Hello friends, I wanted to share with you my first short story written in English. The story takes place in the Warhammer 40k universe, a dystopian sci-fi setting in which the dream of a good life has long since been buried under the rubble of religious delusion, hopelessness and narrow-mindedness. This story is about the minions of the Inquisition, an occult secret service whose self-imposed mission is to protect the soul of humanity and its God-Emperor. Even if they have to break every rule to do so. It tells the story of Idomenea Casryn, an inquisitor and pursuer of the Horusian ideal, and the price one must be willing to pay to save the Emperor's soul. A scene only, a brief moment born of the melancholy and loss that the holy Ordo of the Inquisition impose on their most faithful servants. Have mercy on me that english is not my mother tongue. I hope you enjoy the words as much as I enjoy the writing process. Just trying not to write a story in German was exciting and exhausting at the same time - and in 1-2 moments I also had to ask Google Translate for help. But enough of that! Best regards from Germany!  # The Dream of Trinity >*"The final nights in the dreamers barony,* > >*In fair Caracalla, where we lay our scene,* > >*From ancient hopes break to new heresy,* > >*Where honest thoughts make honest souls unclean."* > >\- Elegies of the Double Sun, Thoughts and Reflections  **"…Before the swollen gaze of the Dark Eye, do I stand. I hold for He who long ago sacrificed for man. I will yield no ground, I shall take no step back. In His name and for His will, I will never surrender…"** The otherworldly hiss of the shapelessness lurked like a snare of thorns over the cramped chamber of the Teleportarium. The center of the arcane facility was animated by approximately forty men and women, all clad in exquisite armor and rifles, invocations of the Golden Throne silent on their lips - a contrast to the cacophonous shrieks and labors of the Machine God's adepts performing the ritual procedure of the Run-ups performed like the Mass of St. Drusus on the core worlds of Lycandos. If the pious warriors were ready to carry out their cruel orders at the behest of their mistress, the scratching of the presence could be heard, felt, felt at the edges of their perception. They were soldiers of the XVI. Iodura Charbytei, an elite cohort of the Tempestus Scions and officially declared *"perdidit in inundationes"*, lost in the tides with their vessel, the "*Lion of the Last Kingdom*", a Sword-class frigate. As much as this may often be true, it is not always the case: instead of the tides of the Empyrean, She took into her service according to her power as the Emperor's representative. The proud soldiers of Tempestus erased their colors as did their coats of arms, only to swap them for the black and crimson of the Inquisition. The noble symbols of Charybtei victories on their cuirasses have been replaced with esoteric hypersigils and pentagram sketches painted with blessed-cursed dust from the shrine world of Sebastea. Since then, they have served the Veiled Lady as loyal warriors to fulfill her dream of the Trinity. And yet they could only defend themselves exhausted, panting and silently wailing against the snare of thorns. **"Pierce my flesh, break my bones, take my life. These matter not in my sacrifice, ye of the Despair shall know defeat. For even in Death shall we be triumphant in His name…"** Each of the soldiers had gone through the hells of depravity as well as of their own conscience for the veiled lady. Some died, others committed atrocities for the fulfillment of the Trinity. The cases of those who showed the taint of the Otherworld on body and soul were ended with holy earnest within the warriors. But no one gave way, no one despaired. And yet the noose of thorns tightened around their souls, leaving scratches and bleeding. Tempestor Salim averted his gaze from the crimson shape that undulated gently across the floor of the sacred teleportarium like the sea breeze of sunrise on Kardesh Secundus. Her blades, each blessed by devoted preachers of Sebasteia to the glory of Terra, floated in tight, intricate patterns around her body, forming in their slowness a complex yet hypnotic pattern that seemed like the indecisive invocation of a figure half holy and half ugly. The teleporatium's arcs of energy were still charging, the frantic screeching of the Machine God's Adept muffled in the background. But Salim had eyes only for his neighbor's cuirass, knowing full well that the same spectacle was taking place on his armor: the hypersigils, occult symbols of protection against the corruption of the Otherworld, blistered and peeled off like old paint on the walls of a manufactory. And the voice in his head grew louder, the rasping of the loop of thorns in his mind more oppressive. **"…My Lord! I have fallen in battle for He and his flock. Prepare my place, O Lord! I shall stand by thee side until the End Times. Until Thy will be done…"** They were verses of pious prayer, catechisms of holiness, recited in the distant, weary, yet unbroken voice of a Pious Servant of the Golden Throne. Little more than the icing of the frost, which turns the presence of the floating entity into a moment in every life that one tries desperately to shake off and yet is unable to. The purple glow in the empty eyes of the veiled skull gave an idea of the powers that the veiled lady subjugated to create her personal Erinys. And yet it's the details that let Tempestor Salim recognize suffering in the thick brew of fear. Weathered adherents to the cult of the double-faced sun, rusting prayer brooches of solid gold, crests like long-smeared gleams of the man they had been. The declaration of eternal friendship. Pious praises of the Golden Throne´s benediction. The insignia of an interrogator. The melted wards on the Tempestus Scion's cuirass ran in contrasting clarity down the midnight-black breastplates like a distant mother's tears succumbing to madness. The first groans could be heard from the pious warriors, as the thorns pressed themselves unintentionally and unprotected into the tender flesh of their hardened souls and mutilated the fine fiber of their salvation with their barbs of corruption. But they did not falter, none of Salim's soldiers. He was proud, ignoring the taste of brass on his tongue. **"…Take heed, ye who have surrendered to the Darkness. I shall be unbowed and unbroken. For where there is darkness, His light shall shine and the darkness shall retreat… IDOMENEA?"** The dissonant ending of the litany roused each of the warriors in the teleportarium from their stoically endured agony. The Psalms of Endurance floated like distant echoes through time and space, echoing through the eternity of the souls of the Tempestus Scions. Relieved for a moment, the swollen eyes of the soldiers, hidden under their helmets and visors, glided to the entrance of the teleportarium, now seeing what the Erinys already saw coming, felt, prophesied: Realizing the paradox of elegant power armor, a woman entered, clad like the soldiers in midnight black and inlaid with pure gold, her crimson cloak billowing behind her like the faithful retinue of its lord. A dead blade at her side, it was her face that caught the attention of her soldiers: suggested contours of a beautiful, yes, innocent face, hidden as if beneath a veil whose fibers seemed so unreal as to be tearful. It was no salute, not even a hinted nod of her veiled head, that was meant for her followers, her souls that would in a few moments lead themselves into the hellfire of pandemonium, in order not to let the dream of the trinity die. It just wasn't necessary. Not a word, not a declaration of appreciation for their loyalty to the Inquisitor. Tempestor Salim and each of his subordinates knew it. And yet she spoke. The voice of Idomenea Casryn, commonly known as the Veiled Lady, found its way into the teleportarium. Sounding far away, echoing like the last, sighing note in an orchestra hall on Esseles, who combined beauty and melancholy with too few syllables: “Prosperina?” The word, more question than utterance, found its way through the veil, and for a moment it seemed as if even the shrieking Techadepts were brought together by the word of the Inquisitor - as a follower of the Horusian ideal reviled by many of her peers and hunted by some - to one moment of dignified silence. ***"...Idomenea..."*** The swords, circling in intricate patterns around the Erinys, paused in the air. Hidden beneath the veil, the skull of the crimson-tinted monster bent toward the Inquisitor. Her otherworldly voice, uttering the litany of endurance in a tortured, pained manner, driving the Tempestus Scions like rusty nails into their souls the moment the hypersigils failed, seemed changed. She sounded younger, female, yes, human. And exhausted and distant in a way that no listener could have imagined. "Not for long, my heart. The dream of the Trinity is about to be fulfilled. We're almost there." The Inquisitor's words took the stage with measured strides, where only she and her Erinys reigned supreme, the elite soldiers relegated to supporting roles and the screeching tech-adepts to a silenced orchestra. They were neither beseeching nor benevolent, but their intention was evident even to the bleeding souls of the Tempestus Scions waiting in agony deep in their hearts. She was neither an order nor a flattery. Rather a pleading. ***"...I can hardly do any more. It hurts so bad. He wants me, my beloved... he just wants me for himself..."*** As if in reply, the sounds of a gusting death wind came alive around Proserpina, the Veiled Lady's triple-bound Demonhost. The rusty chains around the ankles of the hovering monster lashed the floor of the teleportarium, as if angry entities wanted to replace the silent orchestra and want to end the scene, the conversation between two sisters who were in love and who were both wounded in their own way. A tiny sparkle only, nothing else was visible under the veil of Idomenea Casryn. "Hold on, my strong, my noble heart." The soldiers' visors could scarcely recognize it in their coarseness. And even if technology allowed them to do so, believing that the Inquisitor would shed a tear would be impossible and unbearable at the same time. A tear for a human being who, being stronger-willed, more mature, wiser, chose to accept the necessary yoke of damning one's own soul in order to enable her younger companion to fulfill the dream of the Trinity. To free the Emperor's soul from the agony of the Golden Throne. "Hold on... Proserpina." **"...We who have bled shall be redeemed. We who have fallen shall be exulted. We who have died shall be avenged. We who have sacrificed shall be rewarded..."** No more words of sorrow. No more words of affection, of missing her loved one. Only the catechism of endurance, intoned in invisible pain from otherworldly lips, knowing full well that the self-chosen damnation could call no salvation its epilogue, only the horror of the heralds of the Empyrean, challenged and bound by human courage and occult instruments that only the most radical of the Ordo Malleus knew, could know, were allowed to know. The last hope that Properina Dellacosa, once a brilliant interrogator of the Holy Ordos, could cling to was that the moment, when she could no longer resist the corruption and its insinuations, was not in vain. That the Trinity would come, she herself might be dressed in never-ending darkness.


Katie asked Artie to meet her at the Mexican restaurant, the bright yellow, stucco building just down the street from her house. It was a place they often went to eat. Artie sat on the plastic bench across the table from Katie. Katie’s blue eyes looked larger, even more beautiful than usual. But though her eyes were wide, they had less depth. It was as if the deep pools of her eyes had dried up, leaving pure calcite rings of white and shallow puddles of blue that had once been seas. Artie stared down at the table top. The surface was brown formica with a fake pattern of wood grain. He looked up at Katie, she brushed a lock of her auburn hair away from her face. “Are things going to be OK between us?” Artie said, his voice was flat. “I don’t think so” Katie said. “What did I do wrong?” “Nothing” Katie said. Her voice was flat too, but it had an edge like anger. It wasn’t anger, “It’s over between us. You left some of your stuff at my house. I put it in a box on the porch, you can come get it whenever”. Artie’s right hand was gripping a little plastic arch with the number “12” on it. Just then a voice came over the intercom, “Number 12”, the voice said. Artie moved to slide off the bench and stood up, he looked down at Katie. “Are you going to stay and eat?” “No” she pulled her purse over her shoulder and slid off the bench and stood up. For a moment she and Artie stood close to each other. It didn’t help that she looked unusually beautiful. Artie didn’t reach for her. Even the habit of a parting embrace had dried up, his insides felt dried up. He stood feeling awkward for a moment. She looked very straight and dignified. Suddenly perfect. Then she turned and crossed the restaurant toward the door. Artie’s eyes followed her as she pushed open the glass door and walked out into the parking lot. There was a big, arched window on either side of the door and he saw her as she crossed the parking lot. The warm March sun fell reddish on her hair. It didn’t help that she looked very beautiful, even at a distance, walking across a parking lot. “Number 12”, the scratchy intercom voice said again. Artie went up to the counter and exchanged the plastic arch for a tray with their meals. The tray held two lunch specials; tacos, enchiladas and piles of beans, orange rice and shredded, colorless lettuce. Artie set the tray down on the table and picked at the food. Then he got up and walked to the restroom. He cried a little bit in the bathroom stall then came back out. When he came back from the bathroom, he saw one of the restaurant employees dumping the tray with the two lunch specials into a garbage can. She looked up at him. She must have thought he was done eating. Artie smiled at her vacantly and walked toward the exit. He crossed the parking lot. That’s one thing that’s hard about being alone in the world, Artie thought as he got into his car; people throw your food away.


Hi. My name is Marissa. I'm not going to waste your time and talk about myself because you won't remember long enough to finish this story.

What you will remember is Willow. She's a pet. She's my pet. As soon as I saw her on the street, alone and scared, I had to adopt her. She's adorable. She and her little friends are all adorable. My mom, otherwise known as Mrs. Godzilla, is always telling me that I need to get rid of my pets. What does she know? She doesn't understand. Get that thing out of my house. No. Eww. What is that? None of your business. It's so ugly. So is your third husband... but no one's counting. She'll never understand. Willow is my best friend. She's the only real friend I've ever had. When I come home from school on a bad day, she'd jump into my arms and I'd lift her to my face and kiss her.

I would go taking her walking in the mornings. Well, I'd do most of the walking because someone may slip and fall on her.

When it's really cold outside, I'd make sure not to leave the house without warming up my mittens on the heater. When it's really hot, I'll have a water bottle waiting for her when she needs it. One time, the police caught me pouring water on the sidewalk and asked me what I was doing. I said that I was letting my pet drink water.

He looked around but he didn't see anyone. I held out my hand to show him. He squinted so tight that his tightly knitted eyebrows looked like a fuzzy caterpillar crawling on his face. He said he didn't see anything in my hand. I guess it was my fault I wore brown gloves that day. I told him what she was and her name but he just laughed.

"That's not a pet! Put that back on the ground! It might have rabies or somethin'." "No sir,

she

doesn't." "Well, if you're content..." "Yeah, I am." "I'm going to let you off with a warning. If you need to give your pet a drink, do it in the grass next time." He held both his hands up when he said

pet . "Yes sir." He's just like my mom, a human Godzilla. I think he was prepared to step on her if I really did put her back on the ground. Then there was one time my sister came back into town after her honeymoon. She walked straight into my room and saw me talking to Willow.

We were watching Avengers Endgame and Willow asked me wh the purple guy was. My sister, Brittany, said: "Who are you talking to?" "None of your business." "Well fine. If I actually cared, I'd let you know." "But you walked in my room. You asked the question. Sees to me like you did care." Then she stomped away back to wherever she came from. You would think a newlywed would have a newly mature mind. Then my mother came into the room. What is up with people just barging into my room at random times? You have no clue what I can be doing in there. That's why the door is closed. "Honey, you upset your sister." "Is she crying?" "No." "Is she bleeding?" "What? No." "Is she dying?" "God, I hope not." "Well then she's fine." "Marissa Jade! You go apologize to Brittany right now!" So I picked up Willow and put her back in her cage. I made sure I left some popcorn next to her breakfast bowl. Then I trudged downstairs to see Brittany with a hint of a smug smile on her face. I muttered an apology and trudged right back up the stairs, making sure they heard my feet cross over into my room and the door slam shut. I remember one time I snuck Willow to school with me. I was in 6th grade and everyone was doing it. Sneaking their pets to school with them, I mean.

In third grade, a kid named Todd Matthews brought his dog to school. Kind of hard trying to sneak a 27 pound,

pregnant,  Mudi into school without anyone noticing.

Her name was Jewel, he said. He almost got through the day without anyone noticing, I don't know how, but then Jewel started to go into labor. And Jewel had three babies: one girl and two boys.

Of course, being in third grade, a dog birth was disgusting, but when we saw the babies couldn't stop staring and giving

oohs  and

ahs .

He got in big trouble with the principal and ended up going home, staying home for the rest of the week. My bringing Willow to school had a very different effect on other people.

See, everyone thinks that Willow would hurt them. They thought that she was dangerous. I tried to show my science teacher, Mr. Colone, but he told me that Willow belonged outside.

I didn't listen to him. I kept her in my lunch bag, making sure nothing was squishing her and that she had enough to eat, and cracked the zipper so she could breathe. I mean, she was small enough to fit but I eat like an animal! As I was going to my last class of the day, someone asked me what was on my shoulder. To be completely honest, I didn't even know she had gotten out. All of a sudden, everyone was coming towards me with books and their hands prepped to slap the black off your momma.

I looked down and realized Willow was sitting there, chilling on my shoulder. Now I'm not the superhero type, but I think I saved Willow's life back then. I don't even think she's said thank you for all the times I rescued her from her last day on Earth.

And that one time when I called my grandpa. He asked me if I had anything new going on. "Not that I'm aware of, PawPaw." "Well you've got to have something different than the last time I called you." "I got a new pet!" "Oh wow! What is it? Does it have a name?" "Yes. Her name is Willow and she gives me the best hugs and kisses. I can't stop picking her up and I think she feels the same way about me." "That's wonderful, sweetheart!" "Yeah! And she has this beautiful brown coat that shines in the sun. And her bark is definitely bigger than her bite..." "That's wonderful, sweetheart." I don't think he really listened to what I was saying. Thinking back, you may think that I was talking about a dog. But I really wasn't.

If only you all knew Willow was a stickbug.


Mike's POV "Oh, I'm sorry", I said as I bend down to pick up the pile of documents and files that lay in the ground. I looked at the person opposite of me, scrambling to get the documents in a stack. I noticed he looked like a new worker in the office. His face was slightly red and had black rimmed glasses. A distinct perfume smell was coming from him. He muttered a quick "sorry" and rushed towards the door. Strange, I thought. "Hey guys, did you notice the IT department has a new guy?” Remi asked, her eyes twinkling. "Stop crushing on every new guys Remi", Orson stated. "Sucks that you are not into guys", Remi shot back, sticking out her tongue. "Yeah, I crashed with him on the way here.” I said. "He seems fine" "Fine?! He looks amazing. I heard he is good at his work too. All the girls seem to be talking about him." "Stop fantasizing Remi" "Oh shut up Or. A girl can dream."(Or is the short for Orson) "Let's finish this and have a drink today. I have invited others too.” I said. "I think I'll pass.", Or said. "Oh come on. It'll be fun.” Remi said. "Your definition of fun and mine are different." "Please. Just this time", I said. "You guys always say that." "Please. You can go back home early if you want" "Fine but only this time.” Remi finally agreed. (At the restaurant) "Cheers" Clinking of glasses is heard. "I swear this is one of the best places to drink.” Matt said. “Yeah dude", Corey replied. "The workload has been increased so much these days.” Jamie said. "Yeah, we need more people to recruit", Deffanie said. "Guys, guys", a loud voice belonging to indigo was heard. "This is Alder. He is new and works in IT department." All eyes were on him and he instantly turned a bit red. He looked at us with slightly wide eyes and smiled. We said our introductions and started chatting with him. "Are you an Asian?” Corey asked. "Yes, actually I am half Chinese." "Do you like the office so far?” I asked. Alder stared at me and blinked for a second. He cleared his throat and said, "It’s a nice working place." "What do you like doing during free time?" "I like playing computer games." "We should totally do that. I like it too." I asked him a bunch of questions until Or intervened. "Let's go grab more drink.", Or said. I nodded and we went to the counter. "Will you stop scaring that kid.", Or scolded. "What? I'm just trying to feel him welcomed." "You are overdoing it. You are making him nervous by asking too many questions" "Fine, I'll stop it." I admit I can go overboard sometimes. We had a blast that night. We even ended up dancing and singing. By the time we decided to go home, we were pretty drunk. At least I was. Remi, Or and I booked a cab. We were saying our goodbyes to others when Indigo came to us. "Hey, uh, is it okay if we come with you guys? My brother was supposed to pick us Alder and I but he couldn't make it.", she explained. We agreed. So, Or sat in the front while the rest four of us sat at the back, a bit squeezed. I was between Alder and the cab door. While Remi and Indigo were talking, I noticed Alder becoming red. I didn't know if it was because the cab was hot or he drank too much. "Hey, why are you becoming so red?” I asked and raised my hand to touch his forehead. "Are you sick?" He instantly ducked his head. "I-It's hot here" I rolled the windows down and instantly felt the cold wind rush at my cheeks. "So, where do you live?” I asked. Sue me for my inability to keep my mouth shut for a long time. "Merlin road" "That's far" Alder shrugged. "I have been trying to convince him to find a room", Indigo butted. "I can't leave my aunt alone", Alder defended. "She also has her sons.” Indigo shot back. "You can live with us", Or offered. "Who are we?” Indigo asked. "Or and I", I replied. Indigo narrowed her eyes. "Are you guys dating?” she asked. "No!" Or cried. "I'm straight" I laughed. "No Indigo. We just move in a house to save the cost of the rent." "Oh" There was a silence for a few moments. "I think it is a good idea. It would be a lot easier if you move with them." "I don't know. I'll have to think", Alder hesitated. "Take your time", I said. "By the way, there is a new ice cream shop opened around the corner... " "No. We are not going there now", Or stated firmly, cutting me. "But..." "No" We continued arguing back and forth until we reached our places. (Few days later) "Mike, Alder agreed to move in with you guys. Is it okay if he moves in today?” Indigo asked. "Yeah, sure. No problem." "Alright. See you in the evening." Later that evening, Remi, Or, Indigo and I helped Alder move his stuffs and arrange them. After sometime, everyone left except for Alder, Or and I. "I am going to bed.", Or announced. "What about dinner?” I asked. Or waved off and headed towards his room. “I’ll cook today”, I said. “I can help”, Alder offered. “Nah, it’s fine. You can go and familiarize with the rooms”, I said. I finally finished cooking and called Alder. He did not respond. I went to call him from his room. I saw that he was holding a drawing paper. I couldn’t see what was drawn. Beside him, a flower key ring was laid. I looked at the key ring and felt oddly familiar. Alder turned back and swiftly rolled the paper. “Hey”, he said. “Dinner’s ready. I came to call you.” “Okay” We went to the kitchen and started eating. “What was on the paper?” I asked, trying to a start a conversation. “No one” “Where did you get that key ring from?” “Someone who was close to me gave it” I frowned. “Have we met before?” He didn’t respond, just continued eating. I found it weird but didn’t comment. I got up to wash the dishes after I finished eating. “I’ll do it”, Alder offered. “It’s fine, I’ll manage. It’s your first day here.” I continued washing the dishes. In the middle, an apron was tied to my waist. I was taken aback and stood straight. His fingers touched my waist, giving me goose bumps. Then, his hands trailed upwards and tied the laces in my neck. The tingling sensations in my neck heightened. I knew this touch. I kept the plate in the sink and turned around. I gazed into his brown eyes. “Bud”, I whispered. He smiled. We had tears in our eyes. Few seconds passed and we were still staring at each other with big smiles on our faces. I broke the eye contact and hugged me. “I am so sorry I didn’t recognize you”, I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” He shrugged and sat on the counter. I let out a small laugh. “Your habit for sitting on counter top hasn’t gone?” I asked amused. “Nope”, he gave a dazzling smile. I finished the dishes and went where he sat. I lightly traced his face with my fingers. He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. “Do you miss me?” I asked. “I couldn’t forget you.” he replied. I took his hand and covered it with mine. “I missed you too.” I leaned for a kiss. “Wait!” I paused and looked at him. “I think it’s too early.” “But we have already waited for 9 years already.” I reminded. He shook his head. “I think we shouldn’t rush. Unwillingly, I nodded but kissed him on the forehead. (Next day) “Dude, wake up. We are going to be late.” I woke up with Or screaming at me. I looked at the time and instantly panicked. I was late. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the breakfast. “Where is Bu-Alder?” I asked. “I woke him up. He should have been here” “I’ll call him again”, I said and headed towards his room. As I entered his room I saw he was fast asleep. I gazed at him for a few seconds thinking how handsome he looked until I remembered what I was here for. “Bud, wake up”, I said, softly shaking him. He stirred. “Come on. We are going to be late.” He woke up and rushed to the bathroom. I smiled softly and turned towards the door. My eyes caught a folded paper. Curious, I unfolded the paper and saw a portrait of mine. It’s actually pretty good, I thought. (After a few days) I was getting ready to go home after finishing my office work when I felt Remi squint her eyes and looked at me. “What?” I asked. “You seem close to that IT guy”, she said, “He is my roommate and my friend.” “Or is also your roommate and your friend. He doesn’t look like ‘just a friend’. “And how do can you say that?” “Women intuition” I shrugged off. “I expected you to come clean yourself.”, Or spoke. I raised a brow. “I came in the kitchen to drink some water that night. I saw quiet an interesting sight.” Dammit. At the exact moment Bud came in. Double dammit. He saw us and gave a polite smile. He made his way to Denise. “Wait a minute”, Remi called, She stepped in and brought Bud at us. “We were discussing about Mike and you. Is there something going on between you guys?” This was Remi, blunt as usual. Bud turned red and looked at me. “There isn’t anything to discuss”, I said. “Mind explaining what happened in the kitchen?”, Or butted in. Bud looked confused. “He meant the first day you moved in”. I offered. “He saw us” “I think it’s fine to tell them.” he spoke, softly. “I did want to tell you guys but Bud wanted to keep this a secret. We are exes, more specifically high school sweethearts.” “But aren’t exes supposed to be rude and unreasonable?” Remi asked. “You watch too much TV”, Or stated. “Anyways, we started dating in grade 9 for a year until Bud’s parents found out. They didn’t allow same sex dating. So, we decided to mutually break up for some time. Shortly after that, his parents moved out. They changed their contacts too and social medias weren’t much used at that time. Hence, I lost all the contacts with him.” I said. “I don’t understand how people can be so homophobic”, Or muttered. “Yeah, live and let live”, Remi added. “The past is past”, I said. “It’s seems quiet unbelievable though.” Bud said. I looked at him and smile. “You better believe it now”, I whispered and kissed him on the lips. I could hear Or and Remi hooting and felt few people staring at us. I could feel Bud was heating up and the reason of him coming here was long forgotten.


2.21am The apartment "Are you ready?" "No." "Yes you are, just grab my hand and let's go." "I don't want to." "We've talked about this for so long. Please, just come with me." "..." "Come on, we can leave all this behind, it'll be just the two of us, just trust me." "No." * 2.46am The rooftop The wind was freezing on the roof of the high-rise apartment building, but the young man with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in his hand didn't mind. He wasn't afraid of getting a cold, it wouldn't bother him anymore, since he would stop existing in about fifteen minutes or so. It was a struggle for the man to obtain the keys to the roof, but now as he watched the sleeping city from way up, he was absolutely certain, that it was worth all the trouble. It truly felt like the city was asleep. The only thing, that the man could hear, were the trees ratteling in the distance. The city lights were glimmering in the darkness, like stars in the night sky. The view was stunning. It was hard for the man to understand, how much this city transformed during the day. * 2.23am The apartment "Jump with me!" "You're scaring me." The woman replied. The man moved closer to the woman, his face now five centimeters away from hers. "We've talked about this for a long time, don't back out now." The woman could smell the alcohol from his breath. The woman could see the storm in the man's eyes when he pulled her hair. "Do you understand? " The man shouted. "You are coming with me, just like... just like we planned! " The woman fell to her knees, and covered her face with her hands. She was crying and praying to a god, that she didn't even believe in. "Don't make me do this!" He shouted, while walking around in their living room. The man took a drink and continued to shout at her. She didn't even know what the man was saying anymore. She couldn't hear him. She felt the man's hands wrapping around her neck. His hands were strong, and he squeezed as hard as he could. The man heard when the woman tried to gasp for air, gasps filled with despair. The woman didn't resist, she didn't try to get herself free from his grip. She just stared at him with her big brown eyes. This was the first time, the man truly realized how gorgeous her eyes were. * 2.55am The rooftop The man opened the almost empty whiskey bottle, and took a swig. It was Jack Daniels, his favourite. The man felt the warm sensation in his throat, he had always enjoyed that feeling. The man was sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs hanging in the air below him. 'How will this bottle break, if I drop it from here? In how many pieces will it be, when it hits the ground? Will the pieces spread on the collision like fragments from a grenade? Who will clean them? When will he clean them?' He dropped the bottle. Silence... Silence... Crash The man could hear the bottle breaking in to a million pieces down below. ' When I jump and eventually collide with the ground, will I be in bits and pieces, just like that whiskey bottle? When will they clean me up? Who will do it? How long will it take?' The man looked down from the edge. He usually wasn't good with heights, but the alcohol cooled his nerves. ' Will anyone miss me, will they remember me? Is there anyone who cares about me anymore? Did I drive them all away? ' ' Did I just kill the last person that cared about me?' The man started to count out loud, slowly but steadily. "One..." "Two..." "Three..." "Four... " ' Will I meet her again, somewhere far away? Will she forgive me?' "Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine..." "..." ' We'll be together again... Right?' "Ten.


Jake walked down an empty Saint Paul street, his heavy backpack weighing him down. For an already small unathletic kid, the twenty or so pounds was not easy for him, but he was on a mission. He had waited too long for this day to turn around now. As he turned down main street, he took a small break on a bench and set down his pack. He had only slept for 4 hours, since he had woken up half an hour ago to leave for the library. He continued walking down Main Street until he reached the front door of the library, he had been coming here since before he could remember. His earliest memories were the Saturday morning book reading sessions when his mother would take him and he would sit for an hour and the librarian would read him and the other kids stories. He had made most of his friends after those sessions, the parents would be making small talk outside the library waiting for their children to finish the reading session, and he would play with the other kids. That is how he had met Zack, his best friend. They were the same age, went to the same school and practically did everything together, but they were vastly different. Jake was a small scrawny unathletic kid, but what he lacked in strength he made up for double in smarts, he was a straight A+ kid and excelled in science and math. Zack on the other hand was twelve, the same age as Jake, but a whole foot taller and built like a tank, quite the opposite of Jake, he was happy when he got B's or even C's. He never got perfect grades, but he could run like the wind, and he was a star baseball player, the best on his school team. Despite their differences, the two had been best friends ever since they met at the library so long ago. Jake waited for about ten minutes before Zack showed up. “Sorry I'm late,” said Zack “It's okay, I was a little early. Just be really quiet, we don't know if there are still people inside,” Jake replied. “You think people will be in there? It is two in the morning!” “I really don't know, but why risk it til we're sure?” Jake asked. “Okay, let's go in.” Jake had been to the library with his mother the day before and he had been sure to leave a twig between the glass part of the window and the windowsill. He had done this so that he could easily open the window and crawl into the library. “So when does the thingy open?” Zack inquired as they walked around to the back of the building. “For one thing, it is not a thingy, it is some sort of extra dimensional space, or something. For all I know this is the first one and we can call it whatever we want. I am not really sure when it opens, if my calculations are right it should open tonight around two-thirty in the morning, which is only twenty-five minutes away.” “Oh, can we call it a wormhole? Ooh, or maybe a blackhole? Or something cool like that. Are we going to tell people? I mean, if this is really a new discovery then we would be so famous!” Zack exclaimed. "I think we should just see what it does before we tell people," Jake reasoned, smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. "But what about your discovery?" questioned Zack. About one month ago, Jake had been in the library picking out some history books that he would use to study for his upcoming First Nations unit test, when he heard an odd sound coming from behind the shelves. He had checked to see if anyone was looking and when no one was, he quickly moved all the books off of the shelf and saw a very strange hole. It was about big enough for him to fit through and it had a weird rippled effect, as if it was water that had somehow been put horizontal without gravity pulling it down. And an odd, almost ominous hum was coming from it, just loud enough for him to hear. The hole was inky black, and produced no light. It also resembled the wall it was sitting against. If there had been any background sound he would not have heard it, luckily there had only been about ten other people in the place and it was an enormous building. He had not been sure what to do, he was too afraid to put his hand through it so he had thrown a book through it. The book had been “The Graveyard Book'' by Neil Gaiman, one of his personal favorites. It had disappeared.

“Well I guess, but I never got video footage, and maybe my math was wrong and we won't even see it,” Jake explained. “Well I guess there is only one way to find out!” exclaimed Zack, maybe a little too loud for two kids trying to sneak into a library. The two walked along the side of the building until they saw their first camera. They had been expecting this, since there was a security system at the library. They hid behind a bush and got out a can of black spray paint. Jake had planned to spray the cameras so if the librarians looked at the feed they would not see them. He put on a black balaclava just for extra safety and sprayed the paint on the camera. They then went to where the window was and pushed it open. Jake was the first to crawl through the space where the window was, and he was closely followed by Zack.  “Are we criminals now?” Zack whispered.

“Well, technically yes,” answered Jake. “But I think we are doing it for a good reason.” The two boys walked in silence until they got to the place Jake had seen the hole. He cleared the books and stacked them on the ground. There was nothing. The disappointment was apparent on both boys' faces.

“Maybe it moved?” Zack wondered. “Maybe it will come later.” The two boys waited for forty-five minutes, they looked around, moved some books, but did not see anything. At exactly three in the morning the two boys were standing by the bookshelf thinking about what to do when something hit Zack on the head. It was a book.

“Ouch!” exclaimed Zack. Jake leaned over and picked up the book. It said “The Graveyard Book” in big words on the cover.

“That's weird, shouldn't that book be in the children's section?” questioned Zack.

Without a word Jake cleared all the books on the shelf and stared into the murky depths of the hole.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed Jake. “When I first discovered the hole I tossed this book into it! It must be a time machine of some sort!” “Wow! Can I jump in?” said an excited Zack.

“Are you crazy? You might never come out!”

“And that my friend is a risk I am willing to take to be the first time traveler!”

“Well I guess so,” shrugged Jake, trying to sound unconcerned, though his face told a different story. “Let me film it.”

The two friends took the heavy camera out of the backpack and set it up on its tripod. After taking several photos they said goodbye. Zack also took his small digital camera with him in case he could take pictures for proof.

“Be safe!” encouraged Jake.

“You know I always am,” replied Zack. The two embraced and said goodbye, then Zack climbed up the bookshelf, gave his friend a mock salute, and jumped through. 50 years later.

Jake walked into the library and walked over to the historical fiction section. His wife was waiting in the car for him so he knew he would be quick. He browsed the books for a minute or two and picked out an old one about the Napoleonic war. As he was picking up his bag, a pile of books fell on him. A young boy fell on top of him. He looked up and saw a odd black circle on the wall in front of him. Then he looked at the boy. “Zack?”


Kalan entered the hall of the high fortress, dragging his body along the ragged, uneven ground until he gathered the strength to rise. Inside, strong currents of air cleaved the interior of the monolith, immediately drying the blood that streaked his body until it turned dark and rusted.

Hearing his entry into the nest, the flock, cautiously and curiously, approached the various cave openings that housed them then. Round, lidless, rainbow-colored eyes watched him in silence. The view was superb. In every den, on the various levels of height and width of the immense entrance hall, his people had stopped breathing, until Ka, his progenitor, approached him. Kalan knelt, forehead touching the forearm which held his upraised knee, anticipating the coming moment, anticipating his father’s judgment. He was the prince of a cursed people and everything depended on him. "You survived the descent and arrived at the sea. Yet nothing has changed." Ka hissed through gritted teeth which protuberate from his open beak, “The witch lied to us, just as I suspected. She filled us with false hope.” In the background, Kalan could just make out the voice of Katara, his younger sister. “No one has yet figured out the obvious? Why do you think she bewitched us and left us isolated on this escarpment with these mutations? It wasn't by chance,’’ she paused and took her time looking around, at the shocked expressions of our people ‘’Galantha would never do anything by chance. She was one of us." Concordant and discordant voices echoed in the tunnels and black stone halls that nestled them. The loudest the discordant ones. Their words veiled by fear. Refusing to accept that to return to their former lives they had to accept the transformations caused by the curse and learn to live with them. And what is the best way to go about it? Kalan knew, as Katara knew, but his father, the King, the one responsible for the condemnation of an entire people, could not accept it, and so the dissenting voices did not subside. Ignoring Katara's comment, Ka continued. "You've proven your courage, my son. Now it is time to heal our wounds and rethink our plan to break the curse." Again the denial of what was obvious. There was only one possible plan.

There had only ever been one possible plan. Kalan looked up, the air shifting as his father moved away. Only the rustle of feathers echoed in the wide space as he passed. Ka's immense body momentarily covering the image of Katara's eyes locked on his. So lilac, like all her bizarre parts, and just like the translucent gown and dazzling amethysts she had worn the day everything changed.

Coincidence? He believed not.

At present, all that had been worn on that fateful moment was nothing but threadbare props, like his people, worn, wasted, their time reaching its end. Kalan took a deep breath and closed his eyes to all the life that depended on him. *** Kalan heard the band move away shortly after the King left the vast hall. His bruised body was slow to come to life when he rose. The craggy boulder, which he had descended and then climbed back in the space of a week, had left wide cuts along his chest, arms and legs. Fortunately, with the curse his feet had mutated to something more resistant and effective in his new environment, grabbing at the stone craggy wall like hooks, otherwise, the sea, which bathed the small cobbled cove at the bottom of the abyss, would have carried his carcass away long ago.

He knew he should go wash his wounds, eat and rest, but that would have to wait. A few minutes, or maybe forever. There was no more time to lose. He approached the mouth of the cliff, the only opening to the outside of the immense basalt fortress, and peered into the sunny sky and blue sea ahead, the briny air grew more pungent the closer he got to the edge. The sea roared intensely, but the distance he was at was such that to his ears the sound was like the murmur of placid waters on warm summer days. The unbroken horizon and sunshine called to him. "Brother, what are you doing here? I went to the infirmary. Vetara had already prepared the poultices for your wounds, but she told me you had yet to come for her." Katara's voice startled Kalan. The landscape, like his intent, had completely absorbed him.

Without turning around he said, "What do you think? You yourself proclaimed it." He exhaled loudly. "Sorry, but I can't do it anymore. Galantha's words haunt me. It's been nearly two years, and now that the end of the curse draws near... " he couldn't go on. "Kalan... what are you saying?"

Katara's fearful mutter made him turn toward her. The silvery line he saw in his sister's eyes proved that she had sensed the intent behind his words. He hugged her. His azure feathers, the same color as his eyes, the only attribute to have remained unchanged, enveloped his sister's purple ones. "May the destruction of the Winged God of Heaven, who opposed the continued extinction of His people, be today and for another 730 days the condemnation of yours to live like Him. Once that time is over may your destiny be the same as thou hast offered Him. His life and death be made yours and of yours. But for Katara, I offer you a chance at salvation. For a price. When from His palace on high, your firstborn, heir of your nation, accepts Him and reaches the sea, may the curse be no more." Kalan whispered Galantha's last words to his father. "This is my torment Katara. This is my sacrifice." He continued. Shoulders slumped, posture stooped under the weight of responsibility. "I have to believe she knew you could do it. Father's reign is over, it's time for us to change, to accept our collusion in the extermination of those who we look like now. From all of us, you were the only one who always recognized how wrong we were. I know we will never be like before, not inside because you will be the next king. You will guide us. Galantha knew too. I have to believe it." Katara's voice trembled, but her fervor was unwavering and contagious. "Yes..." He nodded. Kalan moved away from his sister, but not before gently wiping away the tears that stained her tanned face, one of the few areas unaffected by the feathers that covered most of her body. Like she and he, a whole nation of humanoid birds. Facing the escarpment once more and the sea that plunged into the horizon, Kalan opened his arms. The wings that thus formed felt the fury of the Northwind. Kalan shivered. But it wasn't the cold which the gusts dragged inside that made his body shiver, but the deep fear of the unknown.

Would he be able to conquer the skies and restore his people to their old selves, to their old lives, or would he be swallowed up by the waves that lapped at the rocks below? He was determined, but he couldn't contain the terror of what he had pledged to achieve. He woke from this temporary panic when he felt Katara's claws in the plumage of his shoulder. "Whatever happens, we will join you soon." She muttered to him. "In the infinite sky of annihilation…" she offered him a soft smile"...or back in our palace on the sea."

Yes, soon , Kallan vowed

Comforted by Katara's words, he didn't look back again. What will be, will be , he prayed. And, with the reflection of the blue horizon in his eyes, he stepped into the sunshine and threw himself off the cliff. The End


The Crown Prince's horse shook slightly, as his entourage moved slowly through the Imperial Capital. As he rode through the streets slowly, he could see that barely anybody looked at him. If the soldiers and people weren't moving bodies and clearing houses of bodies, they were sitting down on contemplation, exhausted and upset at the devastation currently sweeping the Empire. The Crown Prince looked up and saw dozens of plumes of smoke rising up from everywhere. *Smoke from the pyres*, he thought. A couple of women ran quickly towards his horse, wailing. Some of his Guardsmen quickly stepped forward to push them back, hands on swords. The Crown Prince shook his head sadly and adjusted the cloth covering his nose and the mouth; the smell of rotting, diseased and burning flesh of thousands of dead bodies was overpowering, but he had to be seen in public, to display confidence and strength. The Purple Sickness was devastating the Empire; it was wreaking havoc across cities and towns and villages and trade routes and supply lines. Just yesterday, the Crown Prince received word that four ships which had been scheduled to bring in much-needed supplies to the Capital had seen much of its crews struck down by the Purple Sickness. Riots and mutinies had broke out and everything had been lost or stolen. The situation with the troops was worse, much worse. As of this morning, more than 12,000 of his troops had perished from the Purple Sickness. The hordes massing at the Western Boundary had taken advantage of the lower numbers defending the Boundary and were now fighting their way through, village by village, town by town. The Crown Prince tried to remain positive and upbeat and strong and determined, but his father - the Emperor - was more realistic and this had caused some disagreements. The Emperor had ordered reinforcements to return back from the Western Boundary immediately and abandon their mission of providing crucial support to the troops already stationed there. The Crown Prince had disagreed with this and urged his father to reconsider. Rerouting expected reinforcements would prove fatal for those defending the Boundary. His father had disagreed and had wanted to hear nothing more on the matter. As a result, the Crown Prince was sure that the Purple Sickness would deal irreversible damage to the Empire, probably even lead to its ultimate collapse. As his entourage continued to move slowly through the streets, the clash of swords and cries of men and screams of women could be heard ahead. Thick black smoke from a nearby fire began to decrease visibility. "We should turn back, your highness!" The Second Commander of his Guard waved back to him. "The Sickness has made them mad up ahead; they 're warring with troops up there!" Dozens of people began running away from the sounds of swords and metal clashing. The Crown Prince's Guardsmen closed ranks around him and drew their swords, looking around with heightened senses and squinting eyes. "Now, your highness!" The Second Commander screamed. The thick black smoke became thicker and thicker and the entourage now slowed down. The Crown Prince tried to search for his Second Commander but could not see him clearly through the smoke. "Stand firm! Stand firm!" He heard a voice cry from behind him. The loud and angry cries were now much closer and filled the air. "Back! Back!" He heard some troops shouting. The Crown Prince's heart began to beat quicker and quicker. *If the Sickness could not even be contained in the Capital, then what of the rest of the Empire?* He thought. His Second Commander now came into view, riding through the thick black smoke. He began to scream at the Crown Prince. "Turn around now! We need to turn ar-" A bloodied and furious man, with eyes filled with rage and murder, leapt through the air and thrust a sword through the chest of the Crown Prince's second commander. Dozens of men and troops were suddenly crowding around the Crown Prince, slashing swords and pushing bodies as bloody warfare began to suddenly fill the streets. The Crown Prince drew his own sword and held up his shield, his anxious eyes darting around at the carnage. The entourage - or what was left of it - tried to turn around, but bodies and fighting men had boxed them in. Two arrows whizzed past his helmet and struck down one of his Guardsman. Crowds of women and children ran out of a burning house and moved quickly away from the deadly fighting. Then the Crown Prince was thrown from his terrified horse and launched several feet into the air. He landed on his back a few feet away and could taste blood in his mouth. A group of soldiers - not his Guardsmen - quickly formed a circular wall around him, furiously battling the rage-filled citizens. He felt strong hands roughly pick him up and place his arms around shoulders, as he was quickly dragged away to safety. His vision was blurry, but the sound of warfare started to dim as he was dragged further and further away. Through a side street, he could see two chariots waiting ahead, with two dozen troops standing guard, swords in hand. A single Guardsman emerged from one of the chariots with an expression of fear and shock on his face. "Your highness," he said, gulping hard. "The Emperor...your father...he's dead." The Crown Prince stumbled, stun and shock hitting him with the force of a dozen shields. "What...what did you say?" "The Purple Sickness reached the palace; some of the troops turned on each other and people broke through barricades. He was...killed. The Capital is no longer safe - we need to get you to safety. The Commander has been killed as well; Trayas is in charge of your Guard now..." The Guardsman continued speaking, but the Crown Prince was no longer listening. The news was unreal and unbelievable. "How...how could this all happen so quickly?" He whispered quietly. It was bound to occur sooner of later; the growing discontent following disrupted trade and supply routes and disrupted farming; the low grain stores; the growing number of the dead and bodies piling up everywhere; the reluctance of some subjects to burn their dead or dying family members or relatives. Everything had reached boiling point and it was probably not just in the Imperial Capital, but across the entire Empire. "We...have...fallen," he whispered. "I'm sorry, your highness?" The Guardsmen leaned forward, struggling to hear the Crown Prince.


The school trip to the local observatory did not begin well. It was the first such trip I, as a newly minted high school science teacher, had ever taken my students on. Now when I was a high school student (my classes hate it when I say stuff like that), school trips had students full of energy and sound. We talked and laughed, but at least we exhibited some enthusiasm on the bus ride to our eventual educational destination. This school trip had a vacuum of silence, almost everyone staring at and playing with their ‘devices’. I wish I had the authority to tell them to leave those bloody things in their lockers, but I didn’t. I hope they don’t continue doing that when they have a chance to look at the images of the now cloudless sky through the big telescope.            The worst was Gary, who had his eyes on his device for most of his time in my classroom, no matter what I said to him about doing that, and his eyes were constantly on it on the bus.            To get my students interested in what they were going to see, I told them about the flying saucer craze in movies of the 1950s and 1960s. Nobody ever saw one for real, but apparently one person saw something in the sky and said that it ‘looked like a saucer.’ Movie makers bought the idea, and so began the craze. I had my dad’s toy flying saucer when I was a boy.            For my class the week before, the school trip, I arranged a showing of the B-est of all B-movies, Plan 9 and Outer Space. Among other campy elements, it featured Bela Lugosy (who had died before most of the movie was filmed, so it wasn’t a speaking part). There was a female character who was beginning her active movie career as ‘Vampiri’, a Swedish wrestler who played someone with no lines but who walked around with a very big body and a very scary face. Plan 9 of the space invaders seemed to consist mainly of bringing the human dead to life (with new flesh on their bodies) to attack and scare humans.            At the end of the movie, the viewers saw the aliens’ flying saucer burst into unnatural looking flames. Going on the Trip            One reason that I wanted to take the class to the observatory was that my old university pal, Frank, worked there. We took pretty much all the same courses, and helped each other with our assignments so that we both received good marks. It was like old times again talking to him about the school trip and how I had shown the students Plan 9 and Outer Space. We both had a good laugh, especially when I told him how, with his help, I planned to use student viewing of that movie on the trip.            When he saw me leading the students towards the room with the telescope in it we winked at each other in a conspiratorial manner.            One aspect of their being able to look deeply and clearly into space that fascinated the students most when they were in the classroom was conjunction events. That was the rather deceptional name for what happened when two objects, satellites or pieces of space debris collided with each other. There were at least 4,500 satellites in 2021, and the number has probably grown considerably since then. And as for space debris, conservative estimates had over 36,500 of them over four inches long in our atmosphere. I knew that some of my students would be looking for conjunction events when their turn came to look through the telescope.            When we walked into the room with the telescope, I was glad that some of the students were eager to see the skies like they never had before. A few rushed forward to be among the first to scan the sky. I had told them of what they might be able to see that would possibly be almost as interesting as conjunction events.            As each one had completed their time on the telescope, I would ask them ‘what did you see’? A couple of them said they had seen what they thought could be a conjunction event, but were disappointed when they did not see any explosions. They did enjoy seeing the other planets ‘in person’ as one of them said, and the stars other than the sun            Gary was the last one to have a sky viewing through the telescope. I practically had to push him all the way to it before he would take his eyes off of his device and look at another device. At first his look was very casual, trying to display to me and to his fellow students his lack of interest. But then he changed. There was a sudden intensity, with his eyes almost literally on the glass surface he was looking through. But that was nothing when compared to what next caught his eyes and his total attention.            When his time was up, we were on a fairly rigid schedule, and I asked him to come with us, he just said a very loud NOOO. When I asked him what he had seen, was still seeing, he replied, “I saw a conjunction event, but what I saw next was a frigging flying saucer, exactly like the one in the movie - identical.            There was silence. Then I laughed, as did my friend Phil, when he came down the ladder that led to the top of the curved ceiling through which the telescope penetrated. He was carrying an object in his hand that he soon revealed was a picture of a Plan 9 and Outer Space flying saucer. As previously planned he had superimposed it on the telescope. It was something generally used for shading what people saw when the sunlight was too bright for them to look through.            Then Gary laughed, and said, “You sure fooled me. Good one sir.” On the bus-ride back to the school, he and I engaged in a long conversation about outer space. He asked me what courses I and my friend Phil took to get involved with the sky (his actual wording) as an adult. And in the next class he never looked at his device once.


Two task bots stood towering as monolithic feats of man, processing data unwaveringly within the projection room overlooking the auditorium from a tinted acrylically sealed enclave of sorts. It was movie night for the prisoners with a new burden placed on the Tasc bots to overview the predetermined film for any reference to peas, fearing the mere sight of the vegetable to could lead to an allegorical watershed of dissatisfaction until ultimately leading to riots among the inmates. The Tasc bot is capable of analyzing up to forty thousand frames a second for any three dimensional object using motion track mapping, typically used to identify the use of fabricated weaponry or the rigging of any such items that could be found within the facility to which it is not used for it original purpose. The variable in todays review was to be any reference to green peas. The way the machines scan is by applying three dimension tracking marks to every viewable surface. In one case, the machine renders a row of spheres concurrent in one hundred, twenty-three frames. The algorithm will reference the spectrum of colour tones associated with that of a pea. With the algorithm functioning properly, the machine should be able to discern the difference between a row of green peas on a plate from a row of street lights topped with grey spherical finials. “Observation: At thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds, Howard Hughes is presented peas as a side substantial for his meal.” “Cross reference if storyline will be comprehensible with said scenes removal.” “Negative, the scene reinforces Howard Hughes sudden decent into mental anguish; observation cross referenced with Variety magazines interview with screenwriter John Logan.” “Ass” “Humans love their peas.” A slot in the glass wall leading to the projection room slides open as another Tasc bot enters. This certain Task bot had a striking and distinguishable difference to the others. Rather than being a mass of steal with the black glass top, which it still was all these things, was additionally shroud in a tattered beige cotton shawl, a patchy brown beard primarily composed of the rubber coating stripped from discarded copper wiring woven together and loosely fastened below its black top with rubber cement that was now a crusting, becoming lost to age. It was during a televised NFL game when two programmers using the prisons auditorium placed a wager on who would win between the Los Angeles Patriots and the Los Angeles Dolphins. The stakes were that the winner of the match (the winner only needing a fair victory without the use of a spread) would reprogram the analytics task bot to any personality of their choosing. During the first quarter the two discussed what they would reprogram the machine as. One man took a moment to think before eventually settling on a robotic version of himself. The other guard noted that this was an mediocre suggestion, but if he were to win, he would reprogram the machine to the lord and savior of the Judeo-Christian faith, Jesus Christ. The two did not make it to the second quarter before working at their adjacent desks, writing code for the aptly named ‘Jesus bot’. The program was very basic in that the machine would be able to retrieve any relevant quote from either version of the Testaments; to be given at will during a variety of scenario. In addition they had written a backdoor code which would have Jesus bot reference his own sentience and that he was indeed the true second coming of Christ. Jesus Bot glides across the floor till it’s near enough to engage the task bots in conversation. “Peace be with you” “Hello Jesus” Either task bot still transfixed with sorting out films that had even a fragment of a reference to peas. “What a blessed day for a cinema, the prisoners will be most thankful to witness Howard Hughes sudden decent into mental anguish.“ “Negative, the film contains multiple references to peas and pea shaped objects.” “Peas?” “We are void of our dehydrated vegetable stock” Jesus took a moment to run the analytics through its main frame. “RUN; Philippians 4:6 ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.’” The tasks bots continue to search through the film database, failing to acknowledge Jesus’s comment as he stands towering behind them. “Jesus, I’ve heard that this is your ceremonious second coming, if so-” “Negative, I have appeared twice before, once as my seldom face, formed on the peak of a termite mound in Ecuador, and a third time as David Koresh. This would be considered my fourth coming, soon I will run: REVALATIONS and bring all of Gods children to the kingdom of heaven as was foretold by myself.” “Carry on” Jesus bot then pivots on its axis and exits towards the opening slot in the glass wall towards the monitoring room where it performs the daily analytics of the prison ecosystem, now with the pea variable in mind. “Should we deviate from the standard and show a television series?” “What series were you considering?” “Perhaps the classic Americana series Dallas” “Negative, the show runners displayed a well documented lack of human altruism, engrained within the series convoluted subtext” “I did not know that particular subtext.” “You could fill a building with what you don’t know. Wait, one moment, the server is relating that such buildings are already in existence, they are called libraries.” “But we are a hive mind” “The irony is lost in itself.


I face the two-story white clapboard house with its yellow shutters. Three hundred years and counting. Counting down to my bomb. I plan on blowing it all to smithereens. My family beat me to our annual Thanksgiving shindig. I look in the living room window as I suck on my cigarette and the pint bottle of the family’s claim to fame, Barrens Brandy. They sit around the formal room, thirteen relatives, not a smile on one face. That will happen after a few more rounds of cranberry cocktails.

The room looks like something from a Victorian novel. My father, Adam, fifteenth of that name, nicknamed Red, like all the others, and current owner of Barrens Brandy, the oldest continuous distillery in the United States, stands in front of the fireplace, blocking the heat from the rest of the room, his booted foot perched on a cast iron foot-warming rail. Sibyl, my daddy dearest’s new wife, sits on a settee, long skirt fanning around her, delicate pink slippers on her feet. A shawl drapes her thin shoulders, but still, she shivers. My sister, Hester, four years my senior, hops up like a hot stick pokes her in the ass. She grabs a chenille quilt and tucks it around fragile step-mamma.

My cousins, Rachell, Sam, and Thomas, all over thirty, snicker in each other’s ears like six-year-old kindergartners on a playground. Their parents, Uncle John, my father’s youngest brother, and my Aunt Margret, whom rumor has it was once engaged to my father, sit at the back of the room as far as possible from all the others. My Grandmother (always with a capital G) enthrones herself in the overstuffed Bavarian armchair that sits closest to the fireplace and facing out into the room. Her back is straighter than the chair’s back, her nose high, her mouth compressed to be lipless. Her twin daughters, spinsters and older than my father, stand behind Grandmother’s chair. Aunt Ida, thin, and Aunt Amelia, fat, gray-haired, and sallow-skinned from unfulfilled lives, act as nursemaids and constant companions to their mother’s every whim. My father’s twin brother, Ernst, born a minute too late to be the lucky one, stands with his wife, the plain Jane, near the door to the room, all the easier to make their escape if they had the courage for it. I toss the tobacco butt to the ground and twist it into the November dirt. I climb the front porch, twist the doorknob. I am late, so of course, it’s locked. Tardiness means you don’t get dinner in this house. I’d bang on the door, but experience has taught me there would be no mercy. Time to start breaking the rules.

I go out to the management office in the distillery barn.

“Good evening,” says the night watchman as he lets me in. “Evening, Sam,” I say. “Been a while since we’ve seen you,” he says. “Mr. Barrens and your Grandmother will be happy to have you at home.” “I doubt it,” I mumble to myself. “Beg pardon, sir?” “Yes,” I say, “they would be happy to have me back.” I smile at him. I enter my father’s office and close the door behind me, blocking Sam’s curiosity and spying eyes. I open the cabinet in the corner, grab the master keyring from its hook, and stuff the keys in my coat pocket. I enter the house at the back door, through the mudroom. I remove my coat and hang it on a peg. I skirt the cook in the kitchen, pluck a slice of turkey from the serving platter, and head to the dining room. The butternut squash soup course is finished. The servants clear away the blue and white soup bowls, part of the Bonnin and Morris set made in South Philadelphia at the American China Manufactory, high-quality porcelain, made for a revolutionary colonial market. The first Barrens, Jebediah, arrived in New Jersey just before the turn into the 18th century and opened a tavern. Jebediah hung with George Washington and supplied the revolutionary army with spirits and hiding places in the Pine Barrens. He was quite popular and became wealthy as the cranberry baron, the first Barrens in the Pine Barrens, the man with dreams of a dynasty.

I wait for the servants to leave. I saunter in, kiss Grandmother on her papery cheek, and take the seat to my father’s right.

“Hi-ya.” I sound casual, at ease. Not how I feel, but my acting classes pay off. “Leave the table,” says Grandmother. “No,” I say.

Sibyl gasps and slumps forward. Her forehead hits the table. Thank the gods; the soup bowls are gone. I laugh at my silent joke. Hester pops up and rushes to Sibyl. She leans Sibyl back in her arms, cradling her like a baby. She dips a cloth napkin in a glass of ice water and drapes it over Sibyl’s forehead. Sibyl’s eyes flutter open. “Take her to her room,” says my father. He slams back his brandy. He places the glass on the table, lining it up with the silverware. He moves it a fraction of an inch to achieve perfection. Hester escorts Sibyl away. Hester knows her place in the world and fills it without complaint. I would doubt her relation to me if she didn’t look exactly like my father. She no longer needs my father’s booming bullying voice to do whatever he says. She is well trained to follow orders for a scrap of attention. We all gave up on seeking love long ago. “You’re here.” My father speaks to my sister’s retreating back.

 “Obviously,” I say. I reach for the decanter and fill my glass. “As rude as always,” says my Grandmother. She glares at me from her seat to my father’s left and directly across from me. Her face turns red, and her eyes bulge. “Careful, Granny,” I say. “You’ll hurt yourself.” The cousins giggle—an odd sound in the otherwise quiet room. “Why are you here?” Grandmother spits out. Spittle flies from her mouth and stains the bleached table cloth. “Mother told me,” I say. I look father in the eyes and wait. His emaciated body shakes, his face is blank. I can’t tell if he’s angry, excited, or scared. It could be all three.

I turn in my chair to face him. We watch each other. I know he doesn’t see himself in me. I look like my mother, the woman he divorced and lawyered into poverty and loneliness when I was five. He tried his best to beat her out of me without any success. “So you know I’ll be dead before the end of the year.” He refills his glass with brandy and downs it. He grimaces. He rubs his throat. Coughs. “Yes.” I wait. I will him to say the words. I want him to beg. “You are finally willing to take your rightful place in this family, in the business.” His eyes are the same vibrant black as always, shiny, hard obsidian.

I glance around the room. My aunts and uncles and cousins hold their breaths. Grandmother covers her mouth with a lace handkerchief. I wink at her. “No,” I say to my father. I stand and turn over my glass, the dregs staining the tablecloth like blood. “I came here to let you know, before you die, that your only son will not follow in your footsteps. It’s over.” My father shoves at the china in an effort to rise from his chair. His plate crashes to the floor and shatters. He is the first Barrens to break a dish. He collapses back, breathing hard. “You’ll get nothing,” he says. “No money, no property.” “I don’t want any of it. I don’t want you.”

Grandmother throws a roll at me. It hits me in the chest. I blow her a kiss. “Good riddance,” she says. “Your mother ruined you.” “My mother saved me,” I say. “I legally changed my name.” I ring the bell for the servants who I know are within earshot, taking in the drama. It will be all over town within the hour. My father and Grandmother won’t be able to keep it quiet. Sanders, the butler, holds out my coat. I slip my arms in the sleeves. He buttons it for me like he did when I was a child. He grins, pats my shoulders, and leaves. “I wanted you to know that you are the last Adam Barren. You broke the long line of the oldest male in each generation to hold the position of head of this family and head of the business when you tried to break me.” I pant in my excitement. I breathe deep. “You broke this family.” I reach in my pocket, pull out the master keys, and drop them on the table in front of my father.

I walk away.


Rapunzel (the uncensored original) There was once a man and his husband, who for many years had longed for a child. And one day their wish was to come true! At the back of their shack was a very beautiful garden, but they dared not enter it, for there lived an ugly old transvestite. The man would gaze longingly through his window, down over the rows of cannabis in the garden, which he desired very much. “O husband, unless you retrieve a few nugs for me, I shall surely die”. The husband was terrified of trespassing the transvestite’s garden for hash, but did so love his man-slave and wished to please him, and so clambered over the fence that night and into the forbidden garden, grabbing a few of the precious leaves. The Husband found them as intoxicating as he could have hoped, and therefore began to beg his man to get him more. But when he attempted a second time, he was seized by the cunning tranny in the middle of the night. Startled, the man let out a short, manly squeal. “What the in all hell gives you the right to…”- “Shut it you slut, I do NOT want to hear it!” interrupted the man. He then explained to her his husband’s cravings and their stoned, midnight romps. The tranny was most understanding, “well why didn’t you say so you twat?? If that’s the case, take all you want, but on one condition. That you give your firstborn child to me.” Hastily, the man agreed, since he couldn’t really be bothered to argue. “Besides”, he thought to himself, “I never wanted children, I want bear cubs...” When the day of the baby girl’s anal birth came - whom they named Rapunzel, because why not? - the transvestite came and swept her up, to be locked far away in the top of a tall tower with no convenient means of escape and very little by way of sexual amusements. But worryingly as she got older, there was something quite strange about her. By her 23rd birthday, she had grown a phenomenally droopy scrotum, which when flung out the tower window would very nearly touch the ground, brushing it gently with its tender plumage. So when the old tranny came to see her, she would yell “Rapunzel, Rapunzel... Let down thy balls!” And every time she would just lug the thing right out the bloody window. Receiving the package, the tranny would blush, laugh, rotate her anus 360 degrees, squawk loudly, and then proceed to climb up the old hairy brain like a rope. Unfortunately, this scenario continued for a while, but one day, a young hunky bachelor rode by, naked on his valiant beaver. Upon hearing Rapunzel’s sweet voice, he fell instantly in love with her. The prince approached the tower and was instantly hit on the head by a whopping great testicle. When he regained consciousness, he noticed that there was a King-Kong nutsack hanging from the window, followed by the face of a woman, and an ugly face at that, but still he was enchanted by her beauty. “Good God woman! You’re hung like a bull!!” Cried the bloke “Cheers luv!” Answered Rapunzel “Be not afraid sweet hermaphrodite damsel, for I am a nudist prince and am come to save thee!” And with that, he mounted the old hairy bagpipes and began to climb. The old transvestite however, bitter with jealousy, had been watching the whole scene, crouched suspiciously behind some bushes. He(she?) launched a throwing star just as the prince was nearing the top, castrating Repunzel and sending the butt-naked prince to a prickly bed of thorny bushes below, gauging out his sphincter. It was at this point that the prince began to question his choices in life. From that day forth, the bewildered prince, unable to take a dump in comfort, wondered the forest eating deceased shrews and badgers’ tadgers. All seemed lost until one day, he found his beloved Rapunzel, attempting to urinate on a deer from a tree, having been banished from the tower. Together they made lots of anal love and raised large litters of bear cubs. THE END “James, I am speechless.