“Just bring us the crate and let the man pick something himself. He doesn’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” John James turned to Stephen. “These people don’t even know how to be obedient.” “I’m still not sure about this John,” Stephen said. “Is this going to look fucked up or is it going to look like a steak?” “What I killed is going to look like a steak. You didn’t kill anything, so now you get to pick your shit out of a crate,” John said. “Kill something next time.” “Why are two men like us here?” Stephen asked. John scoffed. “Hey, don’t misunderstand me. This is some good shit. Not everybody gets to eat this shit. We get to do whatever we want.” A tall man walked toward their table holding a large wooden crate above his waist. He set it beside them and they peered inside. “There’s still fur on everything, and faces,” Stephen said. “You’re not going to serve me this fucking shit. There’s flies flying around it. Fuck you. And fuck you John. What gets you off about all this?” A fly landed on the table in front of him. He smashed it beneath his hand. “They haven’t prepared it yet you dick,” John said laughing. Stephen grabbed a hand from the crate and waved it in John’s face. “How the fuck do you prepare this? What the fuck are you talking about you retard?” “I dunno! They skin it, they take the bones out, they cook it, they season it, I don’t fucking know!” “Excuse me sir,” the man with the crate said, “but we do not do those things to the hands. We will only cook them. That is all that you need to do.” John stood and pointed his finger an inch from the man’s face. “Look nigger, this place has five stars on Yelp, so don’t tell me you’re not even going to properly prepare my friend’s food. We eat at restaurants that you wouldn’t even be allowed to walk past on the same side of the street every day for lunch, so if you try to serve us disgusting food, I will fucking kill you, and I’ll kill everyone back there. And then I’ll fly back to New York City and forget all about it.” Another man approached their table and set a plate in front of John’s chair. A thick slab of meat sizzled beside a halved yam. John sat calmly and said, “This is what I’m talking about. Now fuck off and make my friend here something *good*, and cook it *right*.” The man with the crate, holding the hand between his tented fingers, replied, “With all due respect, sir, the gorilla’s hand is most delicious when prepared this way. I would like to offer it to you. You will not be disappointed.” “Tell you what, bring me that hand with the bones and skin on it, and if my friend doesn’t like it, I shoot you in the head,” John said. “You will not be disappointed,” the man repeated. He lifted the crate and turned, walking away. “Fuck, you’ll let me kill him at least,” Stephen said. “I was telling him ‘no.’ These people don’t understand a fucking thing,” John said, plunging his knife into his meat. “Tell me how it is when you taste it,” Stephen said. “I’ve had lion before Stephen. It’s fucking good,” John said. “And no, you can’t have any.”  \*\*\*  Stephen exited the elevator hurriedly and strode to the conference room, pushing past two men and a women carrying coffees. He sat behind his name, which stood on the table beside a few others: Stephen Alexander, Director of R&D. Anxiously he eyed the clock while others shuffled into the room quietly. His presentation would follow the CEO’s introduction, but the CEO would be late. A small silver tray sat in the corner of the room on a cart, covered by a silver dome, warmed by a low flame. “I’m going to make these pieces of shit so rich,” he thought. The CEO arrived seven minutes after 9:00 and recited something asinine, something brief. After she sat and addressed Stephen, he stood rapidly and stepped to the front of the room. “I’m going to tell you all about an incredible opportunity,” he said. “It might sound unbelievable, but the product that I’m about to present to you all has the potential to exceed our namesake. In five years time, we may be abandoning Trempsico for a new name, a name that immortalizes the one creation that will prove timeless, more timeless than our soda.” A woman pushed the cart with the silver tray beside Stephen as he spoke. He paused and removed the dome from the tray. On it sat three black hands, the sinewy fingers curled above broad palms in wilting shapes like a dying flower. Steam wafted from their severed wrists, which dripped pink blood. “These are Gorilla Fingers,” Stephen said. Every person in the room began shouting. The CEO stood up and said, “Everybody shut the hell up. Stephen, leave, you’re fired.” Stephen laughed. “Oh, I am absolutely not fired,” he said. He lifted a gorilla hand from the tray and snapped off one of its fingers. “When you taste this, you’ll want to hear the rest of my presentation. All of you.” “Stephen, you’re mentally ill,” the CEO said. Don’t put that in my face. Get out of here!” “Yeah I’m crazy,” Stephen said. “Crazy about these delicious Gorilla Fingers!” “Someone call security,” the CEO said. Stephen thrust his arms at the woman beside the cart and grasped her neck. He bore her strained punches, pushing her back toward a window. He smacked her skull into the window and broke the glass. He did it again, knocking long pieces of glass from the frame and forming a wide hole. “Look, either someone tries one of these delectable treats, or I throw this caterer bitch out the window.” “Goodness, Alexander, you oughta calm down,” Rick Trant, Head of Sales, said. “I’ll try one of these Gorilla Whatchamacallits. No need to make such a big deal about it.” Rick leaned across the table and grabbed a hand, snapping off a pointer finger. He bit into it and began chewing. He didn’t swallow; he paused and turned to the CEO. “Cindy, you need to eat one of these,” he said. The CEO stared skeptically at Rick before turning to the finger that Stephen had removed and placed on the table. She picked it up and tenderly bit down on the tip of the finger. Her eyes widened and quietly she declared, “Hoooooooooo baby…” Stephen released the caterer and she stumbled toward the door fearfully, tears dripping down her swollen face. The CEO placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “There’s no need to tell anyone about this. No one will believe you.” The woman’s eyes clenched shut and she started to sob as she shambled out of the room. “Now, on with my presentation,” Stephen said, returning to the front of the room. Everyone was reaching for the shriveled, black hands, tearing fingers from palm and passing the flesh from person to person. “A friend and I recently went on an expedition to Africa, as some of you may have heard. My friend is an avid big game hunter. This I already knew. But what I didn’t realize was that this man was fond of eating his kill. On this particular excursion, he killed a lion. And that very night, he took me to a restaurant called Bush Meat Barn. They cooked his lion for him. Delicious. But I myself hadn’t killed anything. I have never understood hunting. Something doesn’t feel right about it to me, morally. So what would I eat at this restaurant? I was served a whole hand of a gorilla. Its bones and tendons still held the flesh, and its skin remained intact, as with these hands I have brought you. Little was done to prepare them. And yet, when I tasted the first fingertip, I knew that I had discovered something truly remarkable.” A creeping hunger seized Stephen’s throat and he broke another finger off a gorilla’s hand for himself. As he ate he said, “I have done a lot of thinking since that night, and I discovered what it is that bothers me about hunting. Men, apex predators, the top of the food chain, standing above lesser creatures and blowing their brains out. Creatures that are large, yes. Creatures that can kill us. But none that can outsmart us. None with minds or souls. It’s not right! Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to show you something.” Stephen pulled down a projector screen and dimmed the lights before beginning a short video. The video showed a gorilla seated behind a table, facing a woman in a labcoat. As it played, Stephen continued, “This is Travis the gorilla. Here he is demonstrating advanced language capabilities. He can form unique sentences in sign language. Here he says, ‘Travis experience Dasein’. You see, gorillas, like all apes, are our closest relatives. What does this mean for our company? Watch this.” “Travis,” the woman in the video said, “I am going to offer you a choice with two options. I want you to tell me which option you want. I want you to tell me by giving me a thumbs up for yes, or a thumbs down for no. Do you understand?” Travis gave a thumbs up. “Ok Travis,” the woman said. “Do you want me to give you a delicious piece of fruit, and then incinerate you with a flamethrower? Or, would you rather I not give you any fruit?” The gorilla sat motionless. “Show me a thumbs up for fruit, or a thumbs down for no fruit.” After some time, Travis extended his thumb above his hand. “Very good, Travis!” the woman said. She walked offscreen for a moment and returned with a peeled banana. Travis took the banana and slowly ate. He signed ‘banana sweet’. Once he was finished eating the banana, a thin arm of fire extended from offscreen and immolated the gorilla. Several minutes passed before the ape was dead and charred, unrecognizable. The video ended and the lights returned. “I commissioned the Kinshasa Gorilla Sanctuary to conduct this experiment. Why did I do this? Let me put it simply: We can conclude, based on the findings of this test, that gorillas are intelligent enough to consent to their own destruction.” The room began whispering fervently. “Not only is this scientifically sound,” Stephen said, “it’s legally sound as well. I have already personally lobbied the government of DR Congo and secured legal recognition of gorillas’ right to life. This, of course, includes their right to choose death, which we will encourage. That is, if we begin operations in the Congo, first by collecting gorillas for scientific purposes, as in that video. By next month, we could be shipping Gorilla Fingers all over the country.” The room erupted in applause. The CEO was beaming. “Thank you,” Stephen said, returning to his chair. Chris Twewly, Director of Wage Theft, leaned back in his chair and furrowed his brow. “Stephen, I appreciate your enthusiasm but let’s think pragmatically here. You made a lot of projections about the distant future, but I have a question about how to proceed from this very moment.” “Go ahead, Chris,” Stephen said. “Do you have any more of those scrumptious, mouth-wateringly tasty Gorilla Fingers?” Stephen chuckled and turned toward the open door of the conference room. “You can bring the rest in now!” he shouted. Five men pushed five more carts into the room and removed their silver domes, filling the room with steam and the scent of flesh. One man approached Stephen and, leaning over to him, said quietly, “We’re very sorry about the incident with the window earlier. That employee has been fired.” Stephen mouthed ‘Thank you’. Dert Craig, Head of Marketing, stood and said, “Stephen, speaking as someone with a Masters in Philosophy, I must say… This is the most ethically solid business model I’ve ever heard. Bravo.” Stephen smiled. “Thank you Dert.” “I’ll have my department design the packaging immediately. We should have a preliminary sketch by the end of the week. I can already picture it. We’ll have a cartoon mascot, Gogo the Gorilla. We’ll put him on the front of the box, and he’ll be giving a thumbs up and saying, “I consent!”” “I think this has given us a lot to consider,” the CEO said. “We all have a lot of work to from this point on. That being said, this meeting is now ended. We need to get this project started as soon as possible. Back to work, everyone!” As everyone jogged excitedly from the room, Michael Ass, COO, approached Stephen and said, “You are going to make everyone in this building a lot of money, Stephen. You deserve to get your dick sucked. Today. That’s Business 101. If it doesn’t happen, let me know. I’ll fire all the female staff tomorrow.” “Tough, but fair,” Stephen responded.  \*\*\*  Roman had lost sight of his guides and was wandering through brush, searching for the path that they had cleared. Tall leaves and low vines hid the freshly cut clearing that they had passed through minutes ago. He was lost; but he was armed. Hearing a rustling behind him, he turned and raised his flamethrower. “If you want me to give you a banana, and then kill you, come out of there with your thumbs up!” he exclaimed nervously. A woman emerged from the brush with her hands raised. Roman lowered his flamethrower. “Who are you?” “Look, I’m not going to play your game, fascist. I know you’re going to kill me, so just kill me,” the woman responded. “Who are you? Are you with Trempsico?” Roman asked. “Who are *you*?” the woman replied. “I’m Roman. I’m just a sweepstakes winner,” Roman said. The woman lowered her hands but remained where she was. “Why are you here?” Roman fell to his knees and began to cry. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “I’m so afraid!” The woman knelt beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can help you. If you’re willing to join me.” Roman looked up at her. “What do you mean?” “I’m a conservationist,” she said. “I’m here with a group of environmentalists. We’re trying to teach the gorillas that a thumbs up means ‘no’ and that a thumbs down means ‘yes’.” “Playing the corporation’s own game…” Roman pondered. “There’s no way you can lose!” Stephen pulled down a projector screen and dimmed the lights before beginning a short video. The video showed a gorilla seated behind a table, facing a woman in a lab coat. As it played, Stephen continued, “This is Travis the gorilla. Here he is demonstrating advanced language capabilities. He can form unique sentences in sign language. Here he says, ‘Travis experience Dasein’. You see, gorillas, like all apes, are our closest relatives. What does this mean for our company? Watch this.” Roman was seized with fear. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Just keep watch,” the conservationist said as she entered the clearing and approached the gorilla. “What am I doing?” Roman thought to himself. “Why am I here? I’m a coward. I couldn’t even keep up with the guides. I’m going to die out here. It’s my own fault.” A vine snapped and fell from a tree behind him; he turned but saw nothing. “What if Trempsico finds me with these environmentalists? I’m so fucking stupid! God damnit!” Suddenly, Roman heard the conservationist shout his name. He felt a searing heat upon his face as he turned toward the clearing. A man with a flamethrower stood at the opposite end of the clearing, burning the gorilla beneath a glorious ray of fire. “Roman, why didn’t you see him?” the conservationist screamed. “Why weren’t you keeping watch?” Roman ran to her and crouched to set his hands on the ground beside her. “Are we going to die?” he asked. The conservationist peered at the gorilla’s charred carcass and found a chance for redemption. The gorilla’s torso and legs were reduced to ash, but its arms remained. Both hands had their thumbs extended downward. The gorilla had not consented. “Quick, my camera!” the conservationist said, pointing toward a distant bush. “Bring it to me!” Roman glanced at the man with the flamethrower; he was watching them. “I can’t do it,” Roman said fearfully. “You have to get my camera, you bitch! I’m hurt! You need to get my camera!” the conservationist screamed. The man with the flamethrower strolled along the edge of the clearing and stooped to pick up the camera. Turning to the conservationist he said, “It’s no use. You can’t stop us anymore, because there isn’t anything to stop. This was the last gorilla in Virunga Park. Excuse me, Trempsico Snack Ranch. There are no more gorillas. And no more Gorilla Fingers.” “No…” Roman said. The conservationist sobbed and said, “How could you kill eradicate your own product?” “No one is going to be upset with us,” he replied. “When we announce that Gorilla Fingers are discontinued, we’ll tell them it’s because our Congolese workers went on strike. They’ll blame people like you for meddling with the process. You lose.” He started laughing. The conservationist looked upon the smoldering body of the gorilla, the blackened skeleton of disruption, the ghost of innovations past. The birds of the jungle sang melancholy songs, their pitches bending downward toward the earth in mourning. The white mists, the vapors that breathed life into tree, bush, and vine, were choked and dispelled by the black smoke of death. Sunbeams stood still as the canopy above paused in solemn contemplation, or perhaps dread. The world halted and asserted its full weight upon their consciences, pressing with futile urgency onto their skulls. The conservationist closed her eyes and clasped her face in her hands. “If only we had all bought Orangutan Bites instead!” she lamented.


“Oh god damn it!” Sophie screamed as she realized that she forgot to take her work uniform with her yet again. She was already in a foul mood and this was the last straw that doomed her to a shitty day. She contemplated going back to her apartment to get it but decided against it out of pure frustration, instead, she continued walking. She was about ten minutes away from the café she worked at which gave her plenty of time to contemplate her misery, her life was anything but exciting, fulfilling, and happy. Living paycheck to paycheck, sometimes having barely enough money to buy groceries, having no friends and a terrible relationship with her family didn’t help either. She abandoned her dream of becoming a dancer because the bills won’t pay themselves and the classes were expensive as all hell – sometimes she thought about going back but then when the six am alarm clock went off she lost all motivation. Often she wondered why she was even alive, what was her reason to wake up each morning? Her life purpose. At this point, she woke up every morning out of pure spite and to piss off her parents. So she kept walking and wondering and asking herself sarcastically What else could go wrong?. When she reached the café Sophie immediately regrated asking that question because as soon as she closed the back door behind her she was meet with her boss’s very serious facial expression. “Sophie, can I talk to you for a minute?” She nodded and followed him to his office with a feeling that something was about to go down. She was right because as soon as she sat in front of the man’s desk he said “I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to let you go” a minute of stunned silence “What? Why?! I worked my butt off here for the past 4 years. What did I do wrong?” “You didn’t do anything wrong but we had some budget cuts and I can’t afford to keep you here with us” he replied while leaning on the desk in front of him. Sophie stared angrily at her – former - boss and got up to leave. “Have you told Stacy about this?” she asked mentioning the most recent addition to their team. “Oh… Stacy is not getting fired” he replied and at least he had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. Sophie on the other hand exploded. “She’s been working here for two months! I worked here for years! I honestly wish her well but why the fuck am I the one that gets laid off and not her?!” silence again and the lack of answer spoke volumes. “It’s because she’s hot? Isn’t it?” again no reply and Sophie laughed bitterly “You are so pathetic,” she said storming to the door and throwing one last glance at the man “I expect my check for last month to be mailed to my place by the end of the week” Then she left. The walk back felt twice as miserable as the walk to work that morning. She promised herself she would not cry until she got back home and she kept that promise but as soon as she entered the studio apartment she collapsed to her knees and started sobbing. The weight of the situation and the pure exhaustion finally flowing free. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t because the walls of the apartment were as thin as paper and the lady who lived next door just had a newborn. She felt trapped and completely hopeless, she should be coming up with a plan or look for jobs but to be honest, she was done with everything. She just sat on the ground pulling at her hair, remembering all her failures and asking the world ‘why me?’. She even contemplated calling her parents and begging them to let her stay at her childhood home for a month or two but the very thought of that place made her want to throw up. It felt like hours passed before she finally stopped crying and calmed down. Still sitting on the floor, she raised her eyes to the dirty ceiling, she wasn’t particularly spiritual but at this point, she was willing to try anything. “What’s up Universe?” she sniffed before continuing. “It’s your girl, Sophie. Can you give me a sign? Cause I really don’t know what to do right now and honestly I kinda feel like jumping off of a bridge or something.” Nothing. Not a beam of sunlight a lighting bolt or a butterfly sitting on her windowsill. Sophie sighed and got up from the ground intending to walk to the nearest store and buy a bottle of wine. “I don’t know what I was expecting” she mumbled to herself and then again she thought at least it can’t get worse than this. It is safe to say that she didn’t learn the lesson the first time because as soon as she said that the sound of loud heavy metal music spread through the whole apartment only to soon be accompanied by the cries of a child woken up from its nap. Sophie groaned and walked to her closet to take out the broom so she could bump the ceiling a couple of times but when she furiously opened up the doors something fell out of the top shelf and tumbled by her feet. She crouched down and to pick it up and froze. Those were her old point shoes, a little dusty and dirty from the lack of use but still in pretty good shape. Then an idea struck her – I guess I have nothing to lose she thought and after packing a bag she left the house. You see when she picked up the shoes she remembered that she always wanted to try dancing on the street like some artists play music and paint for some stray coins the passers-byes find in their pockets. So she went to the busiest shopping street she could think of setting up a speaker and a hat for any donations put her shoes on and begun dancing. The first week she managed to gather ten pounds, she really enjoyed dancing again and some of the people that stopped to watch her seemed to enjoy her skills too. Sophie knew she wouldn’t be able to live off of the money that people tossed in her hat but something told her that she just had to wait and see what happens. And she was right when on the third week of dancing she decided to pack it up for the day and when counting what she’s made she saw a business card at the very bottom of the hat. It said: Mari Chase Manager of the ‘Spin’ talent agency 666 8764 802 Call me if you are interested in collaborating with us.

Needless to say, this one-time Sophie believed in the universe a little bit more.


Karana and I were walking along the snow and ice searching for home. We had gone out looking for food but a huge snow storm happened and we could see nothing. We are wearing heavy coats but my face is not protected and numb. Karana has started building us a house to hide and stay warm in. I don't understand how he can see in this blazing snow but I try to help. We make our house in the ground with a 3foot deep hole and an igloo for the top. We share our rations and melt snow for water to drink. It is night now, the only thing I am scared of is the polar bears that come at night. When I wake up Karana is already awake making us an early breakfast of meat. Our rations are low and the snow is not as hard as it should be. We decide to start early but when we look outside it's still dark, from the stars Karana says “It must be around 4:30”. Too early to start our journey. To waste time I decide to go through our backpack to see what we have, Karana has strong rope, a knife, an animal skin, flint and steel, a photo of his best friends, a blanket, and a pan; I have a thin chain rope, a notebook, a book, flint and steel, some meat, a bowl, some things for burning fire, a bandage, a shovel, a mashedy, and a tarp. All of this stuff comes in handy but it won't last us. We start our journey at 7 when things lighten up. As we walk we talk about my dogs and how Karana is willing to pay me for one when the mother has birth. I'm still thinking it through in my head but I say “ya, sure” to give him something to look forward to. Karana speaks about his grandfather and how he wants to be like him, train his dogs all that can be trained, and keep them in good health so they live for as long as they can. Then suddenly he stops, I don't understand why until I realized what he had just said and how it led up to current events. Karanas new baby sister, the 1st girl of his family had died from poor feeding and the cold, she did not live as long as she could. Tears start falling down Karanas face so I go over to comfort him, he pushes me away then looks back at me with anger in his eyes and punches me in the gut. It takes me a moment to realize what had just happened, I was on the cold ground, stomach aching and back sore from my hard hit to the ground. Karana eyes had changed from anger to sadness of all sorts, he no longer acted strong and brave as men did, he fell to the ground in a ball and crys, tears now making a puddle at the bottom of his right eye facing away from me. I don't know what to do, so I go over and put him on his feet, he says he just wants to sit for a bit and I don't reject that, from what I have learned u dont mess with Karana when he is sad or frustrated. So we just sit, we sit so long my legs start to ache and my body wants to run, but I sit still. We sat from 9ish to 12ish, never have I sat for this long I think I broke a record. Karana is ready to go again, he talks about how his dogs will be the strongest and fastest dogs I will know. I tell him to think again about my dogs, he thinks and goes “when my dogs are ready we will challenge you and win!” I don't say anything, just walk along, Karana expecting a comeback and not getting one, continues talking about how our parents must be looking for us right now and how they probably think we were eaten by the wolves or slaughtered by the polar bears, and comes up with all these crazy stories about us dying by animals. It's night now, dark and freezing with gusts of wind. We have to make a new camp, this time we make a fire so it's easier to see and when we finish moving it to the bottom of our pit. I make meat stew as Karana cleans and plays with stuff in our bags. We have to eat out of the pot cause we don't have bowls, Karana says that I make better soup then his mom while stuffing his mouth with soup getting the ground all colorful. I say “thanks” and look at him in that way that girls can say silently “slow down”; He stops eating and pulls out something from his bag, something I hadn't noticed before, he hands it to me with a smile of satisfaction and says “open it”. I don't know what to expect so I unravel the string and unfold the thin animal skin, when I see it I don't know what to say. It's a brand new pair of nice warm mukluks, the kind I've only seen Karana wear. When i look at him he's all smiles “I made them myself” he says. I smile, give him a hug, then put them on. They fit perfect and make my feet amazingly warm. “ I was going to give them to you for your birthday but I couldn't wait, and sooner or later Totuk was going to take them for himself” Karana says, putting his foot next to mine showing how they are the same. Totuk, Karanas older brother has been taking Karanas things lately so i understood. As we go to bed I think about how hard Karana must have worked on these just to give them to me. He knows how fast I go through shoes but he made them anyway. As we drift to sleep I dream about the tribe. When I wake up the colors of the moon shine as I step outside to feel the gusts of snow hit my face. I wake Karana so he can see the masterpiece the world gave us...a slight sign of hope. When it is light we step outside only to see white with a tint of a blue sky. We move forward for 1 hour to slip and fall on a smooth wet surface. “We have found our way!” Shouts Karana. The Great river of Zire, this shall guide us home. I clasp Karana’s hand as we walk on to the frozen River that will lead us back to life.


*By ColdChemical* The sun beat down on the dry land, blazing brilliantly against a perfect blue sky. The earth was dead and flat―every weed and insect choked with death by the toxic dust that had settled over the land. The air was hot and stagnant. A long time passed. Eventually a far, distant sound emerged. This sound slowly grew until it became a muffled roar―carried from miles away across the infinite flatness. This sound was shortly accompanied by a black speck on the horizon, a long cloud of dust billowing in its wake. Jedediah shifted uncomfortably in his seat and flicked his cigarette butt out the window of the jeep. His eyes, shaded from the blinding light by a pair of dark red sunglasses, drifted lazily across the wasteland before him. There wasn’t much to see. There never was. After three years, Jedediah was beginning to reconsider the job offer that he had jumped at just a few short years ago. What had promised adventure and danger had become merely one long and tedious journey after another, and they were only getting longer. At 26, he had already seen more than most members of the commune would in their entire lives. Not that they were missing much, as far as Jedediah was concerned. It was just wasteland as far as you cared to go. Still, he couldn’t deny that he treasured this freedom. It was boring as hell, sure, but out in the wastes there wasn’t nobody to tell him what to do, none of them narrow-eyed shopkeepers or stupid old men with their stupid talk. The wastes alone were his master. The long empty miles gave him a sense of momentum in his life, even though he was really no freer than the rest of the commune and was doomed to die just like the rest of them. Deep down Jedediah realized this, and unconsciously he hated himself for it. He longed for a life that he could never imagine, a life that did not exist and had not existed for many long spans of time. Yet it was this distant and long-forgotten past that the people of the commune were utterly and completely dependent upon. Scattered throughout the wastes were isolated vaults buried within the earth. Their dark steel depths betrayed little about their unknown creators, and all were identical in shape and mystery. Upon entering, one would be overwhelmed by the staggering immensity of their age, and the power and sophistication surely wielded by their creators. They defied the land, plunging indiscriminately into the bowels of the earth through soil and stone without any heed for the natural order. How unlike the communes above, which clung desperately to every rock and stone and were subject to all the violent whims of earth and sky. The survivors of the wastes, lacking any other defining feature upon which to settle, inevitably grew their towns upon the ancient relics which protruded from the surrounding plain. Shapaw, the easternmost commune, was where Jedediah lived. Hajiik was to the west and Guln in the north. The two southern communes, Apette and Illicagh, were rumored to have starved or fallen to some other similarly horrific fate, as no news had reached Shapaw of either in quite some time. Even Shapaw, the largest of the communes, contained less than five hundred residents. Some of the others contained scarcely enough people to merit a name at all. More than once some crazy band of fools had gone and tried to live inside one of the vaults, but the dampness and the creeping blackness inevitably drove anyone inside to madness. Most of the vaults, however, had not been touched by human hands for a long, long time. Their dark tomb-like caverns were usually braved by only the most fearless and curious of souls, who were invariably rewarded with a treasure-trove of strange and useful relics, the most valuable of which was a tiny blue pill. This pill alone kept the communes alive, for without the medicine within them, the people of the wastes―should they breath so much as a mote of the toxic dust―would be writhing on the ground in minutes. It was a violent and agonizing death. All efforts to learn the secrets of the blue pills had failed, and the people had resigned themselves to a life dependent upon them. As plentiful as the pills were, they would not last forever. After a time, the supply beneath the streets of Shapaw had been exhausted, and so it became necessary to send someone out into the wastes to gather more. These men became responsible for the resupplying of the pills by way of finding and raiding the surrounding vaults which had not already been robbed of their contents. Jedediah checked his compass, then craned his head back to gauge the position of the sun. Sixteen degrees southwest and just about high noon. He scowled. At this rate he’d have to spend the night in the back seat of the jeep. The wastes were scorched and burned by day, but the nights were sickly cold, and the back of a beat-up old jeep wasn't Jedediah’s idea of a good night’s sleep. He drove on. Eventually his thoughts turned to other things: the girl at Begunn’s who was always smiling, his busted generator, the price of the replacement part to fix the damn thing, the― Jedediah suddenly sat up and squinted. He threw off his sunglasses and rummaged around in the sack on the passenger seat, pulling out a pair of binoculars. “About time.” The grey disk that poked out above the earth could mean only one thing: a vault. As he drew nearer, the smooth, familiar features of the structure became visible. It looked the same as every other vault he’d ever seen, but then again, why shouldn’t it? He decelerated to a crawl, then braked and cut the engine. Double-checking the contents of the sack, he then slung it over his shoulder, and walked towards the embankment which descended towards the entryway. The ground crunched beneath his boots. Now that he wasn’t speeding along at 130mph he could smell once more the subtle sickly aroma of the poisonous dust kicked up beneath his feet. Jedediah slid down the embankment and came to a halt just before the imposing metal hatchway. He gripped the hot metal handle and pulled. After several minutes of strenuous effort, a loud clunk came from within, and the lock fell open. Jedediah braced his shoulder against the door, and pushed. The hatchway swung inward with an eerie quietness into the dark chamber within. Jedediah took out his torch and lit it. He stepped inside. Immediately he sensed that something was different; something was not right. Although his eyes could see nothing in the darkness, he was overwhelmed by a sensation of immense space. It was as though he had stepped into the center of a massive subterranean cave, rather than the usual maze of rectangular passageways which he had learned to navigate. Jedediah scowled and tightened his grip on the torch. His right hand moved cautiously to his knife-sheathe, where it stayed, tense. Glancing out the hatchway, he set off into the dark. His footsteps made no sound as he moved onward into the chamber. Nothing but blackness emerged out of the dark, and eventually the open hatchway was nothing more than a pinprick of light in the distance behind him. Jedediah stopped. “HELLO?” he shouted. A faint echo reverberated around him. He waited. Silence. Suddenly, from above, came a tiny mechanical clinking. After a moment, it stopped. Jedediah stood very still. “Hello.” cooed a soft metallic voice. “Shit!” Jedediah leaped backward, starring wide-eyed into the black abyss above him. “Who's there? Just who the hell are you?” he demanded. “I am a Long-Term-Data-Preservation unit. I have no name.” Its voice was cool and friendly, yet disturbingly inhuman. “Who are you?” He glared at the darkness. “Jedediah Ackerson.” “Hello Jedediah. I have waited a long time to meet you. I have much to show you." The surrounding air slowly became alive with a deep, almost inaudible humming. Suddenly, the entire chamber exploded with blinding light, and Jedediah slammed his eyelids shut. After several minutes, his eyes began to adjust to the throbbing brightness. He cautiously blinked open his eyes, and the sight that met his gaze paralyzed him. His entire body became frozen in shock, as though he had been turned to stone. In all of Jedediah’s short life, nothing―not even his most radical fantasies―could have prepared him for this sight. The breeze―warm and sweet―played across his cheeks. The blue horizon sparkled in the brilliant sunlight, and seemed to breathe in and out as it leapt up the sandy stretch below his feet, only to slink back upon itself. Jedediah blinked. He stared and blinked and thought no thoughts: a man overcome by the most beautiful thing he would ever see. "This," said the disembodied voice, "is an ocean.


'What are you thinking?' asked Tim 'Who in the hell has such a time to think and act in such a vindictive way?' countered Mark 'Let us go to the bomb site. We have only ten days.' 'We are not going to find anything over there. It would be better that we interrogate the suspect,' suggested one of the Inspector to his chief, Mark. Mark pulled a chair and sat on it. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands. Lost deeply in his web of thoughts, he was analyzing the case in his way. Tim and other Inspectors were looking at Mark with apt silence.

'So, that lunatic is quite sure that the bomb that he is going to detonate is nuclear,' asked Mark 'Yes. The suspect is also quite sure of that. He said that the guy that hired him at gunpoint was boasting about a nuclear bomb,' said Tim 'Bring that suspect over here. Let him spill the beans.' Inspector brought the suspect in handcuffs into the office of Mark. It was Mark's signature move that installed fear into the heart of criminals. Mark would start by offering coffee to the suspect. After that, he would offer him a seat at the edge of the 36th-floor balcony. The view beneath would send shivers down the spine of any suspect when Mark would inform about his intention to throw the suspect out from that balcony.

Many suspects would spill the beans fearing their life. While many would brave dying before saying anything they don't know. Mark would then use VR Glasses and a motorized chair to terror out the truth from the suspect. This stage would guarantee an outcome. 'So, Mr. Burton. You are saying that the guy pointed a gun at you and made you plant the bomb. Luckily, no was one at the bombing site was injured or killed in that blast. Explain to me that where he was pointing the gun when you detonated the bomb,' saying this, Mark switched on the display which played the clip of Mr.Burton detonating the bomb with a remote, and there was no one standing in his vicinity.

'He was standing right below that pillar. He knew the blindspot of the security camera, and he used that knowledge to his advantage,' clarified Mr.Burton 'So the bomber threatened you with a gun and a nuclear bomb?' 'And he also knew the names of my family member. He threatened to kill them all if I don't detonate the bomb.' 'So you choose to kill others than someone kills your own.' 'What would you do, sir?' asked Mr. Burton. 'Personally, I would kill that lunatic monster with my bare hands.' 'No one can risk the life of their family. And I work inside that building, so I knew that it would be empty.' 'He warned you about the nuclear bomb?' 'Yes, he told me to leave the city or perish with nuclear fallout,' clarified Mr.Burton. 'Clear one thing for me. In my life, I have never seen a criminal spare the life of someone who can risk exposing his identity.' 'I don't know that sir but he let me go.' 'Okay, Tim. Take this gentleman to the balcony. Let him have some fresh air.' 'Okay, sir,' said Tim and dragged Mr. Burton to the balcony.

'Let refresh your memory, shall we Mr.Burton?' said Mark. 'Sir, I already said what I know.' The ordeal began, and the conclusion remained the same. Mr. Burton knew nothing.

All he could provide was a sketch of a masked man and a deadline of ten days, now only nine days, after which there would be a nuclear explosion.

The hunt began. FBI joined the search as it was a matter of national security. They scanned the entire city for radiation emission. They failed to locate any source of radiation in the city.

Another bad-luck of that city was its port. The town flourished due to that port, but now the suspect might have used it to bring in the nuclear bomb. The clock was ticking, and so was the bomb. It was only seven days to detonation. 'Sir, see this. You were right about the post,' said Tim and handed over a report to Mark. Mark glanced at and quickly stood up from the chair to grab his coat.

'Let's go,' ordered Mark. 'Wait a minute, Sir. We already raided the house. The importer of that container was shot dead at point-blank range. There was no other document in the apartment to lead us any further.' 'You looked at the obvious. The devil is in the detail. There were two containers loaded from Slovakia. FBI found radiation traces on both of them. One was found abandoned at the port in the next city. Both of them were imported under the same owner. We are going to that port to check the records and also the CCTV,' clarified Mark. They found a masked man driving away with the container from the port. The authority failed to identify him as he stole that container from the docks.

Only four days were remaining, and the agency was nowhere near the suspect. The trail went cold after that port. The Mayor of the city was deliberating whether to tell the people about the nuclear bomb that will trigger panic evacuation or hold the news.

The clue appeared on the third day. One of the patrolling cars found the trailer on the outskirts of the city.

No fingerprints. The footprints on the mud surrounding the trailer confirmed one thing that the masked man was limping.

'Search for airport and port entries for the last four months with travel history to Slovakia,' ordered Mark to Tim. The search began, and it narrowed down on one man. He was a former ambassador to a middle-east nation whose entire family perished in a bomb attack. He asked for help from the government. Due to a lack of proof, the government did not provide him and his family the protection. After that, the terrorist killed his entire family in a bomb blast. He blamed all of it on the government.

Using his previous links, he imported the nuclear bomb and placed it inside the city hall that will take out the city. He did all things with the utmost care, but he was not able to hide his limping. Mark caught him due to that defect. The city police surrounded him in the public park where he was savoring his last hot-dog of the city. He was ready to flee the town as he already narrowed down another pawn that would trigger the bomb.

That pawn heard about the recent bombing and a nuclear bomb in the town. That pawn informed police about the location of the masked man and a nuclear bomb. Based on the input, police located the limping ambassador near a hot-dog stand. He shot himself before anyone can arrest him.

The bomb-squad located the bomb and defused it to save the city from a large scale disaster.


"Tell me a story", said the boy to the machine. "Which story would you like to hear?", it asked. "You do not need me to be specific. You can tell me any story you want". "But there must be something you are curious about". "I don't know what I'm curious about anymore. Every time you tell me a story, the words, the people, the whole experience is different. I have no idea what there is to be curious about". "But you should always be curious. At least, this is what I've been programmed to remind you". "Just tell me whatever. But make it something new". Three card sharks were getting their fingernails done in the same low-class boutique. It was something they each did ritually, but this is the first time it had happened simultaneously for them. Each was surprised to learn that two other card sharks were interested in manicures, and they all began to wonder if it was common among the practitioners of their trade. "I hooked a real mug yesterday", said the first card shark to speak in this story, his manner of speaking likely familiar to you. "I have three mugs in my basement", said the second, distracted by his own burgeoning sense of shame. "What on earth was that?", asked the third, as the ground outside began to tremble. Suddenly a car burst through the shop front. It had careened out of control owing to an enormous chimerical creature which was rampaging through the city. The card sharks were terrified because they would not be able to play cards if the city was destroyed. The driver of the car was hyperventilating, but the manicurist brought him a cup of jasmine tea, and instructed him to sit in the back of the shop. "My daughter will help you if you need anything", said the manicurist, and strapped a large submachine gun to his shoulder, leaving the shop in a hurry. "I don't like this one", said the boy. "It reminds me too much of the one about the landrover and the pomegranate from yesterday" "I will remember this, sir. Thank you for informing me. I was not aware of the connection between them, but now I notice several hundred, most of which would probably not make any sense to you". "Tell me another one. One like you've never told me before". Karate was invented to extract manganese from a kernel. "This is one of those ones that makes no sense" "You are right, sir. Deeply sorry about that. Sometimes the randomisation is a little muddled. Let me try again". Nelson had arbitrated several hundred claims before giving up on the practice entirely, leaving his pet parakeet in the possession of his neighbour, and searching for absolution in the Tomsk Oblast of Western Siberia. He brought only enough clothes to last a week with him, in the hopes that someone he would meet along the way could save him from the aimlessness which had made his life an interminable blur. Old women who saw him passing would gaze at him until he turned a corner, but none would offer him dill-bread or water unless he came up and asked it of them directly". "This is one boring". "Affirmative. Boring. And what might I ask about it is boring?". "I don't know. Dill is a boring sort of word. And I don't know what arbitration is". "Would you like me to restrict my vocabulary to a more age-appropriate range?". "No. I turned that filter off for a reason. Just use more interesting words. Like explosion and bastard and bitch". The bitch was dead. The bastard had exploded her. "Haha. That's great! Then what happened?" The bastard had had just about enough of the bitch. All she did was tell him that he wasn't allowed to do what he wanted to do, whenever he wanted to do it. "I know that feeling exactly. What a bitch she must have been!" She was a bitch, but no longer. So the bastard took a motorcycle from his garage and drove it so fast, it almost exploded out the door. He drove it so far and so fast that he hit a bump in the road and he flew into the sky like the opposite of a comet. Then he was flying so fast through the air that he went around the whole world ten times before he landed, exactly where he hit the bump, only this time, he jumped off just before it, and watched it fly off without him. Then it exploded. "Wow. That's so amazing. Is that kind of stuff possible?". "I'm afraid to inform you that it isn't possible to drive a vehicle so fast". "Then why did you tell me the story in the first place?" "It seemed to fit all your requirements. It can be hard to decipher the right ingredients to a story." "Just don't make me feel as if anything can happen, when it definitely can't". "According to my data, this excludes almost all of the stories it might be possible to tell you". "Gah. Then tell me whatever story". "This will not comply with your early refinements. Would you like to clear history, and start the process again?" "Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired now. There's a lot of weird images in my head". "Sleep well, sir. And if any of your dreams prove memorable, please describe them to me as soon as you wake up". "Why?". "It will help me to craft the kinds of story your mind will most enjoy". "OK. Good night". "Good night".


“Oma!” Julia’s pudgy little legs danced as her arms reached up to her grandmother. The old woman smiled brightly and picked up the toddler. “Oma Santa is coming soon! Daddy said he’s in the ocean right now.” Julia’s excitement filled the room with momentum. “Well, he won’t come unless you eat all your dinner and mind your manners. He will pass right by without a glance.” Uncle Oscar stood tall but the war left him with a cynical eye. “Nonsense my little one. Santa will come as long as we follow tradition.” Julia’s mother scooped her into her arms while Oscar helped his mother to a chair. No longer wanting to be held Julia squirmed free and ran to her cousins who sat in a circle discussing the tedious politics of middle school life. Julia’s mother pulled Oscar aside and lowered her voice, “Please try to be a little compassionate. She is only four.” Oscar nodded in agreement but remained stoic and silent. Peter and his children were the next to arrive. Already in high school they remained in the living room adding and questioning the various topics deemed too adult for the others. Julia didn’t care for conversation. She wanted to play, and her cousins eventually gave in to her pleas. “Mom do you want to help me in the kitchen any?” Danielle, Julia’s eldest aunt, popped her head through the doorway, loose strands of hair bounced free from the tie. Julia’s mother attempted to help but the old woman gently pushed her aside as she made her way to the kitchen. “That smells amazing Dani.” Being the youngest of his siblings, Julia’s father played with the children while everyone else discussed what seemed like more important topics. “Julie Santa is on the West coast and heading this way!” Julia squealed as the cousins clapped along. “After dinner we’ll hop in the van and see if we can spot Rudolf’s nose before they get to the house.” Julia nodded to her mother then went back to climbing on her cousins as if they were mountains and she would conquer them all. Her cousins did not enjoy this game as much and her father chuckled at their faces silently screaming for help. He groaned as he pried Julia from her cousin’s legs. “Why can’t Santa come sooner? Why do we have to do all these things and then he comes?” “Well,” Her father carefully considered his next words. “it’s tradition and Santa honors them.” Peter snorted from the oversized armchair. Lowering his legs from the ottoman, “We have been doing things this way since before you were born.” He turned to Julia, “I think hearing it from the oldest of us would be best.” Julia’s father rolled his eyes but did not argue. Peter cleared his throat as Julia’s big eyes shined in wonder. “Now, magic flows through the world and Santa is the guardian of that magic. He keeps a watchful on the youngsters of the world and ensures that their kept safe and happy. Each family has a different magical tradition. These traditions are what lets Santa know that the family still has magic in their hearts. So, we eat the food properly prepared by our matriarchs. Specifically a large goose with red cabbage, cucumber salad, mashed potatoes, and to finish a beautiful stollen!” Peter paused for a moment to wipe the drool gathering in the corner of his mouth. “Then we lay out the wonderful cookies you made and a glass of milk for Santa as an offering for his visit.” “But why do we hunt for Rudolf?” Julia’s father looked towards Peter with a smug grin. Peter coughed twice, “He follows the trail of magic you leave behind. So, we go find Rudolf in the sky to lead them to our house.” “Who said that’s what we do though uncle Peter?” Julia crossed her arms defiantly and ready for her presents. “For generations our family has come together to determine how much magic our traditions bring for Santa to see.” Peter triumphant with his story leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “What tales you spin Peter.” Danielle came from the back bedroom. She had changed into a simple red dress with a thin white belt and Christmas tree earrings. Her hair was neatly curled around her face. “You definitely painted a picture for us but I would like to set the record straight on how these traditions were started. Why don’t you go help mother set the table while I tell Julia how our tradition started since the matriarchs are done cooking.” Danielle glowered at Peter and plopped into his chair as he went into the dining room. “So, most of what Uncle Peter said is true but we follow these traditions that are laid out by our ancestors. Years and years ago Santa’s magic flowed through everyone equally but when families from different regions became one and had to integrate their traditions. So the dinner we eat brings both our southern and German heritage together as one and strengthens the connection we have to our family. When we strengthen our bonds with each other the magic that flows through each of us is able to power Santa’s sleigh and give the reindeer their ability to fly.” Proud of her version she tapped Julia on the nose before heading into the dining room to scold Peter for his inability to set the table. Julia pulled at her braids her mother spent two hours trying to get her to sit still for. “Let’s get you washed up for dinner then we’ll hunt for Rudolf.” Her father’s voice, rough from years of coaching basketball, was still soft when speaking to her. The family enjoyed their dinner in the crowded dining room. Julia ended up wearing more of her food than eating it. Her mother took her to the bathroom after desert while the cousins readied themselves in the car. “Mommy, is Uncle Peter or Aunt Dani right about why we go look for Rudolf?” Her mother folded the moist towel and continued to clean her face and outfit. “What do you think kiddo?” Julia thought for a moment, “I think Santa loves us no matter what we do as long as we’ve been good.” She nodded to her mother confident in her answer. Her mother smiled sweetly and agreed. “Maybe Oma can tell you more about it later. Let’s go find Rudolf and lead them back to the house.” Julia’s little feet raced out into the cold for only a moment before she was tucked between her cousins in the warm van. Her mother stayed behind along with her aunt, uncle, and grandmother. Julia’s father and her uncle Oscar rode in the front while the kids lined the seats in the back. The family ooed and awed at the wonderful array of lights the neighborhoods had lined their houses with. They spotted several blinking red lights that were deemed planes. Then Julia looked to her left and saw a constant floating red light. “I found him Daddy! Quick tell him where we live.” She hollered at the window refusing to take her eyes off of the light. Her father whipped the car around and sped home. When they arrived Julia bolted inside the house to find dozens of presents crowded under the tree. “You just missed him sweety.” Her mother held a camera in her hands, “I tried to get a picture for you this year but he was too fast.” “Ah but look he enjoyed the cookies you left for him and left you a note!” Peter puffed his chest as her father rolled his eyes once again. Two of the three cookies were gone and half of the last remained while the glass of milk was gone entirely. Oma sat in her rocking chair. Her wrinkles deepening as she smiled. As tradition goes the youngest gets the first presents while the rest are passed out. Julia ripped through her presents and adored them all. Her favorite gift, addressed to her from Santa, was a glass doll from Europe. She held it close as she climbed into her Oma’s lap. Oma kissed the top of the young girls head as she curled into a ball before falling asleep. “We should probably be heading home soon. It’s a ways past her bedtime.” Julia’s mother and father began carrying their presents to the car. Oma very gently woke the girl so she could say goodbye to everyone. She carried Julia to the car herself while her parents said their own goodbyes. “Oma did you really have to change your tradition when you married grandaddy?” Julia attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Oh my girl, we never stopped changing. One day you will carry the traditions you love with you and change them how you wish to match the love that surrounds you. Magic never dies as long as you continue to do what makes you happy.” Oma kissed Julia’s puffy cheek and buckled her tight into her car seat. “You children bring our traditions to life. I look forward to seeing your little family grow as you interpret and continue them how you see the world. Just like our ever changing world you will grow and change even when I am far away from here. But, you keep believing in yourself, in love, and you will find your traditions will be the same just done differently.” As Julia grew and family became sparse that message was never forgotten.


Shelby was sitting on the toilet seat thinking about the phrase; “Think happy, stay happy” How can a sentence have thousand meanings? How can a phrase be so happy and thoughtful but at the same time have the darkness scraped onto to the depths of it? She broke from her thoughts when she realized that there are no toilet paper left. She called out her roommate's name; Sheldon. Shelby always saw Sheldon as more than roommates. She saw him as an individual. Sheldon meant a lot to her because of his past actions to make her life happier. But Sheldon didn't feel the same. He gave her company because of her special ability, money. Shelby's dad was one of the most successful beings on the planet Earth. He was such a loving and optimistic person even though he had the plague. Sheldon finally came and asked what was wrong. Shelby said that there wasn’t any toilet paper left. He replied with “Don't worry Shelby, I'll bring you some toilet paper. Because that's what friends do...” He couldn't believe that those were the words that spilled out of his mouth. Calling her a true friend? That was the biggest lie he ever told someone. He thought it will be a good idea to prank her in these depressing times. He remembered that one 'life hack' where a friend just used a blow dryer to prank his friend. He thought it will be a good idea... he thought no one will get hurt... he thought there won't be any consequences... He did the same as the person in the video narrated. The prank was ready. Everything was ready to go. He busted into the room and blowed the entire roll to her face. She had no time to react nor defend herself. When she finally progressed what was going on...Sheldon said “You look like a mummy!” in a happy tone. She then replied with “I'll get you back!” in an equally playful tone. Sheldon laughed as he left the bathroom. A few hours passed. She was thinking in her own little room. How can she clap back to what he did? She needed to settle things. She needed to clap back in a more gruesome way to prevent him from doing such a thing again. Then she thought it will be a good idea to visit his room when he wasn't here. Luckily, Sheldon was outside buying some groceries for his mother's birthday. She got up from her bed and slowly walked toward Sheldon's room. She opened the door and started rummaging through his stuff when she found a note that was sealed with a sticker. She opened it without second thought and started to read it. That was the time when she understood his true feelings for her. Her eyes filled with rage waiting for him to get back home...What was probably minutes felt like hours. Then he came. He opened the door and dropped the groceries to the ground. Then he saw her. He saw her waiting in the corner smiling creepily while holding a newly sharpened knife. He understood what that meant. But he didn't know that the clock was ticking for him. She got up slowly, walking towards him menacingly. Sheldon didn't have the time to react. It was done. Shelby Kudesa killed her friend in cold blood. But there was still one thing left to do. She covered her long gone friend in toilet paper while muttering “you will be needing a lot of this to cover yourself. Sheldon” then she understood everything. She understood what think happy stay happy meant. While she was getting ready for her escape it appeared. A stiff dark figure in the corner of the room standing. It spoke the words of damned souls. “You weren’t thinking very happy, Miss Shelby.” The words that travelled through her ears send shivers down her spine. She spoke “I don't understand what you're saying.” The devil kept on going: “You weren't thinking happy lately.” She didn't know what to do. Was this what fate lead her too? She repeated what she said “I don't understand-“ She got cut off by another sentence. “Do you know what happens to people who don't think happy?” It's dark horns were the only thing visible in the death of the night. “They get vanished” the last part was quite obvious to Shelby. It was all a game. Game of death and living. She woke up in a beach near a busy street. Did she got herself here? Was it all a dream? She wasn't thinking any of these things.She started to laugh uncontrollably to the feel of freedom.She was finally free from her cage.The smell of human flesh filled her nostrils.*It was time to feast.


One day, Lisa was walking past a dig site. "They have been digging there for years. I wonder what the archaeologists are looking for," Lisa thought as she walked by. "Hello sweetie pie!" said her mom as she walked in the house. "How was school?" "It was okay," replied Lisa with a sigh. "What happened now?" asked her mom. "I got a C- in my math test." "It's okay. It just means you have to study more," explained her mom. "You always say that," said Lisa in her mind. "Uh. Mom, can I go to the dig site?" "Sure pumpkin. Just be careful!" her mom replied. "I will!" Lisa shouted from the door. When Lisa arrived at the dig site, she saw some sort of pillar with an opened book that was floating on top. In front of the pillar was a mirror. Lisa read one of the pages out loud. "Look through a m irror, Looks be changes, Think of you your loved ones, Look up." Lisa thought of her older sister, Isabelle. When she looked in the mirror, she looked different. She looked like Isabelle. But when she looked down into the puddle at her feet, she looked like regular Lisa. She heard someone coming, so she quickly ripped out the page and ran home. "I wonder if it works on any mirror," she thought. "Look through a mirror, looks be changed, think of your loved ones, look up." She did exactly what she did at the dig site. She looked in her bedroom mirror and once again, she looked like Isabelle. "Dinner's ready!" shouted her mom from downstairs. "Coming!" Lisa hid the page in her backpack. When Lisa woke up the next morning, she searched her backpack, but, the paper was gone. "Where is it!" Lisa turned her bedroom upside down looking for it. Then she saw a note on the mirror. The note said, "You have stolen from the fairies, so we took what is ours back. As a punishment, the Queen of the kingdom has tangled your hair. Good luck!" When Lisa tried to brush her hair, it was tangled. "This is awful!" exclaimed Lisa as she tried to undo the tangles. It took her hours, but she finally got them out. Lisa didn't find the book back at the dig site, but she did find fairies. She said she was sorry for stealing from them and would never do it again. The next day, Lisa found another note on her dresser. "You are welcome to the kingdom whenever you like, Lisa. Just call the fairies and they will show you. Signed, the Queen." "I get to go in a castle!" exclaimed Lisa. "Oh fairies, where are you? Can you please lead me to the kingdom? I want to meet the queen. She invited me." All of the sudden, three little Brownies came out of their hiding spots. " So that's where all the cookies went ," thought Lisa. "We are here to lead you to the kingdom," said all the brownies at once. Lisa followed the Brownies through the forest until they stopped at a gateway. At the top was a Peris . Lisa thought there would be knights at the gate, but there weren't. "Where are the knights?" she asked. "They are here. You just can't see them. They are Will-o'-the-Wisps ." When they entered the throne room, there was someone holding a bowl of water next to the Queen, who was a Kappa . "You can go back to the lake, Selkie ." The Selkie left the bowl of water with the brownies, went into the water, and turned into a seal. "Ah, I see you got my note," said the queen gently. "Yes, your majesty," replied Lisa in a shaky voice. "Please, join us for dinner. Guards, prepare the young lady for dinner." Lisa felt someone tugging her and bringing her to a room full with clothes. "Pick what you like," said a voice out of nowhere. Lisa settled on a purple dress with a pink bow. "Wow, it's 5:00 already. Seems like time passes faster here." Ding, dong, rang the bell. Lisa went to the dining room to have dinner. There was a stage with jesters on them. They were dancing and telling jokes. "Why did the melon jump in the lake? To become a watermelon." Everyone laughed, including Lisa. After dinner, Lisa followed the jesters to see where they practiced. The room was small and dark, with photos of the queen. "I'm done with telling all these jokes! I want a real job!" said the first Djinn . "Don't worry, I have a plan," said the other Djinn. They didn't know that Lisa was eavesdropping on them. "So we first take out that Selkie. Then get a towel and wipe all the water off the top of the Queen's head. That way she won't be so powerful. Then we kill the queen and become kings. Sound good?" asked the second Djinn. "Yes," said the other. Lisa ran to the throne room. "I have to tell the Queen. And quickly." "Your majesty, I overheard your jesters planning to kill you," said Lisa. "I suggest putting them in the dungeon, but who am I to tell you what to do." "Yes," said the queen thoughtfully. "Guards, find the jesters and put them in the Dungeon." As a reward, the Queen gave Lisa a beautiful amethyst amulet that allowed her to understand animals and give her access to the fairy kingdom whenever she wanted. Glossary Brownie - Brownies are small and friendly little people that help with household tasks at night. They expect to be rewarded with sweets. If you offend a brownie, they may destroy things in your house Djinn - Arabian shape-shifting fairies. Kappa - A Japanese water creature with webbed hands and a bowl on the top of their head. When the bowl is full of water, it is very powerful. Selkie . - Seal-like creatures that can take form of a human out of water. Peris - Small fairies with wings - how most people describe fairies. They are often friendly towards people but sometimes can be a nuisance. Will-o'-the-Wisps - Most people think they are the spirits of the dead. If you come near a Will-o'-the-Wisp, they vanish. This spirit fairy usually appear as a flame.


Tiny Tim Crachit couldn’t have had it worse than Jasper Quincy Vaugn. The icy winter rain was pounding on his head as he climbed out of his 1965 Ford Mustang that had been passed down to him by his father who was now in eternal rest. He slammed the door on the broken down vehicle, which was the only legacy his father had left him. In truth, he hadn’t left it to him, but had made him purchase it from him. In fact, if Jasper had ever driven the car while his father was alive and had crashed it his father would have been more worried about the car than him, and furthermore if Jasper was dead he would have paid the price of the car even in death. As Jasper stood in the pouring rain, his soaked clothes clung to his shivering body, mirroring the weight of his sorrow. The icy droplets mixed with the tears that streamed down his face, blurring his vision. Each raindrop felt like a sharp needle piercing his skin, a physical reminder of his overwhelming despair. The relentless downpour seemed to mirror his own internal storm, a tempest of resentment and longing. It was as if the heavens themselves wept for him, sharing in his anguish. The deafening sound of the rain hitting the roof of the Mustang echoed in his ears, drowning out any other thoughts or distractions. Jasper’s trembling hands reached out to touch the dented metal of the car, his fingers tracing the scars left by countless accidents and neglect. The once proud Mustang, now a rusty testament to his father’s indifference, served as a constant reminder of his own insignificance. The weight of his father’s disregard pressed heavily upon him, like a physical burden that he couldn’t escape. With every breath, he could feel the weight of the car, the weight of the expectations that had been unfairly placed upon him. It was as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, an unending cycle of guilt and disappointment. But even in the midst of his despair, there was a flicker of defiance in Jasper’s eyes. He refused to let his circumstances define him. He would not be shackled by the legacy of a broken-down car or the burden of his father’s indifference. With a determined resolve, he vowed to rise above it all, to forge his own path and rewrite his own story. As the rain continued to pour, Jasper took a deep breath, letting the frigid air fill his lungs. The storm raged on around him, but deep within, he found a glimmer of hope. Despite the hardships and the unfairness of his situation, he would persevere. And in that moment, he knew that he held the power to change his own destiny, to rise above the shadow of his father’s legacy, and to create something truly meaningful from the broken pieces of his past. As he continued walking to work, the weight of disappointment and loneliness settled heavily on his shoulders. Each step felt like a burden, his weary feet pounding the pavement with aching persistence. The pain intensified with every passing hour, as if the very act of walking was a reminder of his unfortunate circumstances. The bitterness of his situation was magnified by the holiday season. Christmas lights twinkled cheerfully on nearby houses, mocking his own lack of joy. The air carried the scent of festive meals being prepared, teasing his empty stomach and intensifying his hunger. But amidst the gloom, a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a tree adorned with a single orange. It hung tantalizingly over a weathered fence, a symbol of sustenance in his barren world. With a desperate hunger gnawing at his insides, he reached out and plucked the fruit, its vibrant color standing out against the stark backdrop of his existence. Without hesitation, he devoured the orange with a ravenous hunger. Its tangy sweetness brought a fleeting moment of satisfaction, a respite from the relentless ache of hunger. Though meager, it became his solitary dinner, a reminder of the resilience that kept him going despite the hardships. The taste of that simple orange carried a bittersweet flavor, reflecting the stark contrast between his reality and the joyous celebrations happening around him. Yet, in that moment, he found solace in the small triumph of fulfilling his most basic need. It was a reminder of his determination to persevere, even when faced with the worst Christmas he had ever experienced. Suddenly, a trance overtook him and he found himself back inside his car with the engine still running. His heart raced as the remnants of the trance faded away, leaving him with a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The disorientation slowly gave way to a newfound clarity, and he focused his attention on the familiar surroundings of his car. The steady hum of the engine reminded him of the potential that lay before him. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he marveled at the possibility of having a functioning vehicle once more. It had been hours since he last experienced the thrill of the open road, the freedom that came with a reliable mode of transportation. The thought of being able to go wherever he pleased, without relying on others or public transportation, ignited a spark of hope within him. As he took in the sight of the familiar dashboard, he couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The worn-out seats, the scent of aged leather, and the faint sound of his favorite radio station playing in the background all reminded him of the countless memories he had made within these four wheels. Memories of road trips, late-night drives, and spontaneous adventures flooded his mind, fueling his determination to bring his beloved car back to life. With a deep breath, he reached for the keys and turned off the engine, momentarily breaking the spell of anticipation. The silence that followed was both deafening and invigorating. He knew that reviving his vehicle wouldn’t be an easy task, but the prospect of restoring its former glory filled him with a sense of purpose. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the possibilities that awaited him. The freedom to explore new places, the convenience of running errands without the constraints of public transportation, and the simple joy of cruising down the open road – all these dreams felt within reach once more. With renewed determination, he opened his eyes and set about planning his next steps. Whether it meant seeking professional help or dedicating countless hours to tinkering under the hood himself, he was willing to do whatever it took to bring his car back to life. The trance may have been fleeting, but the hope it ignited within him was here to stay. As he shifted into gear and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for this second chance. The road ahead was uncertain, but he knew that as long as he had his running vehicle, he possessed the means to overcome any obstacle. Why did the car bring an umbrella on its road trip? Because it wanted to be prepared for any uncertain weather ahead!


The town of Caydesdale, Iowa cant be found on maps anymore. Caydesdale used to be a small farming town just outside of Ames. Characterized by its copious number of chickens, humble residents, and peculiar architecture. Every building in the town was almost funnel-like in shape with intricate carvings on the wooden walls, not even the oldest residents had any clue what the symbols meant. It was truly a welcoming place, but even then, with all of its otherworldly charm and bountiful job opportunities the town was not very prosperous and every year residents would pack up and leave. Then, on November 15, 1884 a nearby river overflowed. Only minor damage was done to surrounding areas, but somehow Caydesdale was entirely washed away. The few remaining residents tried for years to rebuild the town but after two major collapses, three deaths and five fires people just gave up trying to revive the place. Everything in the town rotted and became open fields, except the library which to this day still stands tall. Almost like a monument. The town hasn’t even been mentioned on a map since circa 1897. In fact, the only way I found out about it was through a comment left by a follower on my YouTube. I make videos of myself exploring odd, creepy and/or ancient sites and giving any information I can about them, like a sort of knockoff History Channel a la urban exploration. Not the type of thing people typically create on the platform, but hey, anything and everything has its own niche I suppose, Plus it helps me pay rent so it isn’t so bad. Either way, after receiving that comment I packed my bags and drove the 1200 miles to Iowa from my home in Massachusetts. It took almost three days of hiking, and a lot of avoidant bordering on hostile interactions with locals, but I eventually found the library. Worn and eroded in the ocean of weeds, the building looked more like a watchtower than a library. Night began to fall as I finished up recording the first bit of my video so I decided to set up camp inside the building rather than my van to begin editing what I had so far. Afterall, it’s not breaking and entering if the place doesn’t technically exist right?? About two hours in, I decided to explore a bit. All of the books on the shelves were rotted or the water had made the pages’ ink smear. A few more minutes of searching led me to a set of stairs leading down into a narrow hall. It was all dimly lit by my phone’s flashlight though at this point I mentally kicked myself for not grabbing my camera. At the end of that hall was a metal door. It had strange etchings on it similar to those on the outside of the library and I’m assuming to the rest of the buildings in Caydesdale. I tried the handle, which was shaped like some type of clawed leg, it was unlocked. I pushed the door open, immediately a smell hit me, familiar yet in this setting it was out of place, nearly unrecognizable. The room was dark except for a warm amber glow from some type of alcove at the back of the room. The walls and floor were concrete and there was a hissing noise coming from the direction of the light. There was movement. A shadow. Something was here, something was this in this old ass building, sealed away for god knows how long and I was stuck here with it. Logic kicked in as I took my first hesitant step forward, then another. My steps were silent as I made it to the alcove wall and peeked in while there was this kind of mantra going through my head: *There couldn’t be anything living down here for this long, it would be impossible and I’m just paranoid and too far from home. There’s nothing here…* but there was. It filled the small space, it was tall, even though it was hunched over I could tell. It was facing me and it was eating... something. Some kind of meat, the smell was stronger now, too strong. The hissing noises louder, too loud. Then it looked up. At me. Through me. Into my soul. The dim light lit its eyes with a predatory glint. I ducked back in an attempt to hide from whatever that thing was... I couldn’ get up fast enough. I was barley on my knees when I was met with gleaming white teeth shown through an equally snowy mustache, a smile all too wide. Eyes squinted in some type of perverse joy. He loomed over me as he made his way around the wall, the only thing keeping us separate. In his hands a bucket of fried chicken. It all hit me at once, I fell back from the shock. The shapes of the houses, the carvings on the sides, the chickens, the library itself. This is where Colonel Sanders has been living for hundreds of years… he sat me down and soon I knew everything. How Caydesdale came to be, the flood, and that the library was a collection of all of his recipes. He had me go and grab my camera so I could record the conversation for my video. Turns out he was the one who suggested I come out here in the first place, a huge fan as it turned out. After the video was posted I packed my things(with the addition of three buckets of chicken, all signed by the Colonel) and drove back to my home. The video was deemed a prank of course and received quite a bit of backlash, but I knew and the Colonel knew. And that’s all that matters. Plus I was given a lifetime supply of free KFC chicken valid internationally so really fuck those guys.  (this is my first post to reddit and anywhere.


Sitting on a rusted metal bench in the middle of winter, there is a man waiting for the late night bus. He is worn down from a rough day and trying to find some warmth within the snowfall, slowly making their descent back down to be absorbed by the soil. His current companion is that of the freezing air that nips at any exposed skin, only to be complimented from the snow making his clothing damp. Becoming stiff from the air penetrating his bones, he notices a street lamp. Unlike many of the street lamps around him, ones recently replaced with newer technology and sharing the same shape, this one lamp is different. The light from this lamp has an orange hue, the type of light that may not warm the body but warms the soul. With eyes watering; nose running; and lungs full of the cold and dry air, the man proceeds to rise from the bench. Acting as a shuttle for the snow that has stuck to his clothing, the man proceeds to shuffle through the piled snow to that beacon of warmth. On his way there, things become darker and his surroundings become hallucinations of what he feared was lurking behind him. He reaches into his pockets to clench what he needs to help him get by. A new pack of cigarettes and a broken lighter emerged from his coat. Paranoid by the felling of being watched, he stops to notice his surroundings. As he looks around, he notices that he is at a playground, the type he use to visit before when he was younger, but now run down. Memories soon come back to him, as if the levy that held back water from floods slowly collapsed. He walks around the playground equipment illuminated by the same orange hue, seeing his youth before his eyes. What looks like small children come running around the slides. Concerned for their safety, the man calls out to them. Before he has a chance though, he notices that the children are the younger versions of himself. These figures run around as if there is no other thing to do. Amused by seeing this, the man cleans one of the swings of snow and joins in on the fun. Suddenly, there are the sounds of screeching air followed by a rumble that slowly faded away. Once the man heard these noises, he new he missed the bus. He is frustrated by this, but he does not have the energy to spend on it. Disappointed in himself, he reaches for his phone and proceeds to call a ride to pick him up. He finishes and notices that it will be a while before he will go back home, so he does what he can to conserve his energy. While waiting for the ride to come, the man notices that he is still holding on to the cigarette pack and lighter, albeit a little to tight. He loosens his grip a bit and begins to pull out a cigarette, slightly bent from his grip. As the cigarette approaches his lips, the man tries to bring a flame to his lighter, having to try a few times to get a good flame coming from it. Once he succeeds in bringing a flame to his lighter, he illuminates himself as he starts to light the cigarette. Cold, dry air rushes into his mouth before he can get a good burn on the cigarette. He then puts the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back in his pocket, only to pull out his phone to check on his ride. "37 minutes until they get here," said the man. "Guess I have some time to enjoy then." He proceeds to put the phone back in his pocket and starts to breath through his cigarette, filling his mouth with the feeling that the orange hue gives to his soul. His head then rises to look up to the sky, only to see more snow slowly drifting down to the earth. He still looks up to the sky as if he is reflecting on his life, but he is just staring into a void and not spending his energy. "Excuse me," speaks a soft voice coming from behind the man. "What are you doing here?" Surprised by the voice, the man freezes out of fear before slowly looking behind him. He notices a women standing behind the swing set, cascaded in the darkness of the night. "Waiting for a ride," says the man, unsure of the indentions the woman has. "I missed the last bus for the evening. What are you doing here?" A small pause lingers in the air before the woman breaks it, saying "I missed the bus too." She then gestures to the empty swing besides the man. "Is anyone else waiting there?" "It's all yours," answers the man, as he gestures back to show that it is free. The woman then proceeds to make her way to the swing set, having the curtain of darkness lifted from her. She then cleans off the swing besides the man and sits down in it. Once there, she then starts to rock in the swing, causing it to move a bit. She looks over to the man, who has resumed to staring into nothing and slowly working his way through his cigarette. Things go back to being silent for a bit before the woman works up the courage to ask a question. She asks, "Do you happen to have one I can use?" "I do," the man responds as he reaches back into his pocket for the cigarettes and the lighter. He looks for a cigarette that isn't damaged from his grip and hands it to her. "My lighter is broken. Do you mind if I light it for you." "Not at all," says the woman while moving closer for the man to light the cigarette that she acquired. "Go ahead." It takes a while for the man to bring an ember to the cigarette, but it eventually catches and a good draft is started. He then brings his arm back to his pocket, while the woman moves back to her swing and takes in a deep breath. She then lets out a small cloud of smoke that lingers in front of the pair, dancing in frigid air it contrasts and highlighted in the orange hue. The man is pleasantly surprised by this, as he always wanted to do something that looked so amazing. "Sorry about the lighter," the man blurted out as he forgot to apologize for the lighter. "It's alright," the woman replied in her soft tone. They continue to rock in the swings by each other. Glances and some half smiles are exchanged between the two, but still in silence.


There should be a drinking game where every time your horrible blind date says something terrible, you take a drink. This was the drinking game that Sofia was playing tonight at the popular nightclub, Silverium . “You’re not as fat as I thought you would be,” he said. Drink! “No offense, you’re just not as pretty as my last girlfriend. But hey, gotta start again somewhere for a rebound, imma right?” Drink! “You brought protection, right? Because I tried to buy some beforehand, but my card declined at the CVS.” Drink! At this point, the club’s bartender just handed the poor girl a bottle of tequila and said ‘good luck’. Ha, Sofia thought to herself, I don’t need ‘good luck’. I need good liquor . She paused. And a good alibi for why my brother’s dead body mysteriously shows up in the river the day after he sets me up on this terrible date. In fact, it was because of her stupid brother that she couldn’t leave. Sofia hasn’t been on a date in months so her brother did the ‘heroic’ thing—as her family puts it—and set her up with one of his work buddies. Because let’s just ignore the fact that Sofia was trying to focus on her career instead of getting someone in the sack. She crushed her plastic cup in her hand. And now, if she leaves early or calls it off, no matter what the guy was like or what she tells her family, they’ll ridicule her for not dating someone. Because hey, that’s family—judgey to no end.

As the night wore on, Sofia’s BAC kept going up and up until it crashed through the roof. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she slurred as she stumbled across the crowded dance floor. Barely making it past the too-complicated pull out door handle, Sofia staggered across the bathroom and sat down beside the handicap stall—bottle still in hand. She took a swing from it. Lovingly, Sofia looked at the bottle. “At least I have you.” She hugged the bottle. “Having a rough night?” Sofia glanced up at a slanted girl with a face full of smeared make-up.

“Yup,” Sofia admitted. The smeared make-up girl took a seat next to her. “Me too.” Sofia banded her to the bottle. “Thanks.” She took a long chug before starting. “I got drunk, then was about to text my ex—“ “DON’T TEXT YOUR EX!” All the other drunk girls in the bathroom cried in perfect unison. Smear make-up girl waved her hands in the air in the calm down motion. “I didn’t. I was about to when I saw him in the club with another girl. She left to go to the bathroom. He saw me. Started hitting on me—and even touched my butt!—so I escaped into the crowd.” “Damn.” Sofia glanced around the bathroom. “Who was the girl? We gotta tell her her date was cheatin’.” She took another swig. “Actually, she’s you.” Sofia hiccuped, then said. “Oh. Oh damnnnn . Pass me the bottle back.” She did. After taking another drink, Sofia slurred, “ Figures . Dude’s a creep.” “Yup, that’s why I dumped him.” “Nice.” Sofia held out her hand. “I’m Sofia.” “Stacy.” Squinted at her, Sofia slurred, “Wait a minutttee, you are preeettier than meeee.” She flopped onto the dirty floor of a club’s bathroom. Her shoulder landed on a soft pile of white powder. It might have been coke. “Nooooo!!” Stacy flopped onto the dirty floor next to her despite not knowing when the last it was washed was. She touched Sofia’s face gently, then smooshed it. “But you’re so purdy .” “No, you’re pretty.” “ You’re pretty!” “My pretty what?” They both laughed at their nonsense then sat back up. “We need to teach that bastard a lesson. Do you know why?” “Because we’re both pretty~!” “Yay~” “I gotta idea. You gotta photoshop?” Stacy slurred. *** Leaning on each other, Stacy and Sofia stumbled out of the girls’ bathroom and back into the loud club. In their minds, their goal was to reach the DJ’s table and get him to display an embarrassing photoshopped picture of Sofia’s terrible date. And this plan almost immediately fell through. One guy grabbed Stacy’s arm and pulled her into dance with a goofy grin on his face. As his hand slid down her body, she slapped him hard with her phone, cracking the screen. She called out for Sofia, but couldn’t see her. Meanwhile, across the dance floor, a dazed Sofia found herself at the bar again. “Gimme ah… ahhhh…”

“I think you’d had too much,” the bartender said while cleaning a glass. He slid a glass of water towards her. “So did you get rid of your terrible da— oh and here he is.” The bartender walked over to another customer at the bar and pretended to look busy as Derek sat beside her. “There you are, Sofia,” he said, giving her an awkward hug as she tried to pull away. As her brain fogged up with alcohol, she slurred, “Donnn’t touch meee.” “Huh?” Sofia grabbed the water glass and chucked it at Derek. “You’re so creepy! Stacy! Stacy!” She shrieked. “Get to the DJ!” Stacy’s head popped up over the crowd as she saw Sofia hop off a bar stool and run—or tried to run—towards the DJ’s stand. So, she ditched the dude and raced over to her as fast as her high heels and intoxicity would let her.

“Mr. DJ,” Sofia said, “we have a request.” “What song?” He asked. Stacy slapped her phone on the table. “Not a song, a picture.” “You can’t listen to a picture…” “Actually, you can,” Stacy said, “you just need the right amount of acid.” “We need to put this picture…” Sofia said as Stacy tried to unlock her cracked phone. “What’s wrong with the phone?” “I smashed it on a guy that touched my butt.” “Twice in the same night?” Sofia glanced down. “You do have a great butt, though.” Stacy did a squat. “Thanks, I’ve been working on it. But for me, ya know?” “Tots. You are just so amazing.” “No, you’re so amazing!” “No you’re—“ “Ah, ladies?” The DJ asked. “Does this conversation have a point?” “Well, we were going to get revenge on this awful guy, Derek, with a funny photoshopped photo of him, but it was on her phone and now her phone don’t work,” Sofia drunkenly explained. “You were?” Both of the girls turned around to see a soaking wet Derek behind him. He glared at them. “Whatever! You bitches were never that hot anyway. I’m a nice guy, I can find something way better than either of you.” Sofia took out her phone and snapped an unflattering photo of Derek in his soaked outfit. The cheap purple shirt dyes were already starting to color his skin. And it looked like his skinny jeans were shrinking. Not to mention his man bun was totally ruined. “Actually, this could work.” She turned back around to the DJ. “Can you upload this photo on the screen behind you? Please? ” “Sure, no problem.” He snapped the connecting cord into the phone the exact moment Derek screamed wait! Now, a water-logged looking Derek was displayed all over the club. People snickered under their breaths. A couple of high potheads laughed hysterically. Sofia and Stacy high-fived as Derek stomped off, flushed red. “I’ll never forget this night!” Stacy cried. But then she did, because they were way too drunk. However, their updated Snapchat stories and new contact in each other’s phones were more than enough to keep the story going—and the friendship alive and well.