This evening I won't be around to keep him out of my bed. It's early November, and despite the cold weather and low water temperature, the catfish are hitting like crazy in the local river. Judas doesn't seem to like leaving the house so I go fishing alone. I poured the last of his dry food into a bowl and told him I'd be back in a few hours. On my way out the door I hear him let out a meek whine but I'm too focused on the tasks at hand to worry about it. I load up my hand-me-down fishing gear into the back of my old Ford I bought cheap in my early twenties. It seems to be more rust than truck these days and the red paint is chipped and faded but it still gets me where I need to go. After a couple of tries the tired engine finally starts up and I can be on my way. I shift her hard into reverse and with a lot of grinding and squeeking I back out into the retired logging road that I live on. Other than Mrs.Thacker, a widowed school teacher that lives a couple miles down the road, I have the only house in my little valley. My usual fishing spot is only a few minutes down the road, so I don't even bother trying to get my busted radio to work on the way there. I just listen to crunch of the autumn colored fallen leaves that cover the unused one lane road and the struggling motor whine and groan. Although it's not much past 7 pm it's already dark this time of year and if there is moonlight tonight I surely can't see it through the thick clouds overhead. My yellow headlamps are the only source of light in these dark woods tonight. When I get to my fishing spot I always park in the same place, a small dirt indention on the right side of the road. My grandpa always parked here when he'd take me to the river to fish and I don't really plan on going anywhere else. The river was about sixty feet below the road, down a steep bank covered in thick bushes that seemed to grow up anywhere the trees would allow them to. My grandpa refused to go down here at night, I assume because he was afraid he or I would fall in the water. Or maybe he just didn't want to try to navigate the woods in the dark. I can't help but to think about all the evenings we spent here together when I was young. Reeling in fish after fish, never thinking about anything beyond where to make our next cast. As I grabbed my bucket of filleted bait fish and my fishing rods from the back of the truck I felt like I was being watched. I did a quick scan of the treeline with my flashlight and put a hand on my old hatchet I keep in my belt loop. You can never be too careful with the wild life in these forests so it's best to keep a watchful eye. With my gear firmly in hand and my heart pounding a bit from the anxiety of being alone on the river at night, I began to make my way through the dying thorn bushes and tree limbs that were beginning to look bare and withered like they do every fall. When I finally reach the bank of the river I make my way to the dirty rock I use as a table to bait my hooks and hold my tackle box. With my first hook baited in the same fashion my grandfather taught me, I cast my line to the middle of the river next to the ruins of an old bridge support beam for the railroad. With my flashlight shaking a bit in my hand I try to keep one eye on my pole and another on the treeline a few feet behind me, listening for any signs of black bears or coyotes. This time alone on the river always seems to pass like molasses, but it's well worth it to have fresh catfish for dinner. Besides, there's not much else to do around here other than chop firewood and drink. Out of nowhere I get my first bite of the night. Catfish like to hit fast and they like to hit hard. This one almost jerks my fishing pole out of my hand and into the dark rolling water of the river. I pull the pole back to set the hook start fighting the fish. As I reel him in I'm already excited imagining how big it is with how much of a fight it's putting up. Suddenly, I hear a loud crash in the trees behind me followed by the rustle of branches getting closer and closer. I panic and let go of my pole and turn around as quickly as I can, pulling out my hatchet and frantically searching the trees with my flashlight for any sign of movement. The rustling stops, and for a moment all I can hear is the slow movement of the water now behind me and the breeze through the limbs of the trees reaching out overhead. Slowly, I see something start inching out of the woods directly in front of me. I tense up and try my best to make myself look as big and sturdy as possible. As my eyes start to make sense of the mass moving towards me I realize that it's just a deer.With it's antlers growing just barely out of the top of it's head it must be fairly young, though old enough to have lost the spots that young deer usually have on their sides. I chuckle to myself a bit and try to calm down as I turn back toward the river looking for my fishing pole. I point my flashlight around on the ground but it's nowhere to be seen. In my panic, I forgot all about the massive fish I was fighting and now realize that my pole is likely somewhere in the middle of the river. "Goddamnit!" I yell as I turn back toward the deer that caused me to lose my grandfather's fishing pole. Usually easily startled, this deer seemed braver than most as it still stood there just a few feet from me after I screamed. I pick up a rock at my feet and throw it in the deer's direction, yelling for it to go away. The deer just stood there looking right at me. "Alright" I chuckle to myself taking a few steps in the direction of the deer. "you can't stay here!" I say a little louder. But as I walk to the deer, it begins to walk towards me. I start to think to myself that maybe this deer is sick. I've heard the guys at the Dollar General talk about seeing sick deer do some weird stuff in the woods, but I've never seen it myself. Suddenly the deer stops dead in it's tracks. As I hold my flashlight directly on its face I can see it's cold, gray eyes look seemingly straight through me. Just as I begin to feel in my stomach that something is really wrong, the deer rises on it's hind legs. "What the hell?" I say, startled, and stumbling backwards away from the deer. Standing frozen, I don't even think to reach for my hatchet as the deer slowly walked towards me on its back two hooves. Its front legs begin to reach out to me, and slowly the stretch into human like arms. I scream and start to run up river along the bank. After a few seconds running I turn towards the treeline, hoping that maybe I can get back to my truck. I don't stop to look back to see if the deer, or whatever it was, is following me. I just know that I absolutely need to get out of here. Realizing now that I dropped my flashlight when I took off running, I push through the thick underbrush, clawing my way up the hill to the road. When I finally break through the treeline onto the road I look all around, I hear nothing and I see nothing. For a second I think to myself that I imagined the whole thing. That comforting thought is short lived, though, as I look to my truck about 50 feet down the road and in the darkness I can see a figure standing next to the driver side door. For a moment, I think about running away down the road. Maybe I can make it to Mrs.Thackers house. It isn't that far. But how fast is this thing? Is it even real? I'll look like a crazy person if I show up on her porch asking for a ride home because some shape shifting monster chased me away from my truck. Nervously, I grab my keys out of my pocket with my left hand and pull out my hatchet with my right. As I step slowly towards my truck I begin to shake. I don't think I've ever been more afraid, or confused in my life. What is this thing? Am I hallucinating? Questions start swirling in my head faster than I can make sense of them. As I get closer, I realize that I am not hallucinating. I can hear the wheezy, shallow breaths of the creature next to my truck. The clouds break up a bit and in the dim moonlight I can make out a vaguely human looking figure. Although I can't see its face, I can make out curled and nasty claws coming out of the tips of its hands like fingernails. As I step toward the truck it steps toward me. For a moment, we both stand still. It's as if it is sizing me up and I am too scared to move or do anything about it. In a flash of bravery, or stupidity, I swing my hatchet straight for its head as I scream. The creature being much quicker than me seems to dodge my attack fairly easily and as my own momentum throws me to the ground I feel its claws sink into my right leg. Face down and screaming in pain, I feel myself being drug across the gravel of the old road I parked on. Somehow, I get myself turned right side up and swing my hatchet blindly in the direction of the beast's head. This time I feel the hatchet make contact right above its left eye and the creature loses it's grip on my leg, letting out a disgusting scream that can likely be heard for miles around in the otherwise silent night. Immediately, I start crawling as quickly as I can to my truck. With every movement I wait to feel the creatures claws clamp down on me again, but they never seem to come. I pull myself up on my door handle and climb into the truck. I put my keys in the ignition and turn them over but the truck just cranks. I try again and it still won't start. I frantically try over and over to start the truck while looking out the windows for the creature that just tried to pull me into the woods, likely to my death. Finally, the engine turns over and begins to run. I slam the shifter into gear and take off down the road. I look in all of my mirrors as I pull away and the only sign that it ever even existed is the burning wound pouring blood down my right leg. As I speed home all I can think about is a story I heard once as a child from an old native man that used to visit my grandfather. He spoke about a shape shifting monster that lived in the mountains for centuries before Europeans came and settled the land. It terrorized the tribes that lived here, often taking the shape of their domestic animals and killing for food when no one was expecting it. Maybe that's why my grandfather wouldn't go fishing at night? When I finally made it home I quickly run into the house. I slam the door behind me and lock the deadbolt. Remembering an old 12 gauge shotgun I keep under my bed, I limp quickly to my room. When I open the door I freeze. Judas is standing on the bed, unmoving. Something seems off about his demeanor and as I look at him I notice that he has a fresh wound, still bleeding, right above his left eye.


I didn’t even believe that the stories were true until I saw my Grandpa’s head explode. I was young, although I don’t know what age--I asked him a question, something about spiders. I saw his face contort, scared, knowing what could happen...but he couldn’t resist reaching for his illegal encyclopedia to answer me. All it took was a few seconds of concentrated reading. I watched his head swell, and then there was a sound like a beach ball being stabbed, and another sound like a cannonball smashing a brick wall, and then the pink, white, and red contents of his head were covering me and every wall of his study, and I was crying, and my parents ran in and picked me up and brought me to a big building with white walls that they never told me the name of. I sustained a significant amount of facial trauma from various pieces of his skull (surprisingly heavy and sharp), and I was permanently, illegally referred to as “Dented Girl” by several of the other kids in the Nothing Building (naming things was strictly forbidden--but of course the cruelty of children respects no law). My parents told me to do my best to forget what the inside of a human head looked like but that was pretty much out of the question. The only thing my parents really explained to me about the whole thing was that I was lucky to be alive. Hundreds of people died from skull explosions yearly, the exact causes varying from throat lacerations from sharp pieces of bone to shock-induced heart attacks. Standard practice was to never be in the same room as anyone who could be absorbing any sort of information. This was pithily expressed through the slogan: “*If they’re learnin’, start your legs-a-churnin’!”* This was the only thing we learned in Nothing Building, as was its design. The only thing they taught you there was the name and the slogan--everything else was as boring as possible. It didn’t always used to be like this--human beings didn’t have to avoid knowledge and information like the plague just to get a chance to breed, to sit around in ignorance all day staring at plain white walls, wishing their skull would burst just to stop the boredom. There are millions of books (now banned or burned or chucked in the ocean, on account of how many people they kill) that tell of a world where humans spent their whole lives pursuing knowledge without fear, where humanity’s whole *purpose* was to gain information and share it with others and remember it and build off of it and grow. Then sometime, somehow, a few hundred years ago, things got all switched up and a finite limit was mysteriously set on every human being who was born after the year 2035-- absorb enough information, be it facts or colors or words or places or names, and Boom. Your head explodes, *forcefully*\--and no one knows why, or who, or what did this to everyone. Multiple efforts have been made to quantify the exact amount of information that makes you burst, but most of the studies have just resulted in the researchers’ own cranium-shrapnel destroying all of their work before they reach any sort of conclusion. Anyway-- Colleges, schools, employee training centers, everything that could teach anyone *anything* was shut down, and every aspect of human life was stripped down to its barest essential. All that mattered now was living long enough to produce offspring and to take care of them and survive. The human race stagnated completely, and there seems to be no hope of ever moving forward. People just don't have the capacity to figure out a way forward anymore. Three hundred years of ignorance. There are hundreds of theories about why humanity had this deadly learning limiter placed on it. Some people think we hit some sort of evolutionary boundary--the world became too dense and complex, and our brains rebelled against us, sick of absorbing so much insane information day after day, and they explosively forced us back into being simple, base animals. Some people think this has made us happier, that the human race’s biggest mistake was pursuing knowledge and growth. These people are also stupid, on account of never learning anything. Not their fault--but the truth. Others think that there’s some sort of shadow government, installing knowledge-sensitive explosives in every citizen’s brain, so that the populace can never be informed, and they can bask in the wealth of the world forever without any fear of an educated citizenry rising up against them. The theory most people came to accept that this was simply the intervention of God--like the Tower of Babel, God reached down and stopped us before we reached him. But I don’t think that theory’s right. I don't think any of them are. I’ve done research--despite what I know it’ll do to me. I’m not sure how much information it takes to pop a head, but I think I've finally found a fair amount of proof that supports one idea *why*. I’ve had to focus my research on one very particular area, for obvious reasons. I wanted to give proper exposition before my thesis, for readers who are hopefully reading this in the far future when everything is better--but before I get into that I'll say a few words on myself, to establish trust. Some book I read said it's important that the reader trust the writer when attempting to write a persuasive paper. So. My name's Penelope Evans. I gave myself that name after a researcher who wrote one of the few unburned books I've found--some book about bugs. Funny enough, it answered the question I asked my Grandpa a long time ago. I don’t know how old I am--measuring time was done away with a long time ago. I just know I look much younger than everyone I know and I feel so much older and I know that I’m going to die very, very soon. I’ve read as many books as I could get my hands on, I’ve seen new things every day--I've been so careless with my life because I just want to find the *answer*. I want to get humanity out of this 300-year rut. I’ve of course never been loved or had anyone talk to me for any period of time since I was a kid--I’m far too reckless with learning and people know to *get those legs a’ churnin’,* so to speak. They’re right to. It just feels so *unfair.* I dedicate my life to trying to fix humanity and all I get is loneliness and death. I want to say before I start that I don’t think I’m better than all the people who do the standard societal pipeline of nameless childhood to ten years in the Nothing Building staring at the ceiling until they hit puberty, onto motherhood and fatherhood to death at 80. They’re good and they’re necessary and they’re probably a lot happier than me. I'm sorry. I know I'm stalling. Now that it’s time to actually say what I have to say I realize I’m terrified to. . I’m so afraid that I'll start writing my theory on why everything is like this now and it'll spark some thought or insight and I’ll die before I finish and I'll paint this tiny basement I'm writing in with pink and white and red just like Grandpa. I can feel how close I am to popping. I wanted to wait until I had absorbed nearly my limit of information so I could have the vocabulary and experience and wisdom to write this *perfectly* but now I’m so scared that I went too far. I wish I could forget *anything.* I just need to finish this, God. I need to finish this. This is all I have. This is all I’ve been allowed to choose for myself. Excuse me for writing my thoughts but I feel that I have only a little time left and I would rather have my readers know what happened then leave them in ignorance. My head hurts so bad. No one ever tells you that your head hurts this much before it happens and now that I know that I am one piece of information closer. Fuck. Shit. I'm sorry. I need to get back on track. There are so many things I wish I could say now that I know this is the last thing I’ll ever write. There are so many things I wish I could have done. I wish I had never learned anything. All it’s given me is a yearning for everything I’ll never have. I'm sorry, reader. I need to say what I told you I was going to say otherwise I've just wasted your time. Please know I wrote this with the best of intentions. Sorry. Of course *now*, as I feel my head stretching and screaming, I realize my theory on why this all is happening is clearly, ridiculously wrong. How horrible is it that one has to be knowledgeable to know that ignorance is really bliss? I wish I could go back. I wish I could be new again. I'm sorry. My hypothesis was going to be that humans became this way because we were scared of what we could become--I thought we were so close to pure enlightenment through learning that we somehow violently regressed, just before we touched the sky of human knowledge and achievement and *figured it all out*, you know? I thought we just couldn’t let ourselves win. Humanity's always been locked in a struggle for meaning and maybe we got so close and we stopped ourselves because we were afraid of what might lie on the other side of *finally knowing the answer.* I had so many sources and quotes that I felt pointed to this...so much data… I literally lost my life for this. I thought I could find the answer if I just looked hard enough. I thought there had to be an answer. God damn it. I'm really sorry. Now the only thing I see, after my life of looking, is that my knowledge has confused me completely. I don’t think ignorance is the answer. I don’t. I don’t. But I don’t know what is. I don’t think knowledge is, either. Maybe God did do this to everyone. Maybe he was right to do this.


The Society for Everyone The suit I had on was just like everyone else’s. A black suit with the badge of the new Founders on the left side of my chest. The walls on the side of me were painted like most other buildings, completely white. The lights gave the hallways a supernatural feel which only those who have grown up in this environment could tolerate. As a child, I had always known there was something wrong with our buildings and people. An invisible plague which we attempted to cure ourselves off with more of it. The people who I walked alongside had the same characteristics and traits as I did. Same face, same eyes, same colour of skin. Looking in a mirror one couldn’t tell the difference between any of us even after I had learnt to think. I wonder why that happened to me and not them. As a child, I could see those who like me had conviction and strength be ignored and brought down by our society. The same people who tried fighting for something would be the ones who brought us lower. Finding cures for diseases which did not exist. Ignoring the real problems which I unlike everyone else could see with my own eyes. I took a left into a 5-meter square room, which was the same size of all our rooms regardless of our function. “Andrew Ryan. You were late to the works. Tardiness is the problem in which our society is trying to solve. Please do not make the mistake again.” It was exactly the response I expected from the person in front of me. I replied like we all do “Tom Anderson. I have taken your words into account and I will attempt to solve the solve the problem of Tardiness in our society. I will not make the mistake again.” With the situation resolved I left and continued behind the mass of people. I had in my youth attempted in vain to change the system from within. I had been bogged down and told to keep my head down. It was not out of cruelty or lust for power that others attempted to stop me from succeeding. It was out of the need to keep things in the same direction. The people who were my friends as children would take their daily supplements of joy and stare forward as they marched towards their daily task to complete a function for our society. These people could no longer be called friends. As I followed the line of people towards their tasks I was reminding myself not to think of the plan. I do not know whether discovering that my thoughts were not only known to me, was the greatest or worst thing that happened to me. Guess it doesn’t matter now anyways after all of this. It was always keywords that they searched for. Like when John thought too much of the guardians who were our protectors. But in our world, what could we be protected from? At last, I reach the checkpoint into the hall of founders. Several Guardians walked up to me and blocked my way forward. Perhaps the same ones who took away my friend? I could not tell. The metal and automated responses always were the same. “Your happiness levels are below the recommended. For your best benefit take these natural supplements to become like everyone else again.” This was the part I dreaded, I had promised myself to never eat those again. But this plan was not about me or my promises. The Guardians hand was reaching out and waiting for me to take the pills. I took them from it. “If you ever require any assistance with your health again, please do not hold back and come with any requests. We wish you a pleasant journey to the halls of our Liberating Founders” Walking away I chuckled at the term Liberators. It was always something new which they wanted to save us from. Race, gender, nationality, religion and we all went along with it, to cure ourselves of the sins we were born with. The sins of which every person was guilty of. Once within the giant room I broke away from the queue and made my way through the room trying to avoid the orderly ques. I knew where I had to go and I quickly reached the door with one of the few signs saying restricted. I knew what I was going to do. I was going to find those responsible for this world and I was going to remedy it. Entering the door, I found myself with a set of stairs. I knew it would only be a matter an off time before the Guardians came and I started bolting up the stairs as fast as I could. I had heard stories of who was guilty. Some told me it was aliens who had taken control of our society whilst everyone was too busy staring at screens of joy. Some said a selective group of rich aristocrats took control of the old word and made it into their playground. It didn’t matter to me who or what it was. The stairs were far higher than I thought possible but I kept on running and eventually reaching the top. I paused and listened, but couldn’t yet hear anything following me so I supposed I might have been in luck for the time being. This door was quite unlike everything in our society. It had something which I had never thought to see again. A form of light and image which was not the same tone as everything else in our world. I knew that behind this door there would be the answer. There would be the beings inside who had control of the society. The masked controllers who pulled all the strings. I moved towards the door expecting anything and opened it… Inside I found the truth. It was not an evil fortress of tyranny or a group of supernatural demons. It wasn’t angels or saviours who awaited me in the control room of our overlords. It was only a man. A man not unlike any other in our society. He stares at me before speaking “I know why you have come. You wish to end my society.” I do not respond. I don’t know how to respond. I stand still waiting for something to happen. “Why does man object to slavery with riches? Is it not the true way of life? All of us working together on one goal for our people. No person in our society is ever in pain or wounded in any form." He pauses and moves towards the window overlooking the room I had entered from "I made a utopia. No man or woman is ever judged against or unfairly treated. No superior or inferior races or wars over culture and identity. Is it a lack of liberty, if you have never been given it?” I listen to him speak. I do not wish to do anything. “I do not need your response. I always knew this would happen one day. It doesn’t take much you know? To end this system. I tried delaying it. I installed machines to police thoughts, pills to make people docile, a culture of silence and obedience. Yet all it takes is one man to stand up. If I kill you now I simply delay the end and wait for a hundred men to stand up.” I understood. I left the room without a word.


The man had been on my list for quite some time. The perfect candidate, a story of sadness, pain, and regret. Since birth, he had been marked by tragedy and it hung on his back. Its arms wrapped tightly around him, weighing him down. Did I pull some strings? Of course. In the beginning, I always do. It is much easier to guide somebody to inevitability if they have no hope. They no longer care about their choices afforded to them by free will. And if they were open to the choice, I was certainly going to take the opportunity to guide them to my end.

    He had summoned me many times before, but this time I obliged. It had been in the evening that I had received the call. At the time, I had been in my study reading. My favorite chair, a crimson red with a high-back and ornate dark woodwork along the edge, was positioned by the fire. The carvings on the wood held the faces of men and women with visages of torment and despair. It was while I was reading An Essay on Man that I heard the unmistakable sound of a deal, a quid pro quo, as it were. My interests piqued, I set out immediately towards the source.

    A man, blood-covered and sulking, sat in a damp and dirty jail cell. The green rotted stone walls perspired and throbbed, drawing in closer with each pulse. Slowly, he walked towards me from the back of the cell and placed his hands on the bars. His head was lowered slightly, but his eyes were fixed intensely on me behind his sweat-soaked hair. I stepped forward out of the darkness.   "You have summoned me. What do you want?" I said as I leaned against the keeper who was drunk and sleeping heavily, leaned back in his chair. An empty bottle of whiskey sat overturned on his desk.

    “Are you supposed to be The Devil?” he asked unphased at the thought.

    “If that is what you wish to call me,” I said and gave a slight bow. “And you are the infamous cattle-rustler and murderer John Ringgold.”    “You don’t know nothin' about me,” he said, spitting.

   “Ah, but I do. I have been watching you for a long time,” I said as I paced, clicking my cane against the rusted bars. “I know you. I know that gimpy walk you try to pass off as a cowboy gait because that man ran you over with the wagon. Was that?- Yes, it was, right before you saw your first murder. Dear old dad was there to set it right, wasn’t he? That man just had to pay.”   “Get to the fucking point,” he said.

I jumped up onto the desk, kicking the old man square in the jaw.

   “Oh! And then your daddy shot off his own head. Man, that was something. Couldn’t have been no more than fourteen from what I recall. Hell of a thing for a boy to see.” I said, pouting my lip in sympathy. “What a summer!” I laughed.

He scowled and curled his lip like an angry mutt.

  “You did that-”   “Oh no. I can’t take credit for that. That was the way his story was supposed to end. I didn’t write it. He did. Every choice he made led him to that point. Just like your choices have led you here.” I said opening my arms. “If you want to blame somebody, blame that guy,” I said pointing up. "We merely set the traps. You can go around them or go through them. Like I said it's all about choice."   “So the cards are stacked against me. What’s the point in even making the choice?” he grumbled.

    “Believe me I have sympathized over your lot in life. You’ve been dealt a most unfortunate hand. Despite what you might think, I am here to help. What do you want most of all, John?”

    “Power,” he said with certainty. As if he had always known exactly what he needed. "Power over those who stand in my way. I want them to fear me." The lantern flame flickered. The walls began to tremble as a rumbling from below arose and grew louder. Johnny held on to the bars. Legion answered through my voice.

    “Est virtus in tenebris,” they said in unison. It was quite entertaining, his lack of fear in my presence. Most were too afraid to speak until coaxed. I enjoyed this fear immensely, but he was numb to it.

   “You know the price of this then?” I asked as I stepped back.    “You can have it. I have no use for it,” he said.

In an instant I was on him, pulling him towards me against the bars. With my fingernail, I carved my ancient name into his chest. The signature glowed red as it burned his flesh and disappeared inside of him. He gritted his teeth but did not scream.

    “It is done.” I unhooked the keys from the keeper’s belt loop and tossed them to him.

    “Enjoy your ride. I’ll be seeing you soon.” I smirked and retreated back inside the darkness as quickly as I had entered.

    Johnny Ringo was the fastest gunslinger in the west. His skill with a pistol was rivaled by no man, not even by that hypocritical liar Wyatt Earp whose vendetta ride had taken the lives of those few Johnny had called friends. His reputation preceded him. With each town he visited, men and women looked upon him warily. His unpredictable nature was volatile, his temper short. And with each life he took, his debt to me grew equally larger. Trouble seemed to find him, or maybe he searched for it, feeling his invincibility as a result of our deal. But he found no solace in taking life, only the desire to fill that anger festering in him. His desire to inflict pain would not be sated. He could feel my presence looming and so he lived as ferociously as he wanted. Taking vengeance on those that had slighted him.

    Unfortunately, a man cannot thrive on vengeance alone and for my part, this would be a waste if his soul had been completely covered in black Stygian tar that quickly. There is no fun when it is this easy. It was at Skeleton Canyon that the seeds of regret sprouted within him. It was an ambush, payback for the massacre of a group of Mexican smugglers who had crossed the border.

    As his friend, Old Man Clanton, lay dying in his arms, a .44 caliber slug in his chest, he uttered his last words, “and for what? ” and slipped from that unforgiving world. And for what? $4000 in bullion and some cattle. That is what nine lives were worth.

    Months later he made his way west to San Jose in a pitiful attempt at reconciliation with his family, trying to find that last chance at forgiveness. His attempts were met with coldness as they had known what kind of man he had become. It was then, he realized there was no hope for redemption. Inevitability drew near, and nolens volens, he was bound to accept it.

    On the banks of Turkey Creek, I found him. It had been thirteen years since the jail in Mason County. I appeared out from behind one of the blackjack oaks that encircled, each growing from the same root. He aimed the gun straight at my face and pulled the trigger. This annoyed me slightly. I liked that face. With melodramatic effect, I flew backward.

    "Ohh oh you got me, you bastard!" I howled, exaggerating my reaction. My moans of anguish turned into a sinister chuckle that grew louder as I popped up from the dirt. The gaping hole in my head pouring blood over my face.

    “What a great shot! Just like your daddy,” I said as the hole closed itself. Of my many abilities, sarcasm was the one I enjoyed using the most. It took effect immediately and his face twisted, at first to bewilderment and then into rage. I laughed.

    "It ain't time to collect yet. This wasn't what we talked about," he said. The wind blew and whipped the dust up against his face. He moved back, shielding his eyes.

    “And what more would you do? What would you do with more time? You already made your choices. You can’t go back.” I yelled against the wind. “You feel that murky nothingness moving through your veins eating you alive from the inside out? That will never go away.” With a flick of my hand, I threw him against the forked tree. His gun fell to the ground. I picked it up and handed it to him.

    “You deserve this. I think deep down you know you do. You wished for power, but you’ve really been a coward hiding behind your bitterness. This is your chance to do the right thing.”

 I left him there and as I walked past those blackjack trees I heard a single gunshot. I smiled my most debonair smile at Johnny who was ahead and waiting. We walked forward together into oblivion. In darkness there is power.


The reek of urine and musk of earth assaulted the senses of Father MacIsaac and Father Antony as they entered the bedroom. A young boy lay sprawled across bed, the sheets soiled brown, his clothes torn, his hands and feet lashed to the frame. His yellow eyes flickered as they approached, a growl rumbled from him. They watched a large bulge swell at the base of his throat. Sitting up, he choked and gagged as his neck distended, each heave pushing the swelling upward. He lurched forward, impossibly distending his jaw to vomit out a dead hairless pup. The priests laid out leather-bound tomes of sacred literature and a crucifix. Father MacIsaac began reciting the exorcist liturgy. He approached the bed, holding rosaries out towards the boy. The boy’s eyes fixed on rosaries. Snapping forward, he bit the small crucifix off the dangling beads, crunching down on the metal cross and spitting out broken bits. Outside in the hallway Father MacIsaac rubbed the broken rosaries through his fingers deep in thought. Father Antony paced. “That can’t happen. Demons can’t willing touch consecrated objects”, said Father Antony. “Are you familiar with animalistic demons?” asked Father MacIsaac. “No.” “They’re their own class of spirit. They are to most demons what wild animals are to us.” Father MacIsaac turned away and quickly descended the stairs. “Where are you going? “St.Sebastian’s of Mercy, we need an expert.” “But that’s Father Watterson’s parish. He’s not an expert on the occult.” “Not him. We’re getting Father Mittens. Are you coming?” An hour later, Father Antony reopened the door to the boy’s room, stepping aside to let Father MacIsaac enter carrying Father Mittens, a tabby cat with white paws dressed in a cat-sized black robe and white collar. Placing Father Mittens on the floor, Father MacIsaac took out two books, handing one to Father Anthony. “Father Anthony read aloud with me, and don’t stop until I tell you.” Both men began reciting Latin verses and Father Mittens jumped onto the foot of the bed. The boy snapped forward to attack, pulling fiercely against his bonds, the bed frame creaked but the restrains held. Father Mitten’s ears pulled back as he hissed at the boy. The boy bared his teeth and let out the roar of a horrible beast. For a moment they stayed motionless, glaring at each other. With a savage yowl Father Mittens leapt forward digging his claws into the boy’s ripped pyjamas. The boy thrashed about, but couldn’t pull away. The boy roared as Father Mittens snarled and howled in his face. A swilling dark mist poured upwards from the boy’s mouth and nose. Father Mittens’ watched it until it dissipated and the boy slumped back onto the bed. When Father MacIsaac told Father Antony to stop reading aloud, Father Mitten lay on the boy’s chest loudly purring. Father MacIsaac walked over and scratched Father Mitten’s chin joined quickly by Father Antony.


My name is Hank. Just Hank. Nothing special about me, just a guy. Just a normal guy. Look behind you! I was there. Guess where I am now. I'm behind you. Do you feel the urge to just check? Yeah you do. Come on, turn around again. It appears there is nothing there, right? Maybe it's just too dark to see? Or maybe an invisibility cloak was actually invented? Come on, feel around in the air and try to find me. I bet you didn't feel anything but air. Anyone else willing to take bets? No? That's sad, but it makes sense because I'm the only person who knows what's going on in your head and around you now. It doesn't matter when, but I know, and I'm the only one who does. When you're in the coffee place, no one knows. When you're in class, nobody knows. You're in bed, no one else knows, but me. It's a crazy thought, but look around, is anyone paying attention? No. Just me, but you can't see me. Because I'm behind you. Always. Every bad event that occurred gratuitously. It was me. My doing. It's all been me. It always will be. The littlest of itches on your neck. The sudden urge to swallow, you're now realizing how much saliva is in your mouth don't you, and how much you need to swallow, go ahead. Do it. That dreadful feeling of someone watching you. Do you feel it now? Maybe, maybe not. But I'm here, witnessing everything. Your first breath. Your first fall. Your first scar. Your first fight. Your first ex. You're first stillborn. Your death. It could be any minute now. Nobody will have any clue, it'll just happen. No clue, or evidence of it, besides the knowledge I have in my brain. There might be someone nearby, my friend. Look around a bit, I'd check the window first. Or don't. Just keep reading. Do you hear anything? The sound of the still air? The sound of someone typing this now as you read? That would be funny if you heard that. You'd be in real danger if you heard that right now, someone might be out to get you, friend. I'd tell you to keep looking around but then I'd only be causing you to be more anxious about all of this. So just keep reading. You're okay. Maybe you should take a shower, they're pretty relaxing, you smell bad too. Are you sweating... because of me? I'd hate to cause you such worry that you're sweating. Or would I? Let's go, follow me. Check around, and watch your step, you wouldn't want to die from bleeding out after stepping on something, would you? That would be terrible. So let's be careful. Are you coming? Or are you going to just sit there letting that bug crawl down your neck? Oh, God. There are a few of them, let's get those off. I'd hate if one of them was lethal. Don't let it bite you. Don't let the person here sneak up on you. It's hard to keep your mind set on two deadly things at once, isn't it? There isn't much chance for you my friend. You've been too slow. By now the bug has already implanted itself into your ribs. Itchy? Yeah, sorry for putting the bug there. I didn't mean for it to get inside. Wait, where did you go? Is there anyone else with you? Nevermind, I found you. Be careful. You need to watch that bite, it's small, but it will eat you quickly. Don't worry though, it shouldn't be too painful, just slow. It could take a few days, maybe months, or even years. You won't know, it is just going to creep up on you. Your organs will fail, you'll have no idea what just happened, and your life, it will be gone. Then maybe you can join me. Do you remember my name? You will soon. Time is ticking, my friend.


I looked out over the auditorium. The Silence was deafening. There were only four people in the audience and one of them was my stooge. The three other people only came to the show because they were given free tickets as they passed the venue and I'm sure they were bribed with a free drink too. I spent the next forty minutes doing a few parlor tricks. I pulled a rabbit from a hat. I did the trick with the rings. I made a Dove appear from a burning dish. I didn't even get so much as a raised eyebrow. Even my stooge was looking bored. I decided to pull out my new show stopper. It was a disappearing act involving a member of the audience. You put the stooge into one box and make them reappear in another box. To do this you needed twin stooges. Which was very hard to come by considering my reputation for not paying my assistants. It was at the very last minute I was fortunate enough to find a pair that were new-to-the game and hadn't heard of me. The only problem being we had no time to rehearse. Picking a member of the audience can be an exciting moment. But when there are only four people to choose from it can be pretty anti-climatic. Usually, you have a stampede of people raising their hands wanting to be picked. In this instance, the only person putting up their hand was the stooge. The rest of the audience were trying their best to not make eye contact with me in the hope I wouldn't pick them. I picked my stooge and did the whole pretending not to know her bit. I walked her into the box and closed the door. I said the magic words that would teleport her from the box to the other box. I swung open the door to reveal she had indeed disappeared, but Instead of rapturous applause from the three people in the audience, they began laughing and pointing at the box. I looked down to see my assistance head protruding from the trap door. She had got her head stuck and was struggling for air. Panicked, I quickly called for the curtain to be lowered. I frantically tried to free her as the scared young woman fought for breath. Eventually, I freed her, relativity unharmed. Then I remembered her twin was still in the other box. I knew something was wrong because she hadn't tried to free herself from the hidden compartment yet. I pulled open the trap door to find the girl unconscious but still breeding. Her lips were blue, her twin was in hysterics. I shook her and slapped her till she gasped for air. Relief washed over me. The two young women embraced each other. I tried to apologize but one of them slapped me in the face, before walking off the stage. There was a time I could fill a room. People came from all over to see my shows. The great Mancini wasn't so great anymore. It was hard to compete with the young magicians of today. People weren't interested in the old school magic anymore. I was old and tired anyway, much like my act. I woke up the following morning to find a package had been delivered to me. It was a book sent by an old magician friend. We had talked before about my shows. A note came with the book with the words "I hope this helps," written on it The book was old and on the worn cover was a faded picture of what appeared to be a Demon. I my knew my friend was into the occult. Most magicians are. Every magician dreams of performing real magic The book was titled "The Grimoire of Faust," how to control Demons to do your will. As I was leafing through the book a couple of pages fell out. The pages didn't appear to be apart of the book. They seemed a lot older, ancient more like. One of the pages had the words, "Daemones autem vis ad eos," written on it and below that was the only word I could translate "Monitum, " or warning in English. On the other pages, there seemed to be a diagram for a ritual of some sort. The pages told of a ritual that would allow me to summon a demon. The demon's name was Abraxas. He was a trickster demon who would torment people into giving up their souls by playing tricks on them. I couldn't just summon him. I also had to befriend him so he didn't play tricks on me and try and take my soul. The ritual seemed fairly simple. All I had to do was place two tall mirrors in front of each other and place a candle in between the two. Then draw a circle around the mirrors with salt and just let it do its thing. I sat for hours watching the mirrors but nothing appeared to be happening. I started to feel really stupid. I laughed at the thought of believing this was actually going to work. So I went to bed. I awoke to the noise of something shuffling around my room. The room was dark but I could make out something moving in the shadows. "Who's there?" I called out in a whispered voice. A low growl came out of the shadows. "I am the many. I am the many who preside over the damned. Why have you summoned me?" I couldn't think of anything to say. What do you say to a demon? I scanned the room looking for some kind of answer to give him. Then I spotted my chess board that I always kept set-up. "I summoned you to play a game of chess with me. I'm old, most of my friends are dead," I quipped. The demon laughed. I turned on my lamp beside my bed and moved over to the chess board. I moved my king's pawn two spaces. The demon appeared in the form of a shadow, not fully revealing his true form. The shadow moved over to the board. An almost invisible hand moved the king's pawn two spaces. After a bit of back and forth, I soon had the demon in a checkmate. This infuriated the demon, sending him into a rage. He flipped the board and flew off into the shadows. The next night I awoke to the demon moving around my room. I turned on my light and saw that the chess board was neatly set back up. "Are you sure you want to play me again? You got pretty angry the last time." The demon grunted and decided he was going first by moving his queen's pawn 2 spaces. After a bit of back and forth and a few intentional mistakes, I let him win. This really pleased the demon. So much so that he wanted to play more games. I thought him to play checkers and showed him a few tricks. He didn't seem impressed. So he showed me a few tricks of his own. He turned my water into blood. He made snakes appear in my bed. All to the amusement of the demon. The owner of Club Maximo was an old friend of mine from my club days. It was a small venue, but it was a venue where all the big names started out, old and new. When I look back on it now doing those small venues were the best times of my career. There is a level of intimacy you get with the small shows that you never got with the big sell-out tours. I had persuaded my friend Barry to give me one of the canceled slots. I promised to do it for free as long as he promised me that the house would be full. I did away with my old act. I decided if I was going to do this I would get with the times, and now that I had a new assistant the possibilities were endless. Smoke descended from above, a crack of lightning hit the ground as I appeared on stage seemingly from thin air. I clicked my fingers and levitated into the air. "What you are all about to witness tonight is magic's equivalent to the second coming of Christ. Everything you see tonight will be nothing short of a miracle. And I must warn you, try not to blink you just might miss a trick." I decided to bring the act out to the crowd for some close up magic. I borrowed someone's watch and made it reappear on the hand of one of the bar staff across the room. I borrowed another guests phone and rang there dead relative. They cried with sheer delight when they heard their voice. One member of the audience had a big abscess on his back that he had for years. I made it vanish for it to reappear again on the back of a different member of the audience. They screamed in horror until I told them to look again and it was gone. I wowed the crowd for a solid two hours. I walked back on to the stage to reveal the big finisher. I was going to make a member of the audience disappear. But this time I wasn't using a stooge. I was going to make an actual member of the audience disappear and reappear again in a different box, But with no trap-doors, no screen-doors and no smoke and mirrors. The crowd rose to their feet, with rapturous applause as I seemingly made the woman disappear in a blink of an eye and made her reappear in the other box. I bowed as the audience screamed for more. The owner of the club was so amazed by the show he gave me a permanent contract. Within a month I was doing seven shows a week in three different venues. And by the end of the year, I was selling out massive arena tours. I was back on top. As long as I had my demon friend in my corner nothing was stopping me from taking the world by storm. I had gotten home tired and weary from a disastrous show. " "What was that all about, "I screamed at the demon. Not impressed with me screaming at him he flew into a rage trashing my house. He made all the furniture in the house disappear. Having been on a whirlwind for the past year I had forgotten how vain, jealous and diabolical a demon could be. He was Jealous of all the attention I was getting. He was angry at the fact that I was taking all the credit for his work. I was getting all the praise while he had to sulk in the shadows. The demon assured me he was going to be on his best behavior at the next show. I should have known better than to trust the word of a demon. The show seemed to be going as planned. The demon was sticking to his word. It was coming to the end of the show and I had a big showstopper planned. I was going to bring half the audience on stage and make them disappear and reappear outside the venue on another stage I had set up. The lights went dark and when they switched back on the audience was gone. I directed the rest of the audience to follow me outside. When I got out to the other stage it didn't take me long to realize something was wrong. The people that I made vanish hadn't reappeared. The other half of the audience were making their way out to an empty stage. I could see the confused looks on their faces. Some were still smiling waiting for the big reveal. I call out to the audience. "Be prepared to be amazed," I asked for the curtain to be lowered, to buy me some time. I call out to the demon. "What in the hell you doing." The demon laughed. "That's actually where I sent them. And if you want them back all you have to do is say my name?" "Abraxas, that's your name." The demon laughed at me again. "That's the name given to me by humans. What's my name?" I racked my brain. I just started blurting out random names in the hope I would get lucky. I was desperate. The crowd was starting to think something was wrong. I begged the demon to bring them back. Impatience turned to panic. The crowd was calling for me to bring back there love ones. Panic turned to anger as the crowd started baying for my blood. The began storming the stage to get at me. Kids were crying for their parents, parents were crying for their kids. I looked around for the exits but people had them covered. I was trapped and the crowd of people was going to kill me for sure. "All I had to do was say the magic word, I thought. Then it hit me. The magic word. I call out to the demon. I know what your name is. Abracadabra, your name is Abracadabra. The demon gave out a laugh that echoed through the air and then he just disappeared. He kept his part of the deal and made the audience reappear. There was a stunned silence in the air for a moment. Then the crowd broke out into rapturous applause.


A girl bathed in the light of the empty moons, the dying of the light from an ancient sun reflected upon her skin as she floated wordlessly. The memories of all those who had lived, died, and yet to be echoed around her, but she did not hear them. She stared upwards, red eyes glistening like an ruby by the fireplace, as the quiet waters pulled her further down the stream of time and space. For an eternity she had drifted, in a senseless slumber. The ruins of existence she passed, a faint illumination across the valley of insights bringing clarity to the view. No shadows danced or waited to strike here, the girl was safe. But she did have one clear voice in her head. She remembered her first friend. A meager soldier fighting a war of his own. His face was hidden behind that long blond hair, but she knew those green eyes must still exist. Helpless to free herself from the endless pull of destiny, she felt more and more voices go silent, as the immortal sun began to share its last, dying breaths. Her skin began to silver, her hair already metallic in coloration, as she began to shiver for the first time in millennia. Though she was still entrapped in these restless yet quiet waters, she closed her eyes. She could sense his battles, growths, and failures through the ages. Wars ended and began with him. And all the while, he searched for his friend. His friend that he loved so dearly. But, he began to change. Though she had managed to calm his nature down, he fell back down into the darkness of his own eternal torment. Every fight brought him closer to the very being he feared becoming. And even upon looking at his encroaching fate, he pushed further. "Even when the stars go dark, and there is no matter left in this plane of existence, I shall find you. I shall bring you home." His words were felt by her, but she was powerless to guide him to his own happiness. His anger, violence, and brutality became overwhelming. But time and time again, she watched as he broke down, realizing he could never have his friend back the way they had once been. And as the universe grew cold, as the stars indeed did go dark, he wandered. Even when he was the last being remaining, he refuse to give up. He had to find his friend, even if there was nothing left of her but a dress. The girl began to weep as she saw him drawing closer. In the ruins of the home they once shared, her eyes closed, and her breathing became shallow. As the immortal star above faded into a mere glint of dying light, he found her, in the frozen over waters, her body with not a hint of life in it. The silvered body had a singular tear frozen on her cheeks. He screamed into the emptiness of forever, and clutched her body as the light went out, and the universe collapsed around him. He stood, bringing her up with him, in the void of everything. He had once again lost his reason to exist. But he would be denied the chance to be with his first friend. Though the tear on her face gave the element of sadness, in her final moments, the silver dreamer of a gentle night wished that peace would befall her first and final friend, who had promised her the world.


They called me a god, once, long ago. Did you know that? When they witnessed my power before recorded history began. When they saw that I did not experience the pull of gravity. When they saw that there was no limit to my strength or my speed. Have you heard the Epic of Gilgamesh? The Legends of Heracles, or Achilles, or Beowulf? They're all true, you know? To some extent, anyway. They're all about one man though, not many. Well, not a man, man, obviously. You know what? I'll start at the beginning, hm? The earliest thing I can remember is a bright light and a terrible roar. Like thunder, but everywhere and nowhere all at once, then I was here, on Earth. It wasn't called Earth at the time. In fact I don't believe it had a name at all, and neither did I. I was shapeless. Aimless. I spent centuries wandering around looking for purpose. For some meaning to my inexplicable existence. Finally, I found it when I first laid eyes upon you. I fell in love. Humanity was my purpose, I realized, and soon, I had shaped myself in your image. That's right. I wanted nothing more than to fit in with you. Live alongside you. Be one of you. I created from nothing a body for myself that fit all the ideals of your race. I was tall and strong and beautiful. Then, I stood back and I watched, and waited for the perfect moment to reveal myself to you. In the meantime, I worked hard to protect you. To help you build. All the while, keeping my true identity hidden from you. My deeds became stories. The stories became legends, and the legends became myths. My moment finally came to do something great, to prove my love to you, when the Atlanteans struck your cities from the sea. I reacted too slowly to stop their onslaught but the blow I dealt was decisive. Final. Your bronze age civilization was pushed to the brink of collapse but I fought your assailants to the very edge of extinction. I wiped their cities from existence and crushed their very memory beneath my heel in your name. When the dust had settled I revealed myself to you as your savior... and you quailed. I could see the fear in your eyes as I soared, triumphant, over your cities. I could feel your hate despite my act of unadulterated love for you. Some saw my kindness, the purity of my motives, but the rest… the rest saw only a new threat in me. They hunted me. Tried to murder and torture their very savior. The one who had saved them from servitude and slavery. I let them do what they would. Let them crucify me and humiliate me. Let them think that their enemy was gone. Then I rose from where they had left me, unhurt, save for my pride. I repaired my body and returned to the shadows. After that, my existence became one of impatience and boredom. I amused myself by fighting in your wars, and laughed as you recorded the epic deeds of my false identities in your histories and myths. Centuries passed and you continued to grow. To advance. To master nature and the world around you. My desire to stand at your side began to resurge, until I stood in the light once more ready to announce myself to you. To make myself known. The opportunity came once again to prove myself worthy of your devotion when Mars launched an attack against your pristine world. Some of you decided to call me Alpha-Man after witnessing my strength against your extraplanetary foes. An amusing pseudonym, to be sure. Seeing the adoration in your eyes is all I needed, however. All I ever wanted in my long and storied existence. Finally, I felt… complete. Finally I felt worthwhile. Loved. As with all great things, though, pretenders soon began to emerge. 'Superheroes' they called themselves, and lumped me in among themselves. Pathetic. Weak. Imposters. That is all they were. And so I began my work of ridding you of the infestation. You, my love. My purpose. You had me, and that is all you needed. The others would only betray, hurt, and disappoint you. The Blink was the first to feel the bite of my blade. He was said to be the fastest man alive. Second to none. Second only to me. Next were the Amazons. An entertaining battle, but in the end, they were only ten, and I was indomitable. Third was the Made Man. A simple human man, in reality, hiding behind technology and wealth. After that, the list quickly shrank as I worked my way around the globe. There was the Firebug, a pyromancer operating in Europe, whose neck was easier to snap than a charred twig. Iceage, a frost-powered lunatic living in Egypt who would have lost control of his powers and plunged your world into chaos, had I not stopped him first. The Panther. Ah, the Panther. She had quite a fight in her. Strong, fast, clever, but ultimately, as dead as the rest. Eventually a council was gathered of the remaining, so-called 'heros'. Conveniently, I, your Alpha-Man, was invited to attend alongside the others. They voted to put Corona in charge. What a joke, Corona. This was it though, this was the moment to strike one final blow and end the corruption once and for all. And so I did. Aboard the orbital station built to house the new League of Heros, I struck my final blow. All of them. Every. Last. One... was left as little more than a red smear across the metal floor of the council chamber. And that brings us to today, does it not? Look at me, please, and stop crying. Isn't it clear to you yet? I do what I do, all of what I do… for you. For human kind. You are what drives me. My love. My ultimate purpose.


It’s been such a treat to watch people evolve their flash fiction serials with us and bring arcs to a close that for some have been with us for quite a while. For a good handful of writers on Serial Saturday, their stories are continuations of serials started on Theme Thursday weekly threads. One such story comes from /u/Mobaisle_writing, a regular from /r/writingprompts. Here at we thoroughly enjoyed /u/Mobaisle_writing’s story of the Witch and her “apprentice”, aka a random teenager she kidnapped who happened to be able to stomach her potions. Mobaisle’s tackling of SerSat covers just a couple of days in-world, but shows us an adventure with stakes that only get higher, you’ll definitely want more by the end! But don't take my word for it! Here's a small teaser: >*The Crossroads are returning. Scouts make contact from other planes. A Beast Tide threatens the Church Protectorate of Leadenford. Secular and religious forces clash and a Witch arrives at the dusty border town of Edgefall, changing Ernst’s life forever.* For our first run of Serial Saturday at it was important for us to get author impressions of how their experience went with us, and give readers a peek at the "behind the scenes" of creating a flash fiction serial. Here's Mobaisle’s take on that: >Lots of people have now written on the specifics of their story’s journey. To shake things up a bit I thought I’d outline why I believe the Serial Saturday programme has been important, particularly in the context of writing on Reddit. > >It’s fairly easy to start writing micro or short fiction. With some work, it’s not too hard to find places to receive feedback and hone your skills. However, how do you make the shift to writing longer works? > >Jumping right in with a novel, is – not to put too fine a point on it – fucking daunting for most people. The change in requirements from writing a 500 word short to writing a novella or a novel is not insubstantial. An awful lot of things to worry about; from character progression, to B plots, to thematic handling, to world building and coherence. And they *all* suddenly start crawling out of the woodwork. > >In tackling a longer work, most of the support systems and feedback networks geared toward short or micro fiction are no longer of use. Hopefully over the course of interacting with others during attending campfires or being an active part of a writing community you would have developed some friends or confidants with whom you more regularly share and compare work, but suddenly dropping an entire novel on someone is neither polite nor useful. > >For a start, the critiquing skills gap between short fiction and longer works is *significant*. > >So how do you bridge that gap? > >Writing a serial is definitely one way to go about that. If you complete 15-40 episodes of a serial, at 750 - 1k words each, you’ve built yourself the framework for a novella. With any luck, and assuming you’ve managed to find an audience, you might have built yourself interest in the world you’re writing as well. > >But is it really that easy? > >To put it entirely bluntly, Reddit has an awful lot of serials, spread across a wide number of subreddits, but the vast majority of them do not elicit all that much feedback or even necessarily viewers. A majority will remain unfinished. > >Finding regular feedback and skills help for writing serials is not easy, despite them being ostensibly the logical next step toward writing longform fiction. The serial programme aimed to change that. > >And it succeeded. > >Over the 16 weeks of Serial Saturday it’s been fantastic to see people’s writing styles evolve. The participants not only developed their stories, themes, and skills, but became more adept at helping each other and critiquing across longer form works. The mutual progress everyone made was incredible. We’ve seen a great variety of worlds and genres displayed from a group of writers who had widely divergent starting points. Judging by the NaNoWriMo posts on the /r/WritingPrompts discord server, many of the writers involved took the programme as a jumping off point to start tackling novels directly. > >To me, that’s been the greatest success of Serial Saturday. It’s built up a mutually beneficial and positive community on a sub that, let’s be honest, doesn’t have one. With the tale of *The Witch* at an end (for now) there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on . Let the bragging begin! Without further ado, here's Mobaisle’s Table of Contents. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ## Table of Contents * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *\~Switch to* /r/ShortStories*\~* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You can check out more of Mob's work by going to their subreddit, /r/The_Crossroads. Congrats on finishing your serial, Mob, and we can’t wait to see what you do next. <3 from the team at , , and Serial Saturday. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *For more information on the Serial Saturday program feel free to check out our* *.* We have members from all around the world and who have all kinds of schedules, so there’s usually someone awake to talk to. We also have scheduled readings, oration critiques, spur-of-the-moment story time, or even just random hangouts over voice chat.