Rai was an old time politician. He was known for his probity in politics but had retired. His first and second sons were in paying government jobs and shunned politics. The third known as Pete was a high school dropout. Early on he had joined the political party which had the elephant as its symbol. As elections were now due, Pete got busy since the political bigwig Bala-G was standing for election on symbol elephant. Bala-G called for a meeting with his party members. When they met he said “We’ve to work against 3 candidates. One of them is a female named Ruth. Ruth has women behind her and we should be wary.” Pete said “She is no problem. I can create discontent.” Bala-G said “I want more people like you. The other candidate I’ve to be careful about is Margo. He has labour unions with him besides migrant labour. In fact he presents a real danger to my candidature.” Pete said “I’ve noted it.” Bala-G continued “The other candidature has no following at all and can be easily beaten.” The meeting ended. Pete then called a meeting of his henchmen. He said “We’ve Margo who has to be taken care of first.” One worker said “He is a liquor addict. He in turn has distributed free liquor to voters. His party has fallen on bad days. There’re said to be no contributions of money. So he can’t sustain distribution of free liquor.” Pete said “We can’t be complacent on that one count. We’ve to devise a fool-proof plan so that his voters desert him.” He thought a bit and said “Margo is old and his liver is failing. I’m sure he is looking forward to retirement. Still his party relies on his name and past records.” Another one said “If he has to be stopped we must make him curtail his oratory.” Another worker said “I’ve a suggestion. We should tackle Margo’s son. He is only a graduate and isn’t known to be bright. His dad is on the lookout for a job for the fellow.” Pete said “Margo was a farmer who quit to enter politics. I know he has a kitchen garden and the son is taking great care of it. There’re 2 computer companies and one drug manufacturing unit in the vicinity of Margo’s residence. All three companies are making big profits. They can afford to have a landscape designer on their payroll. I’ve influence with the drug maker but the computer companies have to be tackled.” One worker said “We could say that expenditure towards landscape improvement won’t be taxed. Or perhaps say.....” Pete said “That is a good suggestion. After all we’re promising people that we would hit the stars. At least let us hope we hit the moon. I’ll meet the computer company heads. What will I say?” “Take Margo’s son on contract as landscape consultant on a substantial salary. The 3 companies should share in it.” Pete now said “We’ve now to tackle candidature of Ruth. She is popular with female voters.” “I suggest that a woman is used to create problems for Ruth who’s now in charge of women’s welfare.” Pete said “Thanks. Let me think up strategy to tackle Ruth.” The meeting ended. Soon one day a woman went to Ruth and said “My name is Radha. I work in the school for the deaf and dumb. I’m married and have 2 children. My husband works in a private nursing home.” Ruth asked “What work do you do in the school?” “I take care of the cleanliness of the place and toilets and keep the area dust free.” “Okay. Tell me further.” “Two days ago I was taking a small girl who was ill to the toilet in the rear, when the security man suddenly came and hugged me from behind and put his arms around me and tried to fondle me. I fought him off by biting one of his fingers. I complained to the police but they merely said they would advise the man that he should discontinue such practices. If I don’t complain people will say I’m unchaste. This matter has to be investigated and the security man must be punished.” Ruth asked “What’s the name of the man who molested you?” “His name is Pi.” Ruth said “I’ve all the details. I’ll investigate it. You can go.’” Ruth summoned Pi and questioned him. He said “I was going fast in that narrow passage when I tripped on the floor where there is a crack. To avoid a fall I shouted and blindly caught hold of the woman. I was in the army and I’ve a wife and two children. I didn’t need to molest that fat woman who has wrongly complained.” Ruth said “Don’t insult women about their size. Remember you men alter their shapes with your doings. I’m in charge of welfare of women and I’ve to investigate further. I’ll call Radha again and get to the root of the problem.” Ruth again summoned Radha and questioned her. She however stuck to her point. She said “Madam, Pi clasped me from the rear and his palms were free and he was excited. Shall I say.....”: “I don’t want to hear such things. I know what you mean. Exposing all this will demean you. If your husband comes to know.....” “I’ve kept my husband informed.” “Good. You see we women have to be patient and not publicise matters like sexual exploitation. You must think it over. Your complaint will also cause a problem in Pi’s family as he’s also married and has 2 children.” “Could be. Let his wife know what sort of husband she has.” “You shouldn’t go to extremes. You can go now. We’ll meet again next week.” A video channel got wind of the story and reported it in the vernacular: ‘Radha a poor woman works for a deaf and dumb school. A colleague groped her. The complaint went to Madam Ruth of women’s welfare who is expected to stand for election soon, but it seems she practically ignored the complaint. She has advised the woman complainant not to go public with such matters which are degrading to women. Ruth has however, bowing to public pressure, booked a case which is under investigation. As a sequel to this story, our channel will telecast a one hour program next Friday on the way women’s issues are suppressed,” Of course the public were not aware that the case had been engineered by Pete who paid off the complaining woman and husband, besides Pi and the video channel. Bala-G said “Well done Pete. I greatly appreciate your moves.” Pursuant on Pi’s case Ruth announced she was retiring from public life and would not stand for election. The party went in search of another candidate. Margo’s son was made landscape consultant to 3 firms. In the long run, Bala-G was elected by a big margin. Pi was found not guilty. Pete was appointed as head of a government corporate body. His brothers and family had decided they would have nothing to do with him as they had heard of his nebulous dealings. However they reconciled when family members needed government demarcated plots for house building, improvement to their roads, and better water supply! END


‘Now this is the kind of place I want’ she said to herself eyeing the modern two story house like a green eyed monster. ‘Look at the finish on it – it’s perfect. I love the shutters on the front windows. The immaculate garden with those large ornate pots on the wide veranda - just to die for! I could sit here all day’. Then she looked at her watch and realised that she couldn’t sit here for a minute longer or she would be late back to work, and an important meeting. “Where did you go to eat your lunch?” Jessie was asked by her friend – one of the directors of the company. Fiona was such a down to earth woman and acted no differently towards executives or juniors. “Oh I just drove through the new estate looking at the houses and drooling”. “They are well out of your reach, you know that don’t you?’ Fiona reminded her. “Not necessarily. Remember that movie the other night, what was it called? Oh yes, ‘The Salesman’, well that woman in it thought lots of things were out of her reach but it didn’t stop her, did it?” “No it didn’t but she wasn’t happy and I didn’t like that movie anyway”. Fiona had been Jessie’s friend for a long time and knew everything about her, including the fact that with her, the grass was always greener on the other side, but she had found out a few times that it isn’t always. “Hello I’m home” she called to her partner Ben when she had shut the front door behind her. “How was your day? “He asked giving her a hug from behind. “Yeah good, long but alright” she replied “I went looking at the new estate in my lunch break. You know all those lovely houses” she told him turning around to face him and thinking how short he seemed when she had high heels on. She hadn’t really noticed before so maybe it was the new shoes she was wearing. “And?” he asked, already knowing what she would say, and that this perhaps was the start of another ‘discussion’ about where they lived. “Oh I don’t know Ben but it’s just that I’m sick of living in a tiny flat. You said we would only be here for a couple of years and it’s already nearly three” she said twiddling his hair as the ‘touchy feely’ approach would get a positive response from him. “We’ve been through this Jessie. If I hadn’t of been injured in that car accident and unable to work for so long we wouldn’t have eaten into our savings but we did. There’s nothing we can do about it in the short term. And before realising he shouldn’t have said it, out of his mouth came “and if you didn’t actually spend so much of your wages it would be helpful”! She dropped her hand off of his head straight away; angry at what he just said and letting her annoyance get the better of her yelled “Well other people can live in lovely homes, have nice cars and actually enjoy their lives, but not us. The house needs painting, we’ve still only got one bathroom, and my car is well passed its use date! What if I do spend my money? I care what I look like, unlike some! Well I’ve had enough. I’m going out”. With that she grabbed her bag and headed into town. “I’m going to the movies” she told herself as she was driving. It was another modern love story. She’d only just seen one like this at the weekend and loved it. Jessie even loved the ads that came on before the movie! When Ben ever came to the movies with her he was always disgruntled at how much advertising they had to ‘put up with’ before the film and he usually went through his phone while they were on. ‘Oh look at the outfit she has on…how gorgeous’ played over in Jessie’s mind each time a new outfit appeared on the screen. I wonder if I can get that anywhere.’ The loved up couple of the big screen seemed to have a never ending supply of money. They left their state of the art home to go out to dinner at ‘The Gentry” a five star restaurant where the tanned, beautiful staff served scallops with spring salad followed by native lobster, and all the while the stars of the movie talked about their next holiday which by the way they would be jetting away to in a friends private jet. And while eating a chocolate mousse and sipping a dessert wine laughed at the antics they got up to on the tennis court earlier. ‘Oh he is so handsome and so much taller than she is’ thought Jessie remembering how short Ben seemed today. ‘And he’s so in love with her. Imagine receiving a diamond bracelet and matching earrings for your birthday’ she sighed remembering the heat pack, sports socks and movie tickets she got for hers. When Jessie got home after the movies Ben was sitting in the lounge listening to music but as soon as she walked in he stood up and went over to give her a hug. “Let’s not argue honey, it’s not worth it. We’ll have enough money to move somewhere else one day, I promise” and he kissed her on the cheek. “Yeah I suppose so” she acquiesced while thinking “But not to buy the kind of house I want to live in”. Every time Jessica went off to the movies it seemed to pique her desire to have something better in life. She had been brought up in a humble family – mum and dad and four kids. Her parents were quite content with nine to five jobs for both of them, a holiday each year camping in the forest and meat and three veg. for most dinners. Jessie was happy with her life too while growing up, but not now. When Ben came home one evening from work informing an already irritated Jessie that he had taken an extra job to help with the savings, instead of showing him that she appreciated the extra work he would be doing, she was annoyed. “You’ll be doing what? Packing shelves at night? Is that the best you can do?” she asked in her ‘whatever next?’ voice. “What does it matter what I’m doing as long as it’s bringing in the money?” Ben asked her, once again disappointed at what she thought was important. “Well someone might see you?” “The store is closed at that time of night, and so what if someone sees me?” “Actually Jessie I’ve been meaning to ask you about all the money that comes out of the account each fortnight – you just take it out so I’m not sure what it’s for?” “I knew you wouldn’t notice but I’ve been having botox around my eyes for a while now and my teeth have been whitened AND in case you’re interested I’ve been putting money away in a different account to have a tummy tuck!” “What?” said Ben asked hardly believing what he was hearing? What do you want Botox for? You’re twenty seven years of age, not fifty seven and you’re beautiful as you are. You had lovely teeth anyway and what tummy?” “Oh you wouldn’t understand. You don’t care what you look like do you?’ “I care but I don’t need to look perfect. That’s not the real world”. She didn’t care what Ben thought. Jessie knew he wouldn’t approve of any of it. “Of course he wouldn’t be happy when he found out” Fiona told Jessie the next morning in the office. “Ben’s was out of work, and in pain for ages and not through any fault of his own, and here you are squandering the money. No wonder he yelled at you”. “Oh well he won’t stop me from enhancing my looks, if he doesn’t like it too bad!” “Do you want to come and see the new movie out with ‘what’s his name’ in it…that gorgeous guy who was in ‘love has no bounds’? I think he’s just amazing with those bright blue eyes of his and being that tall and slim” “Sure. I’m not going anywhere else, so why not” said Fiona secretly thinking that her friend spent too much time at the movies and was beginning to live in a fantasy world. “Where is Ben tonight?” “Oh I’m embarrassed to tell you that he’s stacking shelves at the supermarket – to make a bit more money”. “I tell you Jessie, you have a good guy there. One of these days you’ll realise that all that stuff up on the screen is fake. Those actors are just like us, you and me. They don’t look like that when they get up in the morning – they’d have bad breath, hair all over the place, dribble marks on the pillow from sleeping with their mouth open and if they had slept badly would be rude and miserable. Of course Jessie was taken far away into the land of make believe while watching the movie. “I would love to be able to live the way those two did in that movie. They were always going on holidays and I mean ‘holidays’ and not a weekend away in an air b&b!!” she said to her friend as they sat eating pizza. “You know Jessie; I’m going to have to tell you a few home truths. You know that guy in the movie we saw tonight? Well he’s actually shorter than Ben – all of his scenes in the movie are of him standing on a box or shot at different angles so he looks taller”. “I don’t believe you Fiona. How do you know?” “You know how I lived in America before I came here – I didn’t like to say what my job entailed so I said I was a PA. Well I was a personal assistant, but to Gena Russel, the movie star. And later on when Gena Russel ‘retired’ I got a job with someone else. Have you ever heard of Reanna Jones?” she asked her friend, who by now was really paying attention. “Are you joking? You mixed with all those movie types, really? Oh of course I’ve heard of Reanna – who hasn’t? I love her. She is apparently a lovely person. And she is so beautiful”. “Well let me inform you that she is a horrible, rude, self-indulgent madame. She has been married three times because she chews men up and spits them out! I’m not sure if one part of her body hasn’t been under the knife and, sadly she is an alcoholic. “Well she’s maybe like that,  but they all aren’t…are they?” “Well ask me about someone?” Fiona invited, knowing that this would be an eye opener for her friend. “How about the main actor in the movie tonight, the female lead – I’ve read that she is lovely and generous with her money” “Generous with her money…she went through a court case with her siblings because she didn’t think they should have been entitled to anything from their mother’s will, even though they had been her step children since they were four and two years of age. And guess what, she won and they only got a fraction of what she received. Two years ago she was the highest grossing female actor in Hollywood too”. “Oh well let me see” said Jessie trying to think of someone who could be genuine and to prove her point! “Fern Jackson is not a fake, she is totally natural in looks and personality, and I can tell that from all of her movies and the interviews she gives on television. But you would know Fiona”. “Fern Jackson cannot have any more operations on her pert little nose or it will cave in! She has had more boob jobs than anyone else I knew over there and her ‘naturally svelte’ figure is because she exists on no more than a lettuce leaf and thirty cigarettes a day, oh yes and about twenty cups of black coffee!” “Mmmm, are most of them like that Fiona? There must be some real people among them” she almost begged. “Yes of course there are but they are mostly the ones who are short, chubby, wrinkled, and don’t care because they rely on their acting skills. I’m not saying that all the attractive people are fake but a lot are….they count on others to make them look beautiful and to make them sound generous, interested and real. If I hadn’t of worked with them I would still be like you Jessie, sucked in!” “But honestly I was like you before I worked over there – it’s easy to be. We all get taken in by the lies and falseness”. Jessie sat still, trying to absorb what her friend had just said. “But they do live in massive houses and go away on wonderful holidays a lot….that must be true?” “They live in houses that’s for certain, they aren’t ‘homes’ like we have. There’s nothing warm and inviting walking into one of their mansions – they don’t flop on the couch in front of the tv with a dog on their lap…like you do Fiona. And their so called ‘vacations’ are not relaxing, believe me I’ve been on a few. They spend hours getting dressed, make up on, hair done…and once they are out in public view they don’t let their guard down because they are always on show.” “You’re painting a very negative picture Fiona!” Jessie laughed. “Well it’s the truth. Remember when the four of us went on that trip together – we had saved up for such a long time for it, gone somewhere extra nice, and very pricey, we could still relax, wear what we wanted, slouch around, eat whatever and put a few kilos on….but they can’t. There is always someone watching them and they have to put on an act no matter what”. “Oh I couldn’t stand that” said Jessie “I am sorry if I put you off the movies or any of those actors but I had to set you straight!” “Oh I’ll still go to the movies and enjoy them but instead of wanting to be like them, I’ll try and appreciate not being like them, if that makes sense”. “I probably needed it, to be honest. I was getting rather carried away. And just think how happy Ben will be knowing I’m not spending all my money on ‘enhancements’ - in fact I’ll drop in and see him at the supermarket and tell him” “What a great idea” Fiona called out as Jessie got into her car, and one other thing, the actor with the bright blue eyes, they are just coloured contact lenses, and his eyes are really a dull grey colour”. And they both laughed.


You'd think they'd give me an award or something, but nah it's just my "dumb luck" they say. When I started working the busy shift up here in Colorado Springs, most of the more experienced men and women aboard complained that I didn't have the guts. They were sure as shit right when I first joined the EMT at 18. However, I came onto the squad tougher than most, stomaching my fair share of injuries growing up, playing contact sports. One time during a football game, I got my fingers caught in the helmet of another player's facemask, which instantly broke my index and pointer finger. Somehow though with some tape, I finished that game and caught every single pass slung my way. These weren't easy passed either, those things were flying full speed. Still, it is strange that I didn't experience even a flinch of pain, and more surprisingly, after the game, my fingers were back to normal. My varsity Head Coach used to say I was the toughest kid he'd ever seen, so it only made sense for me to become a Navy Seal, Cop, or Firefighter. I ended up going with EMT because, well, before my Mom disappeared, she'd always pressed that I never put myself in too much danger. She used to say it wasn't for my sake, but for the "sake of everyone else." Anyway, this whole "dumb luck" thing has been sort of the ring around our squadron and I don't take it personally. I understand that gambling on yourself is a risky business, especially if your playing with other people's lives. I just happen to be on decade long hot streak, so I think it is better to keep to myself than make it a thing like everyone else. I mean, it hasn't failed me yet. (Later that night during Randy's shift) We arrived at the burning building in the slums of town. The firefighters were on the scene first and already dragging people out. The situation was critical, we couldn't waste any time. Four stories high the building was a project and built in the '60s. The type of place where a drive-by shooting wouldn't just got through one room but two. We'd seen a number of bloody situations here over the years. Thinking of all the gang shootings, and people I'd saved over the years, I couldn't imagine what would happen now that their homes would be destroyed. It was unfortunate to think about how the city hadn't even attempted to renovate the area. Possibly the economics didn't make sense to them. "Why invest in a building filled with families connected to a majority of the crime in the city?" In the moment, I knew it wasn't smart to think about the aftermath of what this would mean. Hundreds of people crowded the streets, all marveling at the rising fire climbing up through the first three floors, casting a dark red and orange cloud-like mushroom. Lined up with front row seats to the destruction of their homes, the tenants watched as more soot and ash spewed into the sky crackling embers in the cold of the night. "Back up! Back up!" The debris could just as easily kill someone. "Please help my mother is not breathing!" In the middle of the street lay an unconscious obese Hispanic woman. Her face black, with first and second degree burns over her arms and charred nightgown. It took all of Jack and mines strength to pick her up and take her to our wagon. Her name was Patricia Despodido. She had escaped the fire, and then succumb to the smoke, a primary reason being her poor health and asthma. At the back of our truck, her daughter pleaded Patricia, her mother, left her inhaler in their room. When we couldn't get oxygen through to her lungs, we pulled out the defibrillator and shocked her to jumpstart her heart, however, I knew it was too late. "Give her CPR Randy!" Jack stood behind me, fearful, yet confident in his words. He had been one who developed this superstition that whenever I did CPR it was more powerful than any device we could use. I couldn't fathom losing Patricia in front of her daughter. Losing my Mom only a few years back, I knew the pain and suffering that would come. Pulling off the oxygen mask, I placed my hands on her chest and began the compressions. "One, two, three, four." With each transfer of breath, I could feel myself taking in the smoke from her lungs, and slowly senses the blood begin to course through her veins. Three more cycles and then I got a heartbeat, her first breath. Opening her eyes suddenly, I saw they were a beautiful golden brown with a milky white lining. She had a twinkle, the kind you see in a babies eye after waking up from a long nap. Suddenly, she came back to full consciousness, fear in her eyes. "Mi Hermano, where is Fernando.?' Patricia pointed up to the top of the roof. Jack and I turned to see a man on the brink of hell. Standing on the ledge of the building now fully engulfed in flames, Fernando's black shadow cast against the white smoke in the pale moonlight. Beneath him a fireteam of 6 stood prepared with a net, however, it was clear Fernando couldn't see it, and so he disappeared for a few moments before we hard to screams of men and women. Tumbling 15 yards away, Fernando had drifted, and I felt myself surge with what felt like a deep and cooling shiver. "To the right!" I yelled at the top of my lungs so loud that it seemed the ground began to shake. People watched and screamed as Fernando tumbled five stories when his body somersaulted onto its back as if somebody had scooped him mid-air. All the while, the firefighters drifted swiftly almost off their feet, waiting moments before he landed perfectly underneath the net. Running to his aid, I pulled his body off the net and resuscitated him. Arriving home that next morning after my shift, I turned on the local news. They interviewed the Fire Chief and all the brave firefighters that went into the burning building. The reporter spoke of how incredible and quick-witted they had been, in particular when it came to Fernando Dispodio. I turned off the TV, exhausted from the long shift, feeling somewhat underappreciated, which was out of character for me. Saving lives wasn't about the ego boost, it was about doing the right thing. To hell with it, the firefighters can take the limelight. When I entered my room after a nice hot shower. I thought maybe it'd be best to just go to bed and forget the troubling thoughts. In time they would go away. For now, I had saved every one I had a chance to and that was enough for me. Then I received a text from my phone. Jack sent me a video filmed on a citizen's camera phone. In the video they show Fernando shaking and praying at the to of the roof, then he disappears, and faints. The ground shakes, and suddenly a brush of purple wind comes into the shot and picks up the firefighters who were yards off their mark, and it seems Fernando is guided perfectly into the net. "An act of god man, crazy" is Jack's next response. Walking into the small bathroom connected my one-bedroom apartment, I wondered if this was what the rest of my life would look like. I wished my mother was here and wondered what she would think of this, now looking at her 28-year-old son, still an EMT. I could hear her voice. "Remember Randy the less power you have, the more good you'll do." Beneath my hazel eyes, I'd always had this streak of purple which would show in moments of danger. Never had I ever tried to harness its power unless for useful purposes. "I knew I had a gift of some sort, but only for serious matters." Reaching for my electric toothbrush, I accidentally knocked it off its charger, sending it off the counter to the ground. As the device toppled towards the floor near my toilet, I felt it again, a cool shiver" "STOP!" Looking down I saw my toothbrush levitating a foot from the ground. As it floated into my hand, I used that same force to open up my toothpaste cap mid-air, applying a small amount onto the brush head. Realizing I could use these powers freely was the first step in me taking control of my life and the world around me. As I cleaned all of my teeth with my hands behind my back, I stared into now deep purple eyes of the mage in front of me. I had been special all along.


. That's all she could think about. That's all she thought about all day. Even with the world gone. Even with her kids gone. Even with the threat of starvation, wild animals, and… those… **Things**, the most common thought was, *God, out of everyone on this fucked up planet, why do I have to be stuck with the only fuckwit I’ve ever wanted to kill?* *God, I love her.* That's all he could think about. That's all he thought about all day. *Jesus, out of everyone I could be stuck with, you sent my soulmate. Thank you*. “JESUS CHRIST, FRANK! WAKE THE HELL UP!” That's how Frank spent most of his mornings, being yelled at by Avery. Avery spent most of her mornings, nay, her days, yelling at Frank, berating him, insulting him, ordering him around. Avery hated a lot of things about Frank, but Frank was good for one thing; tasks she didn’t want to do. She assumed he was ex-military, judging from his physique and the way he took orders so well. Frank was not, in fact, ex-military. But he loved her. God, he would’ve died for her. He would’ve faced the **Things** for her. But, whilst star-struck, Frank was not an idiot. He knew she didn’t love him. In fact, Frank knew she hated him. But God, what would be the point of this, of everything that's happened, if he didn’t come out with something? Surely, God would have a plan, right? Avery determined a long time ago that God wasn’t real. How could he be? Those **Things** would spit in God’s eye, right before they would tear him limb from limb, and leave his corpse hung from their nests. But more importantly, she knew God wasn’t real because out of everyone on earth, of course she was stuck with Frank. They came at night. They knew that. They planned for that. But they could never plan for this. The **Things** were inside the farm. They had already destroyed all the livestock that they had spent years meticulously building up. They both realized it was over. Even if they managed to kill the **Things**, they would starve. It took all night. It took all her ammo. It took everything. But she survived. But she didn’t feel like she survived. Frank was gone. The **Things** took him. The worst part? She never got to say goodbye. Sometime during the night, Avery looked to her left and Frank was just… gone. The **Things** snached him away sometime during the fight, and Avery was so focused on herself, on just living, that she didn’t even notice. God wasn’t real. Avery determined this a long time ago. I mean, after all, how could God be real if he took Frank away from her? There was some good news though. Turns out, some of the cattle had survived. And she found a box of ammo scavenging. But what was the point? Frank was gone. As Avery slowly put a single bullet in her revolver, her hands shaking, she spun the cylinder. *God, I miss him so much.* \*click\* *I never said goodbye.* \*click\* *Oh my god… he thought… he thought…* \*click\* *He thought I fucking hated him*.


"Do you know, Taz? Why is honey sweet?" Asked Vedantha, coming into his hut, drenched and dusted from a long day of Divine Labour: a term coined by the Emporer Shah Jahan to make the labourers believe their work is sacred. "Not just honey! Have you ever wondered yet? Why is honeycomb itself sweet?"

"Would you care to enlighten me, my love?" Taziana replied playfully without looking at him as she was busy cutting vegetables at the table. "Because every cell of it is made of love." He said and hugged his young wife from behind. She giggled and wiggled loosely to break out, wishing never to succeed. "Honey bees love what they do, for they believe their cause is sacred. Hence every little act of theirs becomes love. And love is sweet. Every soul, such as us, who is fortunate enough to taste it knows it. Don't they?" He whispered in her ears and kissed her gently on her cheek. "Now tell me, what is it that gathered honey bees into your mind coming straight from work?" She elbowed him lightly on his belly as she headed towards the kitchen. "It is the Mumtaz Mahal we are building." He slid up the window curtain and allowed the gold of the winter evening to grace their hut. The sun was setting red over the magnificent foundation of the piece of architecture that would colour the hearts of the beholders with love and sorrow at the same time in years to come. "What about it?" She put aside her chores and went near him. "Your heart is not at ease for some days now, you may not tell me, but I have felt it." "The Mumtaz Mahal is being built as the Emblem of Love in memory of our late Empress. Our Emporer would leave no stone unturned to ensure that songs of love between him and Mumtaz would be sung and remembered as long as the great monument stands, and believe me, it would stand for an eternity. It is being built at such a scale and fashion that our history has never seen. Never again such a feat will be accomplished in the future. It would enchant its beholders with a sense of might and marvel, but will they marvel with love? Because no love is being poured in the process." He said while swaying his hands slowly through the gold dust from the window, trying to form abstract patterns. "Tell me more." "Every day, the nobles tell us that our work is sacred, but they do not treat us well. Every day someone dies in an accident; many suffer fatal injuries while working, and we are not even allowed to mourn them. If they find someone catching a breath while working, they beat them to unconsciousness. They think they are building the Emblem of Love, but in reality, it is an Emblem of Cruelty. If we do nothing and the construction finishes in the manner it is proceeding, all the efforts and sacrifices of these labourers, all the resources and an opportunity to give the world a true Emblem of Love will go wasted upon an enormous pile of marble. I can not let it happen, Taz. My soul will not let me." "Oh! Ved, your ways of perceiving the world is a wonder to me." She took his hands in her hands. "But it is no good meddling in the matters of the big people. We are small people, Ved. We can't do anything about it." "It's not the riches one possesses that decides who is big or small; It's what one does with the life given to oneself. I believe if god has blessed me with the ability to dream, it's my duty to find the courage to fulfil it." He said, looking deep into her brown

eyes as if asking her to stand by him as she always has. She couldn't help but smile at him with utmost gratitude to Allah for blessing him with such a man. "Tell me, how are we to accomplish it?" She asked. * To set his vision afoot, Vedantha must meet The Emporer in person. It was no easy task. Fortunately, he knew the person who could help him with this: Ustad-Ahmad Lahori. Ustad was the chief architect of the Mumtaz Mahal. Vedantha was his only Hindu apprentice. Ustad always favoured Vedantha over his other apprentices for his deep understanding of architecture and labourer management skills. Vedantha's marriage with the Muslim girl Taziana was also one of his favours, for which Vedantha will always be indebted to him. Vedantha knocked on the door of the chamber of Ustad. "It's open." said the voice from inside, followed by a series of dry coughing. Vedantha went inside. Ustad had wrapped himself in a shawl and seemed to be working on something under his study lamp. Slow and steady flickers of the yellow lamp were the only serving light in the room. Even in the afternoon, it felt like midnight of a new moon once he closed the door behind him. "Don't come near me..." "Stand where you are..." "It seems I've caught a viral fever." Ustad managed in between his coughing. Vedantha stood there waiting for Ustad to gather his composer. "I won't be able to continue my duty from tomorrow until I'm on my feet again." Ustad began. "I've decided to divide my responsibilities and my men among Eight of my apprentices until then. The rest of the seven are on their tasks already. For the most daunting task among them, I've chosen you. You're the only one capable of handling it besides me." "What is it, Master?" Asked Vedantha, already knowing the answer. "I've assigned you to the group of 2500 labourers who call themselves Varuna Sena: The army of the god of water. Their work is to fetch water from the Yamuna river to the construction site. A tedious task indeed, but you understand how important it is. Right? Even a small delay in water supply could prove fatal for the construction. Your task is to ensure that doesn't happen." "You've trusted me with this master. I am grateful. Nothing will go amiss in my watch. I assure you." He said and stood there for a while, hesitating to ask for a favour. "What is it, my son?" "I was thinking about asking for a favour, Master." "Oh, laddie, I am in no shape to fulfil any favours right now. But, I can give you one thing, a hint, perhaps. Accomplish this task, and you will never have to ask for favours from anyone." He said with a mysterious grin on his face. Vedantha left the chamber confused and feeling strangely satisfied. He didn't know what to make of those last words of Ustad. 'Maybe Taz can tell.' He thought. * "Do you know, Taz? What is it that keeps the human race alive?" Asked Vedantha, coming into his hut feeling fresh and fortunate. "Ah, I think I should know this one. Gods, maybe?" Said Taziana, coming out from the bath and wiping her hair with a towel. "It is hope, my love. A possibility of seeing the light some distant day that keeps us fighting the dark." He said as he tried to play with her wet hair. "Something interesting has happened today, has it not?" She pushed him away gleefully and walked in front of the mirror to brush her hair. Vedantha gave a detailed account of what happened in the chamber and asked her opinion about the words of Ustad. "I think the fortune is about to favour us in unlikely ways." "In unlikely ways! Strange choice of words. I would say." He walked to stand behind her, took a strand of her long brown hair and tucked it carefully behind her ears. "So, tell me, Ved. How are you to approach the first day of your new endeavour?" She said, looking into his eyes from the mirror. "The gold you received on our wedding day, which we were saving for building our new home, we still have it, right? I think the time has ripened to use it wisely." He said. * As Vedantha rightly presumed, it was hard to keep the labourers motivated throughout the day. A dirt ramp was built between the Yamuna and the construction site to allow the easy conveyance of water. Still, it was a demanding task to carry water uphill. That too under the sun and with an empty belly. Vedantha realised that the excessive hard work and hunger were killing his labourers slowly. 'They may carry on like this for a few more years, but they would not survive to see the fulfilment of the monument.' He thought and decided to take the responsibility of providing afternoon meals for Varuna sena. Taziana had voluntarily chosen herself as the chief chef for the endeavour. As the days passed, the morale and efficiency of the Vauna sena rose. The stories of Vedantha feeding his 2500 labourers by himself every day became the talk of the town in no time. And with it rose the name of Vedantha in the hierarchy of the significant men of Agra. "Our gold is about to deplete, Ved," Taziana said one day during the afternoon meal. "Two more days, and we will have to find another source to fund the daily meals." "I think the gold has played its part, Taz. The labourers under the other apprentices have begun demanding the same treatment as the Varuna sena. The labourers are awakening about their rights. Some of them are even threatening to go on strike. Pressure is building on the nobles. The court of Shah Jahan will be sending for me any day now." Two days went by. Nobody from The Darbar of Shah Jahan came looking for Vedantha. There was no news about Ustad's health as well. From the day he took this new responsibility, he was living a dream from which he would never want to wake. But now, the situation was such that he would love to see Ustad return from his deathbed and take back the reigns from his hands. When they first took up the responsibility, Every apprentice had received an Elephant to command the groups of labourers from above. Vedantha had named his Elephant: Airavatha. He loved riding Airavatha as much as he loved the beast. But he never took Airavatha on the construction site, for he wanted the Varuna sena to feel that he was one of them, not above them. That morning he fed Airavatha well, climbed on him with tears running down his cheeks, and departed for their last ride together. He knew an animal dealer who would offer a fair amount for a well-kept beast. It would cover the cost of daily meals of Varuna sena for a week more. 'Taziana will kill me once she finds out about my sin.' He thought Just then few horse riders came shouting from behind him and encircled Airavatha. One of them came in front of Airavatha and removed his helmet, "Ustad seeks a word with you. Immediately." He shouted. Vedantha entered the dark chamber of Ustad, thinking that Ustad had recovered and was ready to reclaim the charge. But what he saw in front of him, his startled heart refused to believe. The Emporer of the realm himself was waiting for him beside Ustad under the dim yellow flickerings of the old lamp. "So you are the one who has the whole Agra talking about the labourers' rights." Shah Jahan spoke. Until now, all Vedantha needed was a chance to reach the ears of the Emporer. Now when the Emporer was right in front of him, all he could do was shake his head in agreement. "You are the reason my entire court can't sleep at night nowadays. In normal circumstances, you'd have been inside the dungeons by now, counting bars. But Ustad believes that he will not be able to fulfil the dream we both wove together and that you're the only capable person who can help me do it. So tell me, Vedantha, will you take the responsibility of the chief architect of the Mumtaz Mahal from today on? * "Do you know, Taz? Why god gives us hard times?" Asked Vedantha, coming into his hut, trying so hard not to cry out loud with excitement and spoil the surprise. "So that we learn to savour the good times with all our hearts while they last," Taziana said quietly, lying on her bed. The answer left him speechless for a while. It was so beautiful that he almost forgot that he was about to surprise Taziana. "It is beautiful, Taz. What you have just said." "Because it has come straight from my heart. Everything that comes from the heart is beautiful. Only those who have learned the art of doing things with their hearts know this, don't they?" "Of course they do." He said and went near her, trying to keep the excitement alive. But he noticed that Taz was not her usual self today. "Hey, what happened to you? Come on, wake up! I've something to tell you." He tickled her by lightly touching her waist. But she did not spring up on her knees laughing as she would usually do. "I also have something to tell you. But I don't know how to. I do not want to ruin your moment, but it is important." "Taz? Why are you talking like this? What is the matter?" "Your Taz is dying, Ved. She is halfway there already." "What are you saying? Are you crazy? Take back your words, Taz. It is no joking matter." "I wish I were lying. I have been ignoring the chest pain for a month now. Today it was unbearable, and blood started to come out with my coughing. So I went to the healer. She says I've Karka in my lunges. It is uncurable." "No! It can't be true. TELL ME YOU'RE LYING." Vedantha let out a muffled wail, his body trembling with sheer pain. "From the day we met, I've been promising you the life of your dreams. Now when the time has come when we can live our dreams, god is taking you from me." Vedantha put his head in her lap, sobbing. "I am not dying tomorrow, you idiot. We may still have six or seven years of togetherness. And who told you I did not have a good life with you? From the day we met, I've been living the life of my dreams." She said, leaning on his head and they stayed put together for a while without saying anything. "I am the chief architect of the Mumtaz Mahal now, Taz. It will take ten more years to complete. I'll not let you go without seeing it." Vedantha broke the silence wiping his tears. "Until now, I was building it as the Mumtaz Mahal. From today on, I will raise it as The Taz Mahal. I will ensure that it will have the essence of the pure soul that you are. I will try to pour as much love into it as I have for you. It will be the emblem of love as true as our love is for each other." * So the years passed, and the Taz Mahal began blossoming as a thing of wonder. Labourers pour their hearts into it, for they start believing that their work is sacred. They were treated and fed well. On the other hand, Taziana withered with time as the greens do under Autumn. But they both had accepted their fate now. They had decided never to let the sadness creep into their warm hearts ever again. Another significant thing happened during this time. Stories of love between their chief architect and his sickly wife slowly became popular among the labourers who admired Vedantha and then spread into the entire Agra like wildfire into a summer forest. Everything about it was merrily received in Agra. Until one day, an ill-intentioned foul-mouthed adviser twisted the tale and warned Shah Jahan about Vedantha. He made the Emporer believe that Vedantha was circulating the stories on purpose so that when people see The Mumtaz Mahal, they remember his love for Taziana. That enraged the Emporer beyond any measure, but he did not act until the construction concluded. Finally, the dark day arrived, which would be remembered as one of the cruellest days in the history of Hindustan. "It is marvellous, Veda. Its charm touches my heart from the distance as well." Taziana said, who was sitting with Vedantha on the balcony of their new home watching the Taz Mahal. As soon as she said that, she fell on Vedantha's lap groaning in pain, blood coming out of her mouth. Before Vedantha could do something about it, he heard heavy footsteps hurrying along the steps. The construction had concluded. The Emporer had decided to act. The soldiers dragged Vedantha along the floor, who was wailing and begging them to allow him a moment with her dying wife. "LEAVE ME ALONE... MY WIFE... SHE IS DYING..." He cried, trying all his might to escape and ran back to Taziana, who was stretching her arm for him lying on the floor, unable to speak. "AT LEAST GIVE ME A MOMENT... LET ME SEE HER FACE ONE LAST TIME..." He kept on crying. They did not listen. It is known all over Hindustan that enraged Shah Jahan had ordered to hang Vedantha and cut the hands of the entire Varuna sena for being loyal to Vedantha. Some people see it as the Emblem of Love, and some as the Emblem of Cruelty. But those who understand why it is called Taz Mahal and not Mumtaz Mahal know it is the true Emblem of Love. *


“It’s just I don’t know what to do anymore,” I said, pacing around the room, “really I don’t. If it’s not one thing, it’s another—” “You’re inability to make decisions has lead you to this point, and refusing to make a choice will continuously lead you to here.” I heard a wispy voice say from somewhere in my room. I spun around, searching for the voice. “Not with just this decision,” the voice continued, “but all others that will inevitably come in the future.” “Hello? Who’s there?” I asked, looking from the bed to the closet to the dresser. “Who said that?” “I have spoken.” It came from the dresser, near the potted succulent sitting atop. “Who?” I said. “I.” It was definitely near the plant. I opened a drawer and ruffled through my underwear. Nothing. “Who is I?” “I am I.” I opened the next dresser drawer and found nothing there either. “Can’t you stop messing with me and just tell me who’s talking?” I spat, straightening, glaring towards the succulent. “I am speaking.” The succulent’s bright green leaves shook with each word. “I am I.” I took a step back, the wind pushed suddenly from my lungs. “You— what?” I took a deep breath, exhaled. “You can talk?” “A lot of species can and do,” it said, leaves jingling together. I ran my hand through my hair, glanced around the room, looked back at the plant. “But… How? Why?” “I have always been able to speak, but I have chosen not to until this moment. Why? Why is because you have spent many years speaking about your issues and problems with life and I have absorbed them like the water in my soil. You are about to embark on a new chapter in your life, Gary, and I believe that you will need to hear my advice.” “Oh?” I said, “and what advice can a plant give?” “My advice is the same is what I said before. You are indecisive and continuously find yourself in predicaments that you are not confident or knowledgeable of to understand. You make rash decisions due to this, and nearly a hundred percent of the time, they are the incorrect ones. You are anxious and depressed, more so the former than the latter. You are young but not young enough for it to be an excuse. You will move out from this place and have your own house, and that frightens you but you believe you will be fine because the other people of your race have done it and continue to do it without much issue. But the fear is still there and—” I unclenched my hands and snatched the plant from my dresser. I stomped over to the trash bin and chucked it in. “Throwing me away Gary will not solve the problems that you have, especially the ones of intimacy you have been currently having with Megan—” I wrenched the trash bag from the bin and tied it tight, then threw open the window. The cold wind was sharp on my warm skin. I could still hear the plant through the plastic. “And, you still continue to make rash decis—” That’s all I heard it say before I threw it outside and slammed the window shut. If I had wanted a therapist, I would’ve went and seen one. If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my and consider subscribing.


It first started as a whisper in my ear, a devil on my shoulder promising a better future, a guilty pleasure daydream I adopted in the absence of chocolate before bed, and then before I knew it, I woke up one morning and had an inkling of an idea of life without you. No more sandy feet on my dashboard, no more morning breath, no more losing my keys and not helping me find them. I had an idea of a life free of your bad habits, and I slowly started to hate them. I hated the way you left the ice cream spoon on the counter instead of putting it in the sink, I hated the way you always sneezed three times in a row, I hated how I couldn’t get a cat because you were afraid it’d eat your fish, whose tank leaked at the top and smelled of rancid sea stink. I grew to hate all of these things I promised you were not deal breakers at the beginning of our relationship, your hair in my clean laundry, your hair in the shower drain, your hair in my mouth and on my pillow and in my hair brush that I asked you not use a million times. And so, I grew to hate all of you. I grew to hate us, our relationship, the life we had built together, so I wanted to leave you. I tried, but it was Christmas, and then it was your birthday, then Valentine’s day, then your dad died, then Fourth of July. There was never a good time to end it, so my hatred grew into pure resentment, a hot white flash that scarred our life. I could tell you could sense it, your smile grew sadder, you found every excuse to wear the dress I deemed my favorite, you changed your hair, your diet, your taste in music. I know that your efforts should have made me love you more, or forgive the small things that irked me so much that I couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with them for the rest of my life, but it made me want to leave you more. Neither of us deserved the other, and so to ease the guilt I felt for falling out of love with you, I turned to her. She, everything you were not, was my savior the last few months of our relationship. Instead of taking my anger and desperation out on you, I fucked her. Instead of yelling at you while you were grieving your father, your dead fish, the stain on the couch, I brought her on dates and bought her expensive jewelry. I brought her coffee in the morning and held her hand in between sales calls while ignoring your good morning text messages. I kissed her in the rain and came home and left the wet clothes for you to wash. I gave her flowers and came home late the night you cooked my favorite dinner, left cold on the table while I stared blankly and you screamed and threw the couch pillows. “Why are you with me if you hate me so much?” You asked me many times, and always, I told you I didn’t hate you, even though I did. Even though I had moments where I would sit and think about how exactly I would finally leave you and your colorful dresses and your dull brown eyes behind, I would tell you I didn’t hate you. Then, the company dinner. Every year my office brought the employees and their families out to dinner at the fanciest restaurant on Main Street. You, wanting to make a good impression on the coworkers that knew I was cheating on you, wore a long red dress. You did your makeup, you wore your hair down, you had on the earrings I gave you our first Christmas together. You looked beautiful, but that was not enough to stop me from thinking about how annoying it was that you took thirty minutes trying to find shoes that matched, how much I hated having to drive extra careful so that you could finish your mascara in the car, the looks we got as we strolled in five minutes late because you didn’t want to spend the five dollars for valet parking and we had to walk from the parking garage to the restaurant, blocks away. We saw her, the woman who was taking your place, and her date for the night, a husband she wanted to leave, a husband who she said didn’t know her as well as I did, and you suggested we sit next to them. After drinks were served but before our orders were taken, they got into a whispered argument, quiet but obvious, and he stormed out. By the time we had ordered and our food had arrived, she was on my arm. By the time were ordering our dessert, she was whispering in my ear and laughing, and I didn’t care anymore, I breathed on her neck softly and toyed with the hint of my hand being close to hers, and you finally understood the lock on my phone, the late nights, the perfume on my collar. In a moment of weakness, you looked at us and your eyes were screaming. Your wine glass to your thinly stretched lips, your eyes were begging me to stop. I slid my hand up her thigh and you inhaled sharply, conversation around us slowing to whispers and big eyed glances as you stood, clutching your glass. You let out a breath I felt you had been holding for weeks, and you cocked your arm back, and threw the wine glass above our heads. Everyone silent, no hint of silverware clinking, no sound of conversation, only the light jazz playing through the uptop speakers, you excused yourself to the restroom, and by the time the staff had cleaned up your mess, and the surrounding tables had continued their meals no longer entertained by our drama, you returned. You asked if we could take a walk, I told you I’d be out in a minute. Three, five, ten minutes passed, and you came back inside. You asked if we could go home, and I told you to wait just another minute. Playing drinking games with my coworkers, a captivating woman begging for my whole attention, I left you to sit outside by yourself. As the kitchen closed and the bar did last call, my coworkers slowly gathered their families and left. She asked me to spend the night and I called her a taxi, explaining that you were outside expecting me. Pouting, she kissed me in full view of you, and I saw your knees shake as I kissed her back, helping her step into the taxi. The walk to the car was silent, and cold. I offered you my jacket and you refused with a shake of your head, your hair so meticulous hours earlier, now falling in your face, sweaty and disgusting. Your freckles, I once adored, looked like dirt on your ankles and your nose, and you sniffled every few seconds, and I hated you. I felt no remorse or regret, only relief at the thought of no longer having to lie to you. At the light before the street where we would turn to our car, you stopped. My hands in my pockets, I turned to you. “Let’s go, it’s late and I’m tired.” You looked at me, and I could see mascara running down your cheeks, I could see your nose was red and snot was running, I could see your chapped lips, and I hated you. I hated you so much, that when you asked me if I was going to leave you, I smiled, and turned around, and walked away.


# Happy Saturday, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have listed on the handy dandy! We appreciate all contributions made to this thread, and all submissions are of course welcomed, whether it addresses a previous challenge or the current one. We hope you enjoy your time in the community! Take a look at our inaugural Serial Saturday post for some helpful tips. You don’t need to catch up by writing for each of the previous assignments, feel free to jump right in wherever fits for you, with whatever assignment or theme fits for you, and post it on the current thread with a link to whichever previously posted challenge you chose to start with. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about: The Second Wind After the rollercoaster our characters have been on for the past couple of weeks, they are finally catching a break with renewed energy for the task ahead of them. It’s been a series of knock downs the past couple of weeks. Are they gonna take that? No. They’re not six feet under yet. (.) Just like the Giant Sequoias, our protagonists need to feel the fire before they can thrive to see a new day. This is where the heat of battle brings out a new strength of resolve in full force. The beat following this one is Victory, and this installment should show how hard-won that victory will be. Do we sense a little bravado in our main characters as they get ? Maybe a little. Maybe the horse is l (what’s their secret? Is it Mane and Tail? I bet it is). But we don’t mind By the end of this installment we as readers should feel that if our hero is goin’ down, it’s not without a fight. , ‘cause we’re ! Our characters still have some gumption in them. They’re tackling their challenges in a new way, doubling down on their commitment, this time This is another opportunity for us to that didn’t seem important at the time, and now could be vital to a resolution. We’ve been knocked down but is that gonna stop us? Nah. Just like Mostly Dead Wesley, . So get those little plot children out there, and **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 10/31, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, Re-Invigoration: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Kammerice, as he delivers a knife twist to the gut when this mouse noir tale turns personal. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/ATIWTK, with a subversion of expectations in a way that is truly refreshing *and* satisfying. And two honorable mentions: /u/Xacktar, for keeping us on our toes with a story that has stepped on the gas and won’t let up with the djinn and unfortunate victims. And /u/lynx_elia, with a story that makes us wonder if this is all a subtle Among Us story, but way better. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 750** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** serial submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday post or to your own subreddit/profile. * Authors that complete a serial with 8 or more installments get a fancy banner and modpost to highlight their stories. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serials Campfire on the main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start on Saturdays at 9AM CST. **Don’t worry about being late, just join!** There’s a *Super Serial* role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Saturday related news! **Join the** **to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!** Previous constraint: **Re-invigoration** Have you seen the ? No? Oh boy! Here's the current cycle's challenge schedule.


Author’s note: This story is written from the perspective of an orthodox Jew, so very few concepts are explained within the story. To better understand the story, please refer to the glossary I have included below. "Happy Chanukah," Bubbie told me as she handed me the small gift box. It looked like it could hold jewelry, like a ring or necklace. "Thank you!" The box opened on a hinge. Nestled inside the velvet was a small dreidel. Its four faces were each no bigger than a squared off nickel, and the tapered part beneath seemed worn down. The stick for spinning the dreidel was glossy from all the fingers that had gripped it over the years, and there was a chocolate stain on the light wood. On closer inspection, the letters on the sides had been painted over at some point, but even the newest layer was faded. 'It's not about the presents. It's not about the presents. It's not about the presents.' I repeated in my head. And really, at fifteen, I should have known Chanukah is not about the gifts we give each other, but the miracle(s) that took place for my ancestors. But... Who doesn't like a nice gift from time to time? I looked up at my grandmother's face. She looked back at me with pure joy, like I should be excited about a tiny dreidel. I tried to smile. "Thank you, Bubbie. It's..." old. That was all I could think of. My grandmother laughed. "I bet you think I'm crazy. You're at that age where you consider playing dreidel childish. In the days of the Beit Hamikdash you would have been married by now. You're wondering why I could possibly think you would want an old dreidel." I smiled in relief. It was a joke, then. My Bubbie knew better than to give me this. "This dreidel has a story," she continued. Of course it did. "A Chanukah miracle of its own." She took a deep breath, as if to begin the story, but then stopped and looked around. I looked around too. We were sitting on the overstuffed couch facing the table where the menorahs belonging to my father, my Zaidie, and my three brothers stood. Each menorah proudly bearing the flames for the first night of Chanukah and the shammash. The windows beyond the table showed the dark streets beyond, and one of the houses across the street also had a menorah up. I sniffed the air. The smell of fried oil let me know that my mother and older sister were both in the kitchen making latkes for the Chanukah party we were going to have as soon as the cousins close enough to drive over got here. The men and boys had been watching their candles for a while, but they left that to me and Bubbie and went to help set up the dining room and kitchen for the party. "We should go help your mother," Bubbie said finally. "Chedva is helping her. We would just be in the way," I pointed out. Bubbie nodded. "Okay then. Do you want to hear the story?" So I leaned back on the couch, turned to face my grandmother, and waited for her to begin. *** "Many years ago, there was a little girl named Yehudit. My grandmother. She wished to be an ordinary girl, go to school and jump rope, but she was not. She and her mother, Bubbie Shaina, had come from Russia to escape the communists, but her father had been sent to Siberia by the time the boat left with my grandmother and great-grandmother on board. "You know that when Jews in this situation came to America, they chose one of three options. Either, they threw away tradition and threw themselves into a new life, or they lived in the same pattern all Jews who held on to their faith lived. On Sunday morning they would find a job, and then they would work from Monday to Friday. Then, they would hurry home from work and light the Shabbat candles. At this point, there was another split. Some people went to work on Saturday, despite it being against the laws of Jewish tradition, and some just didn't. Perhaps they claimed they were sick, but sooner or later, they lost their jobs for not coming in to work on Shabbat. "This was the way that Yehudit and her mother lived. Every Shabbat, they lost their jobs. Every Sunday they found a new one for that week. So they were very poor, and Rosh Hashanah was coming. Bubbie Shaina wanted very much to get a few of the simanim, or at least a bit of meat for the meals, but she doubted she would be able to. Although Yehudit and her mother worked very hard, they barely made enough money to get fish for Shabbat, and even that didn't happen every week. "So Bubbie Shaina decided to take in some sewing as well. If she worked in the supermarket during the day and then sewed by candlelight, she could perhaps afford a small piece of meat." Bubbie paused, then thought about what she said. "At least, I think the two of them were working in a shop of some sort then. They probably didn't have big supermarkets yet." "Anyway," she continued "The plan worked, and Bubbie Shaina was able to buy a bit of meat. More than that, she was so successful with the sewing, and had enough people asking her to sew for them, that she was able to quit her job and make her own hours. She wanted to teach Yehudit to sew as well, but she had no spare scraps to practice on. All the fabric she had was given to her for the clothing her customers wanted. "Yehudit was fifteen at the time, like you, so she was old enough to continue the cycle of losing and finding jobs on her own. The difference was that while before they had been working on shops or sewing factories, Yehudit found a small shop that sold wood carvings, and walked in without hesitation. The man behind the counter told her that they would teach her to carve for free, if she agreed to work for them for free for the same amount of time it took to train her. The man even agreed to give her Shabbat off, saying that he was Jewish too, but felt that he was unable to make a living without working on Shabbat. But that didn't mean he didn't feel guilty about it, so he was happy to let her skip Saturdays. "So the man's daughter taught Yehudit to carve simple things, like a spoon, and then more intricate detailing. Eventually, she could carve extremely well, and, as a happy side effect, she had a friend. So Yehudit was very happy, which made her mama very happy, except for one thing. "At that point in time, Bubbie Shaina's sewing business had expanded. She had a small shop where she took customers, and she had hired another Jewish woman to help with the sewing. She had saved enough money to send some to her husband in Siberia, but she didn't know if it would reach him. She decided to take a risk, so she sent a small package just before Pesach, so it might be good enough weather to not get lost. She had no way of knowing if he got it, though. "The next year, Yehudit started selling her own carved wares in her mother's shop, but she kept in touch with her friend. In fact, she carved a very intricate dreidel for her friend as a Chanukah gift, saying that life in America was full of excitement, and you never know quite where you'll land when you stop spinning. Yehudit's friend responded by carving a simple dreidel for Yehudit, saying that sometimes plain and simple is better, but even then, there is an element of uncertainty. The part they found the funniest, was the fact that when spinning, you couldn't tell whose dreidel was whose. "Then Yehudit's friend got married and moved to her husband's town which was not close enough to visit regularly, and the dreidels were all they had of each other. The day after the newly married couple left, Yehudit sat playing with the dreidel. She spun it many times to remember how life could give you a gimel or a shin. You can gain or you can lose, but either way, you have to keep going. You have to try again. “Yehudit spun the dreidel, and I imagine she sighed and decided this would be the last time before she put the dreidel away and went to help her mother. "She watched the dreidel spin. Its carefully painted letters a blur barely visible on the wood. And then it fell. She looked at it, and even though she was not playing against anyone, even though she was not playing to win anything, she cheered because the letter on the top was a gimel, so if she had been playing against someone, she would have won the pile. "And then she heard a knock on the door of the small apartment. She figured it was for her mother, but she had been avoiding helping for long enough. So she went to answer the door, and she was sure glad she did, for it was her papa who stood there. Exhausted, but alive and within reach. "From that day forward, she considered the dreidel a messenger of G-d. It was a memento of both the friend who taught her to carve, and the day her father came home." *** As Bubbie stopped speaking, I suddenly remembered that I was not with my great-great-grandmother as her father arrived in America for the first time, but sitting on the couch, safely wealthy, and able to be an orthodox Jew without too much trouble. I didn't have to worry about getting married yet, or even about getting a job. All I had to deal with was school and disappointing presents. "Wait," I realized, "This is the dreidel that her friend made?” Bubbie nodded. "I know you're a bit old for a dreidel, or a bit young since I believe Chedva likes playing dreidel again, so if you would like, I will take that back and get you that necklace you've had your eye on." I smiled. "I think I'll keep the dreidel. I may not appreciate the dreidel itself, but I really appreciate the story behind it. Besides, Chanukah is not about the presents, it's about how the past gave us the present. Right?" I grinned, satisfied with my pun. Bubbie laughed. "Right. Now let's go see if there's anything we can help with. Your cousins should be here any minute." Glossary: Chanukah: An eight day long minor Jewish festival which celebrates the rededication of the Beit Hamikdash, celebrated mainly by lighting a menorah although many Jews also make latkes and doughnuts, play dreidel, and give each other gifts and/or gelt (either in chocolate form or actual money) Bubbie: Yiddish for Grandma dreidel: 1 a small four sided spinning toy with a Hebrew letter on each side, the letters: Nun, Gimel, Hey, and Shin stand for the sentence Nes Gadol Hayah Sham, which means A great miracle happened there (there being Israel during the time of Chanukah. In Israel, the last letter is pey, which stands for po, meaning here.) 2 a game played with a dreidel and coins (real or chocolate) or nuts. How to play: Each player has a few coins, preferably an equal amount to each of the other players. Players sit in a circle, and start by contributing one coin to the middle pile. Players take turns spinning the dreidel and complete their turn based on the result. Nun – nothing; Gimel – gold, take the whole pile; Hey – half, take half the pile; Shin (or Pey) – shove/put one coin in the middle from your pile. When the pile in the middle is emptied, all players put one coin in the middle and play continues. Beit Hamikdash: The central Temple for Jews which was built and destroyed twice; the second destruction took place in the year 66 CE at the hands of the Romans. Still considered the holiest site, located in Jerusalem, Israel, the only remainder being the Western Wall. Zaidie: Yiddish for Grandpa menorah: Hebrew for lamp, but in this case, a nine branched candelabra or oil cup holder with eight of its branches in a straight line, and one branch or cup offset from the others. On the first night, the offset candle and the one on the far right are lit, on the second night, the offset candle and the two on the far right, and so on. shammash: literally, helper; the offset flame on the menorah, often used to light the other candles latkes: potato pancakes fried in oil Shabbat: from Friday at nightfall to Saturday at full dark, a festival on which a Jew may not do many forms of work Rosh Hashanah: the Jewish new year, also restricted, though less so than Shabbat simanim: symbolic foods over which certain prayers for a good year are said


“It’s spreading across the east coast, hitting DC the hardest. Patients are exhibiting signs of delirium and jaw soreness. On top of losing some verbal control and inhibition.” My lab partner, Eric, was drawn into the hysteria of what they were saying in the press. “I can’t believe it took this long to call in the CDC.” Even with a subtle neurological symptom the spreading of a condition through large population almost always meant something viral. I prepped the slides and microscope. “How many specimens do we have?” “Four, and the boss wants results.” He placed the vials on the counter without gloves. “The subject talked himself to death, if you can believe it. Went into a full syphilitic seizure.” His descriptions were always so grotesque. “Grab some sterilized tweezers and wash your hands please. What’s the head count so far?” “20 million, 800 thousand dead. It spreads through the mouth, that’s about all we know. The Organization thinks it has something to do with the physiology of the mouth.” I counted the seconds while he washed his hands. It was never long enough. “Quite the opposite from what I’ve heard, that it starts in the feet. We need to know what we’re looking for. The environment of the foot and the mouth are completely different.” “The only thing I can think of are the memory pills doled out by that sham health company. They use some kind of deep-sea mussel protein, ‘foot protein 5.’ If they’d test the ingredients, I’m sure they’d find something.” Eric glanced at my chest again, not thinking I would notice. I examined the specimens without assistance and recorded my findings. By the afternoon I had discovered enzymes used to break down food; nitrogenous waste was found on the sample, along with evidence of chitin fibrils, commonly found in insect species. “Are you sure this was taken from tongue tissue?” I asked Eric later. “This appears to be more linked to what you’d find in insects, parasites, and other isopods. A digestive system–“ He brought afternoon tea, “Sarah, I think you’ve watched too many scary movies. Tongues taste, they don’t digest.” The rest of the day was spent reading reports from WHO, trying to understand the condition. Infected patients were often unable to speak clearly, their tongues enflamed and scaly. After losing control of their speech they would become hostile and claim to say things they didn’t mean. No neurological damage was detected and all other motor functions were normal. Social issues were the first symptoms to be documented, when the patients found that they could not control their inner monologs, expressing their worst fears and deepest animosity. One man had to be escorted from a church when he couldn’t help but point out the number of black individuals who were in attendance. The wife of a politician went off her husband’s political policies and admitted to adultery with her fitness instructor. In New York a professor spoke in front of a large Psychology class, and proclaimed his love for large, busty women. “Whatever is happening, with the proteins found in the mouth, and abnormal social behavior, it is something completely new.” Eric was looking at me in that way again. I rubbed my forehead, “I think it’s time to go home for the day. I put what appear to be spores in petri dishes. They’ll observe them tomorrow. I don’t expect them to grow that fast.” Eric nodded and we followed the decontamination procedures. I arrived early the next day and discovered that the petri dishes contained biofilm, the spores were completely unrecognizable. “More inquiry requests?” Eric arrived forty minutes late and noticed the papers stacked on his desk. “I glossed over them. We’ll have more samples later. A few scientists in Wyoming believe they know what it is.” He read through the papers the rest of the morning while I examined the biofilm under the microscope. The bacteria within the slides were strange and foreign. I recorded my findings and signed the logs while Eric seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable reading the transcripts and reports. He was giving me a headache with his constant shuffling. “Talk to me.” “It just doesn’t make sense.” He rubbed his mouth. “I don’t think we’re looking at tongue samples. This is —I have to make a few phone calls “ He never liked to jump to conclusions, let alone share his deductions with me. He never followed his gut feelings. I was thinking of the word “moron” but the words that came out of my mouth, in an angry, muttering tone, were “rapist.” I stood up in shock. I felt my mouth for any abnormalities or pain. Had I just said that? Everything that had happened since the arrival of the specimens and the information provided by WHO went through my head. Eric’s unsanitary workmanship drove me into a fury. After prodding my tongue with a depressor, he came back in the lab with a look of concern, his eyes were wide. I threw my tea cup at him and wanted to tell him that our lab had been compromised. But instead I shouted “You pig! Why are all men rapists!” I couldn’t focus and panicked, slapping my mouth. He remained silent while I looked into a mirror, examining my mouth for any discoloration. My tongue was sore to the touch. He tried to touch my back in comfort and said, “Sometimes women are asking for it” and stepped back, holding his mouth. His eyes darted around and tried to speak again, “Maybe you should try being with a woman.” He put his hands up as if to prevent a slap and ran from the lab, fumbling for his badge at the door. What did he know that he wasn’t telling me, or was not able to tell me? I ran to the papers on his desk and skimmed through them, my throat becoming sorer, head pounding. In my disgust I saw the phrases “tongues being replaced,” “parasitic lifeform,” and “flesh eating louse.” I quickly reacted, after taking in quick breaths, by putting the mirror to my mouth. That was when I noticed that my jaw was numb. I instinctually lifted my tongue and saw a mass of black fluid. Grabbing a scalpel, I placed it to the underside of my tongue, shaking and sweating as I placed an incision. Black fluid seeped out and filled my mouth with pain and dark blood. I had to stop and spit into the sink. A grotesque string of fluid, pus, and other visceral spilled into the drain. I returned to the mirror and probed the mass under my tongue with a depressor. Within seconds there was foreign movement inside. I gagged, trying to hold my tongue against the roof of my mouth. That was when the tiny legs of the louse appeared, unraveling and shuffling, disturbed by my wooden depressor. My eyes rolled into the back of my head; I could feel the legs bristle with excitement. My heartbeat faded and I passed out. Eric woke me up several minutes later by calling me “bitch” and “useless.” My mouth was numb and my tongue, if it was my tongue, was puffy and sore. When I tried to speak the words that came out were racial slurs. I held my face in dismay, trying to warn Eric of what was happening but judging from his responses of homophobia he was also infected. We gave each other glances of worry and proceeded to write each other notes, desperately trying to express ourselves. These were the events as they transpired. We are going to try to remove the louse that had eaten away and replaced our tongues. If something happens during the procedure please tell my family I love them because I can’t tell them myself.


**These are the accounts journaled by an unknown man who is suspected to be deceased.** **We can not guarantee that the following events written happened or not… but how can we be for sure?** September 21st 2002 I suppose it is as good as a time as any to start a journal, from the direction my life has been going in these past few weeks I'll be dead within the year. In case anybody reads this I guess I should start from the beginning, get all the facts straight. Ever since I was young my life has been off by just a tick, one notch below normal. Something always seems to be just a bit different from another person's life, growing up in the mountains will do that to a boy. When I was younger I was scared of the woods that surround my home but with age that fear subsided, I guess I shouldn't have let that fear fade. When I was about eight years old my life took a turn for the worse. My life was invaded by a source of evil, something I can’t even describe. I guess some would call it a demon or a monster but I just call it my own personal hell. The first time this thing presented itself I was in my safe place. in the snow forming angels in the snow with my body. That is when I felt the wind, that warm wind that felt like an oven had just been opened right beside me, I stopped what I was doing and slowly got up, I was only eight years old and I still felt unsettled. When I was on my feet I looked around, the warmth had escaped past me, for it had only stayed for a moment, like a wave. That is when I felt as though I should go back home, I walked into my front door letting the screen door clap into its resting place. I took off my boots and smacked them onto the ground letting the snow flying. As I entered the house I was greeted immediately with the smell of freshly baked cookies immediately making me forget of the wave of warmth that I had just felt in the Mountains on a snowy December day. As I stepped into the kitchen my mother handed me a plate of cookies and told me to enjoy them in my room. I took the cookies and ran up the stairs to my attic room, the way they had it set up the ladder to the attic was always open so I could climb up. I had specifically asked for that room, it made me feel like a king living above everyone, and most of all I had a window where I could survey the whole front yard; there had been tons of amazing things I had seen, coyotes fighting, eagles carrying prey, and bears digging through our trash. Along with all these things I had seen I took notes of them, and categorized into folders like “weather” or “animal sightings”. By time I was 16 I had a full box of notes and sightings which sat right by that window. As I walked out of the kitchen with my fresh cookies I thought about snow angels again, and how good I was at making them, when I would get up to my room I would look down at the snow angels and take notes of how much better I had gotten at creating them. Once I got up the ladder I set the cookies down and began to remove my winter apparel, that is when I noticed something move in the treeline, I stopped and ran over to grab the notebook to be ready write down what it was. I was expecting it to be one of the foxes from the hole 30 meters into the woods, but that definitely was not the case. I squinted my eyes trying to find it but it seemed to disappear, after a few more moments of searching I gave up and went back to dressing into some comfortable clothes while munching on some cookies thinking about snow angels. That is when it happened, I turned around to grab my pajama shirt, but I saw something in my window and not just outside it was standing right up against the glass looking right at me, standing at what I estimate was at least 2 and a half meters tall with cracking gray skin that looked like tree bark. Its only facial feature were two empty holes that still felt as if they were staring at me. It’s arms were open as if they were inviting me outside, asking me to play, go make snow angels. I jumped back and screamed at my loudest while backed up against the window trying to hide behind a pile of clothes. It all gets hazy from here but from what I can remember the room began to vibrate, not like an earthquake or anything just a subtle vibration that tingled my feet, then came the noise, it was quiet at first but then got louder and higher in pitch. After that there was nothing I guess I had blacked out. I was brought back to consciousness by my mother shaking me asking if I was alright, i could see she was worried and crying, “how long had I been out?” I thought. My mom was hugging me and crying and saying she had called the ambulance and I would have to go to the hospital. When I was boarding the ambulance I noticed something odd, my snow angels, they were gone. I stayed in the hospital for a few hours until they diagnosed me, apparently I had some kind of seizure, but there was no way… those snow angels could never just go away that fast, and the snow wasn’t falling they were just gone replaced with flat white snow. From then on out I was diagnosed an epileptic, which made my life even more of a personal hell. They told me that when I started to feel how I felt before I blacked out to bite my tongue to help me feel better, so I did, every time I saw that… creature I bit my tongue but it was to no avail, it seemed to follow me throughout my years. I would look out my window at night and the flood light would show its shape just watching me, but I only blacked out if it got close, like it was antagonizing me showing me it had power over me. The problem I had growing up was that no one else would ever see it, because it would only show when I was alone, every time I told my mom about it she always told me “You are just seeing things because of the seizures hun, just bite your tongue and then everything will be A-OK.” then she would smile and go back to baking some new pastry. I do miss my mom, she was a great woman, what happened to her… it was just wrong, but poetic at the same time. I will always remember the trickle of blood that ran down her face and landed into the snow of the mountains, she was still shaking in my arms but there was nothing I could do. I reached forward and closed her eyes and whispered “Just bite your tongue ma… just bite your tongue and everything will be A-OK…”. From that moment on I vowed to never get close to someone again, I didn’t want to hurt anyone else, I was a danger to myself and others.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **“Something wasn’t right.”** This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact.   ***   #Last Week: Spotlights Wonderful stories this week. You never cease to amaze me with the unique take on the prompts and the many ways of interpretation. I hope to see more feedback going around the thread this week. Thank you, as always, to everyone who took the time to leave a comment for another writer. - - Submitted by u/rare27 - A traveller searches for buried treasure. - - Submitted by u/Thelettre7 - A man contemplates his options as he heads to a new town for work. #Two Weeks Ago: Spotlights You all did a great job all around. Thank you for being so patient! - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - A poignant tale about the childhood memories and wishes we hang onto. - - Submitted by u/patheticoptimist - A story about an ominous sacrifice as one prepares for his future.   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.