He lets out a sigh, staring at the ceiling he said to himself "lying next to the woman you love, watching a movie and just cuddling, isn't that what they call goals ?" She chuckled, "What's gotten into you today?". She got out of the bed and picked up her clothes from the floor. "Going already?" he asked, "Can't you stay a little while longer?", extending his hand out to her. Placing her hand on his she replies, "I told my mom the party will end by 6, I should be home by - ". He pulls her towards him and she falls on top of him. "Lying to go to your boyfriend's home - can't say if its a "Hash-tag" goals" he teased her as he pulled her closer to himself. "Really? What's gotten into you today?" she asked, snuggling her face on his chest. Taking in a deep breadth, her sweet smell filled him, then staring back at the ceiling he let it out "Just thinking how perfect you are, how you saved me..." Smiling she raised her head to face him and placed a kiss on his cheek,"I'll have to go now or they'll kick me out of the house" she tried to get up but he held her tighter. "Say you love me" he said gently caressing her cheek, he got up and sat next to her. "We've only been going out for two weeks now..." she softly replied and leaned her head on his hand's touch, she got up and gave a fervent, long kiss on his lips. "Anyway i have to go now...". She tried to get up once more and he hugged her again. "Say you love me" he said in almost cracking voice, looked straight in her eyes. She saw his eyes water, she thought she had hurt him by refusing before but this only turned her off,"If that's what you want to hear...I love you" she said rather bluntly. "Now" he said as a tear escaped his eye, "Say your heart belongs to me" She didn't like that "You are being creepy" she said "Your heart belongs to me? Isn't that a bit cheesy?" she mocked him. His loosened his hands around her and finally pulled them away. She got up and started gathering her things in her bag, as he laid down again, facing up, with right hand hiding his eyes. She didn't want to leave on a bad note, so she went back to him and leaned toward him and placed a kiss on his forehead. Holding his face on her hand she said "I'm sorry, didn't take you for an emotional one." His right hand swiftly grab her neck, "I'm not" he replied as he reached down the pillow and pulled out a knife from under it. Gently caressing her face with the knife and looking up at her "Say your heart belongs to me, my love" he commanded. She was scared, her breadth got heavy but she didn't try to get out of his grip. She just froze their in fear, "Please...get that away, you are scaring me" "That is the plan, sweetheart" he said as he placed the sharp edge of the knife on her throat. "Now say your heart belongs to me" He pressed the knife a little on her neck. "Why are you doing this?" she muttered, now trembling as she realized she was truly in danger. "I just want to live" he mumbled, for a brief second she thought she saw some pain in his eye but it was quickly replaced by acrimony "Bitch, Say your heart belongs to me or I'll slit your throat" He said and pressed the knife harder, cutting her a little and a tickle of blood trialed down her neck. She looked down at him, she couldn't understand what was going on in his head, she didn't want this to go on any longer, she thought if that would satisfy him and he would let her go, she might give it a try, "My heart belongs to you" she mumbled. He loosened his grip on her and let both his hands fall on his side. As soon as she was free she grabbed her bag and ran out of his room, as she was running away towards the stairs she could hear him cackle and bawl, somehow simultaneously. She felt her chest tightening but kept running, soon she could feel a burning sensation on her heart, panting she urged herself to keep moving, but everything was going blur, she could feel cold sweats running down the side of her face, as sudden exhaustion took over her and she collapsed, tumbling down the stairs. Back in the room, he was still lying on his bed facing up, as the last drop of tear fell from the corner of his eye to his already stained wet pillow, "I did like her" he sighed, "But I wanted to live, you know ... I just wanted to live so bad" he said staring at the ceiling, as thing starred back at him and nodded, as if conceding.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Prompt: Set your story at a shopping mall.** - **Bonus Constraint (10 pts):** An argument occurs during the story This week’s challenge is to set your story in a . You can use any part of the location as long as it is the story’s main setting. You could set it in a clothing store or nail salon, at a pretzel cart, an employee break room, or even on the roof! Maybe it’s a haunted mall, or in an underground city! Feel free to think outside the box and use the setting creatively. The bonus constraint is not required. **Next week, we’ll be doing a *fall constraint table*! If you have suggestions for words/objects, character actions, settings, or other fall-related constraints, *DM me*!** You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below (no poetry) inspired by the prompt.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. Use to check your wordcount. - **Leave feedback on at least one other story by 2pm EST next Monday. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday. *(Note: The form doesn’t open until Monday morning.)* ###Additional Rules - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read the stories aloud and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and/or listen to the others! Everyone is welcome and we’d love to have you!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Weekly points are awarded based on the following system. **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **15** pts each (5 crit max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 75 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | No cap | **Bay’s Nominations** | **20 - 50** pts | First- **50** pts, Second- **40** pts, Third- **30** pts, plus regular noms | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 2 in-depth, actionable crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.* *Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.*   *** #Rankings for - u/AGuyLikeThat - u/rudexvirus - u/wileycourage ###Crit Stars - u/AGuyLikeThat - u/Peter_Palmer_ - u/rudexvirus - u/wileycourage *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Experiment with tropes and different genres with the brand new feature on r/WritingPrompts! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Simon and Peter were the only kids in their neighborhood. They found each other out of necessity more than actual affection for one another. But what started out as a playdate forced by their moms, did eventually grow into a bond with some measure of fondness. By the time they were 8 years old, they were inseparable. In school, they sat next to each other, until the teacher moved them for talking too much. They walked home from school together, ate after school snack together, did school work together, and played together. When they could manage it, they ate dinner together and stayed at each others’ houses too. Their parents were just glad to have them out of their hair most of the time.

It was on one such afternoon, that the boys started an adventure club. It was very exclusive, as they were the only two members. In this club, they would explore the unexplored; see what they had not seen; go where they had not gone. It is entirely possible that they were reading too many adventure stories, but as long as they were out of the house and home by dinner, they were free to do as they please. Simon found an old leather helmet in his garage and donned it for their adventures. Their first adventure was to Peter’s garage, to see what kind of gear they could find him.

They tried on a ski mask, a bicycle helmet, and a snorkel but nothing quite had the adventurous zeal they were going for. Then, out of a dusty old box, Simon pulled a dusty on black derby hat. He wiped the dust off of it and shook it to try and clean it more thoroughly before placing it on Peter’s head. It was perfect. Simon and Peter donned their explorer’s gear and ventured out into the neighborhood, in search of unexplored frontiers. On the edge of town, they found an old house. Its windows were boarded up and missing their glass. There was once a deadbolt on the door but it had long been forced open by some enterprising hobo. Carefully looking out for any snitches, they snuck into the dilapidated building easily. Inside, they found less treasure and more animal droppings. The carefully scoured the main floor, looking for anything left that was worth finding. They contemplated going upstairs but after inspecting them, they decided it was probably best to stay on the ground level. They left with nothing to show for their efforts. They were soon called home to dinner and their adventuring for the day came to an end. They parted ways and returned to their homes, shelving their adventure chapeaus for the evening. Simon fidgeted through dinner. His mother tried to ask him how his day was but he was not forthcoming. His dad asked if something was wrong, but he insisted he was fine. As soon as he was done eating, he bolted to his room, where he spent the evening planning their next adventure route and daydreaming about the treasures they would find.

School dragged on that day for both of the boys. Lessons were even less interesting than usual. Lunch was less tasty, even the desserts their moms packed. Even recess had lost some of its usual charms. There was just nothing to replace the pure joy of exploring the unexplored. No one understood like Simon and Peter understood. Finally, it was time to return home. They skipped their snack, they fibbed and said they had no school work to finish. They grabbed their hats and hurried on their way. Simon had told Peter that he had a route all worked out. Peter was satisfied with the plan and went along with it without arguing. First, they would go to the old bridge over the river. No one ever went there anymore and there were sure to be some coins on the banks of the small river. Then, they would go to the field where all the big kids played their sports and explore under the bleachers. Finally, they would go to the woods behind the grocery store, surely there was treasure to be found.   They eagerly headed out to the old bridge. It was a simple footbridge, made of wood with some iron pieces holding it together. The river there was never more than three feet or so wide. There was nothing in this part of town anymore. Their parents had told them that across the river there was once houses, a playground, and even a store or two, but everything closed down and was demolished. They say someone was going to build apartment buildings or something, but they never did, so the land sat, now overgrown by local flora.

Though unused, the bridge seemed safe enough, it was only a few feet above the water anyway. The boys crossed it several times, their eyes on the surrounding ground for anything shiny or noteworthy. Simon found a coin. Neither of the boys knew where it was from, though that did not stop them from speculating. He pocketed it and they pressed onward. Once they had decided that they had found all there was to find at the bridge, they went across it and over to the abandoned field. You could still find remnants of foundations to buildings and other rubble. They sifted through it and kicked rocks for a while. They were still conducted their grid pattern search when an old man came walking down the path. He was already across the bridge by the time the boys spotted him. Peter saw him first.

When Peter pointed him out, Simon just shrugged his shoulders. Unless he tried to stop them, they had no interest in what an adult was doing. Peter, ever the follower, shrugged as well and continued his hunt through the grass and gravel. But the man walked up to the boys without hesitation. “What are you boys doing here?” his tone was inquisitive rather than accusatory. “Exploring,” said Simon. “Oh is that what you are doing?” he said, a smile on his gray whiskered face. “Yeah, it is,” confirmed Peter. “Well have you found anything yet?” he asked. “Ye-” Peter started to answer but Simon cut him off. “Not really, we’re still looking,” he shot Peter a meaningful look. If they told this man what they found, they may have to give it up to him. Simon was not in the business of sharing his treasure with anyone but Peter. “Oh well that’s too bad,” he said, consolingly. “Maybe you would have better luck somewhere else?” “Oh, well, we think the woods behind the grocery store,” said Peter proudly. Simon shook his head, disappointed in his colleague. He had no idea when to keep his trap shut. “I really don’t think you boys should go there,” he said, furrowing his brow. He checked his watch and seemed alarmed at what he saw, he began to walk away. “Good adventuring boys, but do stay away from the woods!” He waved as he walked away, not waiting for an answer.

They weren’t going to give him one anyway, Simon just shook his head and turned his attention back to the ground.

“Don’t you think we maybe ought to listen to him?” Peter asked. “Don’t be silly,” Simon responded, “He’s just a grumpy old adult, trying to ruin our fun.” “Ok..” replied Peter, unconvinced. All of their searching in the field that was once buildings turned up a silver dollar and a pendant with no chain. Disappointed in their haul so far, Simon insisted that they skip the bleachers and go straight to the woods, where they would surely find something worth finding. Though uneasy, Peter agreed and off they went. The woods behind the grocery store were proper woods, not just some trees and grass in the middle of town. Behind it, was forest as far as was visible. There was a hiking path through that woods, but it did not come near the grocery store; that would sort of ruin the hiking experience. At the end of the tree line was the expected garbage collected by the wind from the store parking lot. The boys stepped over that, keeping an eye on it just in case it held something worth finding. Seeing nothing, they ventured into the thick underbrush.

They spotted several squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks. They even glimpsed a deer before it ran off. This was more of the adventure they were looking for. They found funny looking mushrooms which they knew better than to touch. They found a tree that had been struck by lightning and fell, its charred body resting on the forest floor. They found some caterpillars and let them walk all over their hands and arms. This really was a proper adventure. But they knew it was getting late, and they were further from their neighborhood than they should be so they soldiered home. Luckily, they made it back before dinner time, so they had not worried anyone. But they had vowed to keep their adventure in the woods a secret. If that old man did not want them in the woods, their parents probably didn’t either and they were not about to give up a prime adventure spot just because some adults wanted to be poopy pants. Simon knew Peter had a hard time keeping secrets so he had Peter ask his parents if he could have dinner at Simon’s house, they agreed.

They just sat down to dinner when Peter started to itch. He tried to scratch quietly under the table, but it was no use. It was getting worse. Soon, Simon was scratching as well. They soon drew puzzled looks from Simon’s parents. “What is wrong, boys?” his dad asked. “You’re awfully fidgety.” “Looks like you have something itchy…” his mom said. “Come over here,” Simon climbed off his stool and obeyed. His mother had to inspect him for only a few seconds before she started laughing.

“Where did you boys get to today?” she asked. “Just around town,” Simon said. “What is it dear?” Simon’s dad asked. “Well, it appears that the boys picked up a nice case of poison ivy,” she said a smile on her face. “Where did you pick up that?” he wanted to know. “The woods behind the grocery store,” answered Peter’s small and guilty voice. “Well,” she said, “that place is absolutely crawling with the stuff so that makes sense. Let’s get you boys cleaned up.” She had them wash and put on clean clothes. She smothered their now red and rashy skin with some sort of soothing lotion and put the poor, uncomfortable boys to bed. They were laying there, awake, when Peter spoke up. “Next time, let’s listen to the adults, ok Simon?” “Yeah, ok Peter.”


“You’re a very brave young woman,” Mr. Weiss told me. “Babysitting alone under the current circumstances.” “What circumstances?” I asked. “Well, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard of the maniac who escaped from the asylum last night.” My eyes widened, and it felt as if most of the organs in my thorax had suddenly vanished. Many words could be used to describe me, but brave did not fall into that category. I stood motionless in absolute terror until his wife burst out laughing. “You poor thing,” Mrs. Weiss chuckled. “He’s messing with you of course. There’s no asylum anywhere near Wellington Hills.” The couple reveled in my panic for what seemed like an eternity, cackling heartily as I made every effort not to lash out at them violently. Good thing their daughter was sitting in the living room with us, forcing me by her presence to watch my language. “You really got me there,” I said, faking the shadow of a smile. “I do get scared quite easily. My big brother told me too many babysitter legends when I was younger.” “Big brothers,” sighed Mr. Weiss. “Aren’t they the worst? Caroline’s brother couldn’t even sacrifice his social life for one night to watch over little Sybill.” “Stop it Peter,” said Mrs. Weiss. “My brother babysat tons of time before, it’s about time we actually pay someone to watch over her. Sybill is at that age where girls can be a tad difficult sometimes, aren’t you darling?” Little Sybill sat completely still, her face unreadable. She must have been around eight years old, I thought. Something felt off about her. This was my first time in the Weiss residence, and the kid hadn’t said a single word since my arrival, remaining perfectly steady in the living room couch. The family lived in a vast, spacious home – a manor, really – with long halls and a majestic marble staircase that curved and circled the open second floor. In my babysitting experience, eight-year-old children rarely acted difficult. If anything, most would have been running around such a house ecstatically at all times, turning it into one big playground. Had my parents been able to afford a place like this, my babysitter would definitely have found me swinging from the chandelier. “Alright, time for us to go,” said Mr. Weiss. He got up from his white leather armchair and walked over to his daughter, the orange glow from the fireplace dancing across his face. “Promise me you’ll behave with Lexie, my little darling. Dad is counting on you. Remember what happens to little girls who cry wolf.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye daddy,” said Sybill in a soft voice. I heard a hint of tremor escaping her throat. In no way did she seem difficult, quite the contrary. It was a tremor of anxiety mixed with an otherwise sweet voice. “What about me?” asked Mrs. Weiss. “Goodbye,” added Sybill, her voice growing colder. Her mother frowned, prompting her to complete the sentence. “Goodbye mommy.” Mr. and Mrs. Weiss moved into the atrium. Minutes later, I heard the entrance door closing. Sybill and I were now alone. “Would you like to play a game?” I asked her with the cheerfulness expected from first-time babysitters. “I brought Monopoly.” “No.” I had apparently overestimated the popularity of property transaction games with young kids. At first, I assumed this was the attitude her mother had warned me about, but the more I looked into her eyes, the more I got the impression Sybill just did not trust me. “How about video games? Your father told me you liked Mario.” “No.” “There must be something you’d like to do. What’s your favorite game?” “I don’t have one.” “Everybody has one.” She stopped replying and avoided further eye contact. “Okay,” I said, increasingly desperate. “We can watch TV for now. Hopefully there are no escapees from the asylum on the news. Let me know if ever you want to talk, we can also just have a chat.” The reference to my frightful episode did not amuse her. I turned on the TV and resolved to watch it in silence. At the very least, the news anchor’s voice dissipated the tension and gave both of us the opportunity to stop pretending like we had to interact. We waited diligently until the end of the newscast, faking passion for world politics. “Done,” I said. “Time for bed now. Thankfully, no dangerous prisoners on the loose. Your mom won’t get to laugh at me again tonight.” “She’s not my mom.” I muted the TV. The silence had now reached whole new levels of awkwardness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, your father never mentioned she wasn’t your biological mom. You know, I have a stepmom too, and she never replaced my biological mom in my heart, but we’re a lot closer now. We’ll get there.” “That’s not what I meant. I did have a mom. Until yesterday.” Her voice betrayed a tremor again and sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m not sure I understand. Where did she go?” “To the basement.” “And then?” “Then… she never came back.” “That’s impossible. Mrs. Weiss…” “Whoever this woman is, she’s not my mom, I swear. She just showed up this morning, and dad tried to convince it was her, but it’s not!” Her conviction was such that I almost believed her for a split second before coming back to my senses. It couldn’t me. Mr. and Mrs. Weiss were clearly very familiar with each other, the kind of familiarity that only comes from several years of marriage. I grabbed Sybill’s hand. “Sybill, I think you might be a little confused.” “Why don’t you believe me? You said we could talk.” “We can talk about true things, not about lies. Is this why your father told you not to cry wolf? Do you come up with stories like that often?” “It’s not a story! Mom went down to the basement last night, I saw her, and she never came back. I think…” She stopped short. Whatever it was she wanted to say, a part of herself would not let her. The girl’s frail little body quaked, agitated by some horrifying thought that she refused to share. I grabbed her shaking hand and did the best I could to put up a brave front. “What is it? Is there something you’re afraid of?” “I… I…” After many a failed whisper, she took a deep breath and steadied. “I think my dad killed her.” My blood ran cold at the words. “That’s a very serious accusation you’re making,” I replied. “It’s your father we’re talking about. Did you go down to the basement to see if she was still there?” “Of course not! I was terrified.” “It’s very inappropriate to invent such stories.” Her story sounded completely ludicrous of course, but there was only one way to disprove it. For once in my life, I had to be brave and go see for myself. *** The basement door swung open, creaking with every inch along the way. I shone my flashlight down the sinister wooden stairs and carefully inspected the concrete floor from afar. From my squatting position in the atrium, I could see nothing out of place: no body, no blood, no signs of struggle. A murder could not possibly have taken place down there. “You see Sybill. Everything is completely ordinary.” “Maybe he cleaned up after.” “You don’t just clean up murder scenes overnight, Sybill. Please, I need your help with this. I need you to admit this was just your imagination.” “I know what I saw.” “Very well. Let me go down and take a closer look.” “No, please! What if you don’t come back either.” “Sweetie, of course I’ll come back. We’re alone in the house. I’m just going to prove to you once and for all the whole ordeal was nothing but a bad dream.” “I’m begging you, don’t go!” Before she could even finish, my feet were already making their way downstairs. The steps cracked every time I moved. Cobwebs dangled from the low ceiling, which did cast upon the room a certain eeriness, although this had to be expected from a basement. Mr. Weiss might not have been a murderer, but he was certainly a hoarder. Every corner overflowed with old furniture and rusty appliances. There were enough coffee tables and armchairs to fill up another living room altogether. For a brief moment, it felt as though I had stepped inside a cave of wonders. Until I heard his voice, that is. “My wife did like to redecorate a lot.” I spun on the spot. Mr. Weiss stood up from a dusty loveseat in the shadows behind the wooden stairs, a body bag in his arms. A tuft of hair poked out of the topmost opening in the zipper. “How sad she had to leave us. No more decorating on the horizon.” “You… I don’t understand, you left an hour ago,” I shakily blurted out, dropping my flashlight under the shock. “I’m afraid what you heard was the basement door,” said another voice, cold and calculative. This time, Mrs. Weiss emerged from the shadows. “You already met my new partner of course,” added Mr. Weiss. “As you saw earlier from our little joke, she has a taste for terror. It’s something we have in common. There’s nothing like a good real-life scare. Not all maniacs come from asylums.” Mrs. Weiss reached down her left stocking and pulled out a small dagger before approaching in a slow, bloodthirsty walk. At the sight, my thorax emptied itself again, this time leaving behind a void so overwhelming I could barely make out the room around me. As I backed up into a washing machine, it took everything I had to keep breathing. “You can’t do this,” I said, my voice breaking with every word. “Sybill’s upstairs, she expects me.” “Don’t worry,” replied Mr. Weiss. “My daughter often cries wolf. No one ever believes her.”


“Dear whomever it may concern,” the words are written flawlessly on the white paper. “My end is near, and I have given a lot of thought to this. As many people know, I am a billionaire. My family has not stopped bugging me about my will. I could not decide which family member would inherit my money or any of my other belongings. That is why I have decided to leave everything to whoever finds this letter. The reader of this letter will be a curious young soul. All I ask from whoever finds this - do not be selfish. You are one of a kind. Do not forget to dream. I hope your life gets brighter, and you remember who you are. If you hurt people, you will be in grave danger. Best wishes, Arthur Ainsley.” He puts down the pen from his and puts the letter in an envelope and proceeds to rest.

Sarah put on her heavy coat and hid her face. She hated herself. She hated how everyone treated her like garbage. She is tired of the pain and ready to end it. Sarah runs outside and looks to the abandoned mansion. That is where she planned to end everything. As she grew closer, she felt odd. Something wasn’t sitting right. She continued despite the feeling. She opened the door slowly and was astonished by what she saw. The place was not creepy at all. In fact, it looked like the inside of a castle. Curiosity got the best of her, and she continued to study her surroundings. She noticed at the end of the corridor was a room. It looked like a study. She found herself walking closer, and unable to walk away. At this point, the strange feeling in her chest grew. Her heart pounded harder and harder. She went into the study and relief overcame every fiber of her being. Sarah noticed a small envelope on the floor. Of course, she had to pick it up. She unfolded the paper from the envelope and began mumbling the writing to herself. “Grave danger. Best wishes,” she paused. “Arthur Ainsley. Wait, isn’t that the guy who died twenty years ago?” Sarah was confused. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew it was big. She wasn’t ready to end her life anymore. She had to tell her mother. She flew out the door, down the hill, and to her house. Her mother was surprised to see her. “What are you doing, Sarah? You should be at school!” Her mother scolded.

Sarah was catching her breath before she answered. She didn’t know what to say, so she gave her mom the letter.

“This is a joke. It can’t be possible.” “I know, Mom. I don’t think it’s a joke, though. It is really happening. I found the letter. I am going to bring it to city hall.” “Go ahead. I have to leave for work, sweetie.” The city hall was right in front of Sarah. It was a tall white building with a bell on top. It looked more like a church than anything else.

She stepped into the building.

“Hello, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice came from behind the desk.

“I found a letter from Arthur Ainsley.” “Oh, that’s weird. I don’t think he left a will, but I can get you to discuss this with the mayor.” “Okay.” She led me to a small room and let Sarah in. She told her to take a seat. Sarah waited approximately thirty minutes before being let into the mayor’s office.

“Have a seat, please,” the mayor said. -”Mr. Mayor, I found this letter, and I don’t know if it’s real or not.” “Let me see it, please.” Sarah quickly handed the letter over. She watched the mayor read over the letter and watched his expression change.

“I did not realize he left a will. His family will not be happy about this. I cannot believe an eleven year old has just become a billionaire.” “Excuse me, I am thirteen.” “Whatever, well it looks like you are now a billionaire with a mansion.” Sarah’s mind clicks. She cannot believe it. She decides she will use the money to her advantage.. She can gain friends this way!

I don’t have to be alone anymore! I can finally have friends! I don’t have to hate myself! Sarah quickly leaves the city hall and runs home. Her mother is still at work, so Sarah goes to her school. It’s time for her social studies class, so that’s where she heads. Everyone watches as she sits next to the most popular girl in school. “Excuse me, freak, what are you doing sitting next to me?” Olivia scoffed. Sarah smiles slyly, “Oh, I don’t know. Sitting next to the second richest girl in town.” “Ha, you mean first richest girl in town.” Sarah looks her dead in the eye, “You mean you have more money than a billionaire?”

“There are no billionaires in town, so joke’s on you.” “Really? Because I am.” Olivia burst into laughter and the whole class followed her cue. Her voice turned more sarcastic and dry. “Oh, really? You, a dirty, worthless, nobody has that much money? I don’t believe it.” “I inherited all of Arthur Ainsley’s money and his mansion.” “How?” Her voice was a whisper now, “I found his will. So, how does it feel to be second to me?” Olivia only scoffed and looked away. Then, all of the sudden, students were asking Sarah

if they could be friends. They all wanted her. Sarah realized it was only for the money and not for her. They could care less about her. Sarah decided she didn’t want any of them to be her friend. None of them actually wanted to, anyway. She couldn’t stand the thought of being alone around so many people. She thought they were disgusting, greedy pigs. “You know what? Stop! None of you will ever see any of my money. I will not share with you guys!” To be continued…. **PART 1 OF 2**


It's amazing what the shower can hide.

She steps in, chucking her blood soaked clothes into the hamper. It had crusted over on the way home, with everyone's eyes turning away. Even the homeless man on the street corner, Clevis, the most relentless man she knew, always staring her down for change to get a bottle of beer, had averted her gaze.

She turns the water on warm. Her bruises cry out as she makes circles with her wash cloth. The blood flakes off, and she sits on the floor of the tub to cry. Nobody can hear her crying behind the stream of the water. That's the way she likes it. The landlord pays the water bill, and he can pay for half an hour of sobs, until her skin becomes that of a raisin, and she can forget the sins that man committed on her. She feels violated. She feels abused. She wonders if she can drown if she plugs the tub. It doesn't work. Two weeks pass, and she finds herself back in the shower, water dripping down her face. If you ask, she will say it is from the faucet. Nobody bothers to ask. She saw his face at the coffee shop today. Turns out he also likes chocolate crullers. He caught her eye, and for a moment the recognition didn't flicker, with her sunglasses covering her face. But then it did, and he stuck his finger through the hole of his doughnut, in and out until he's satisfied with her squirming.

She gave her doughnut to Clevis. And now here she sits, sobbing in a tub because the memories come flooding back, not caring how hard she has worked to repress them. Her stomach rumbles, because she never got to eat her doughnut, let alone anything, but she can't bring herself to get off the floor of her shower. It's a good thing she's not paying the water bill. Another two weeks pass. She thinks she is finally able to stand in the shower. Her legs wobble, and at the scent of her strawberry shampoo, she almost caves. The smell reminds her of her tears. Her tears remind her of the incident.

Why had she walked home alone that day? Bolstering herself against the wall, she takes a breath. She doesn't think, and exhales through her mouth as the water pours down, and everything tastes like soap.

She spits to the ground and slides down into it. She's not ready to stop crying. Two months pass this time. She was caked in sweat from her run around the neighborhood. The therapist said it would be good for her to take up a hobby, clear her mind. So far it's worked wonders. Today she took the route past the coffee shop. The chocolate crullers had cried out to her, and her mind flickered back to that day.

Lacing her shoes tighter, she took off. She stands there, stomach growling, thinking about that doughnut. That man had stolen her innocence. Was she really going to let him take her favorite food too? In, out, in, out, had gone the finger. The shower rains down cold, until she can blame her shivers on the water. She wraps the towel around her body and stands in front of the mirror. "I am not powerless," she tells her reflection. She wishes she could hear it echo back. Six weeks disappear, and so does her midsection. There used to be a small bulge, but now as she turns to the side, it almost seems a bit concave, as if someone has scooped out her insides and ran off with them. She turns frontward and studies her thighs. They don't rub like they used to. They're long and lean, like those runway models she used to make fun of. She always swore they didn't eat, and ran off fumes all day. Had she fallen in with their crowd? No, she's thin now, but still not pretty. She can see the scar he left her. She escapes behind the curtain, and lets the water heat up. Tracing the scar, her lip trembles, and tears fall. It's time to let the shower pour. So do her eyes. Half a year has passed since she met him. Half a year of wondering why she didn't take Janet up on her offer to get a ride home. Half a year of sitting in her tub, pretending the shower covers her tears. There's a knock on the door. She ignores it, stepping into the shower. The past few weeks have been fine. If by fine you mean doing nothing but work and runs and sleep. There's no crying though, and she considers this an accomplishment. There's a tattoo on her scar now. It makes her feel beautiful, and she runs her hand along it as she steps into the shower. This time she doesn't cry. The shower lasts all of a few minutes, to cleanse her of her morning run. She throws her hair into a sloppy bun. Today she can face the world. She draws a smiley face in the mirror steam. It's been eight months now. The adrenaline of the tattoo has worn off. It's a part of her, like all the thoughts she keeps locked away.

They're supposed to be locked away. He was at the drug store today. Which wouldn't be a problem, because her therapist has taught her how to handle these kinds of situations. Except he was buying condoms, and when the cashier told him to have a good night, he got that devilish tone to his voice that makes her skin crawl. "Oh, I will." She dropped her iced coffee. Having abandoned her favorite cafe, she had stopped to get her fix, the kind that comes in glass bottles. It had soaked into her leg hair. She's in the shower, removing every trace of coffee. If only she could remove every trace of him. Nine months in, she sits on the edge of the tub. Every day she gets in here, and every day she remembers. These flashbacks plague her. Today she turns the radio on. A country song pours out. It'll be the perfect distraction to her night. She had met a handsome man, and he was the type to kiss on the first date. He had asked his place or hers, and she had feigned ill from the shrimp they'd had for dinner. She gasps and changes the station. Maybe rock n' roll will cure her wandering mind. Her puke washes down the drain. It's Halloween, and she is scrubbing all the green off her skin. Her washcloth is officially trashed, and she wishes she hadn't been the Jolly Green Giant this year.

More like the Sad Green Midget. Her frame is frail from malnourishment. It's more habit than anything really, this not eating habit, as she is buried in work and running to forget that she is working on running away from this man. She had played wallflower at Janet's party, afraid of running into that man again. With everyone in costume, he could have been anyone. She scrubs harder. All of her frustration is making her skin raw. She needs to learn to live without fear.

Given the date, the irony is not lost on her. It's been a year. She woke up and came into the bathroom, laid down in the tub. The water isn't even on. Just the radio, filling her head with noise so it doesn't supply its own. A paper slides underneath her bathroom door.

"Thought you might need something to help you through the day. If you need a shoulder, you know where to find me. -Clevis. PS. You should lock your front door."

Opening the door, she finds a bag sitting on the floor. It's from the cafe. Inside is one broken chocolate cruller, extra napkins.

She pokes her head around the corner. He's nowhere to be seen.

He gave up his daily beer to buy her a doughnut. Broken in half, because you can't stick your fingers through a broken doughnut.

She falls back onto the tiled floor, bites down into the pastry.

This time they're happy tears.


Our perception of our surroundings is limited only to the senses. There are deeper ways humans can feel their way through spaces, and I have never thought to test this about the body. Facial pareidolia for instance, the way the brain constantly seeks out human-like qualities in things that don’t actually have them--There has not been a time that I have been reminded of this ability that does not put me in a state of skin crawling discomfort. No reason really why we do this, we are simply accustomed to human faces, our own faces, the faces of our mother and father. Perhaps some find solace in the presence of things that look like them. It just perplexes me how no one seems to find this phenomenon as unnerving as I do. I hate the way I am able to make out the three slits of a power outlet as two long, thin, open eyes and a frowning mouth, and how picture frames can be mounted onto a wall in just the right formation to make the wall look right at you. Looking too deep into the psychology behind this might have been why it's been keeping me up these past nights. “It was around 2:40 am.” “And what were you doing?” “I was staring at my hands and watching the room around me get big, the room was dark but light flooded under my door. I, keep them on in the hallway.” I didn’t like having to relive this. “I was making the room get darker with my eyes to help me sleep but I couldn’t. No matter how dark the room is I see them. Everywhere! there's faces, it’s like I’m being watched.” The office, fortunately, was minimally decorated and had plain walls, off white with mild yellow discoloration presumably from sun and age. It was my third appointment and around the time the afternoon bleeds into evening and I still don’t think I have communicated well enough to my therapist how frequently I see the faces. I mean there is not really a medication that can stop myself from seeing them, no amount of therapy could ever make me feel okay about seeing them. The issue is that it's just progressively gotten worse and worse that my wife is starting to worry about how I’ll be able to keep up at work with how restless I’ve gotten at this point. Everything around me just keeps getting more and more human-like. Objects started to appear with eyes that glossed over and creased on the lids with the slight bruise toned capillaries speckled throughout the surface of them. The eye slits of power outlets squinted and the frown of a mouth hole curled up at the sides and smiled almost like a pretense to how mentally torturing their existence is to me. On my drive home from the therapist I tried not to think at all. I’d close my eyes if I wasn’t behind a steering wheel. I’d close my eyes forever if the faces didn’t draw themselves there too. It was as if my brain was a projector casting the most nauseatingly, horrifying film on the screen that was the backside of my eyelids. I parked and sat inside my car for a while looking first at the front of my house, then down at my hands focusing only on my fingertips because with just a slight downward motion of the eye I’d be making eye contact with the face my watch formed with its detailing; maybe spiral again at my reflection in the surface of the glass, blending my face into the watch’s. That night my wife covered the power outlets. But I knew they were there still, I knew they wanted me to look back at them. I laid in bed on my left side, with my wife to my right behind me. I could hardly look at anything. I could hardly look at the face I’d marvel at each night before bed, I just use the time now to think about when I was still okay with it. I tossed in my sleep and so did she. I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling trying to ignore the millions of faces created by the slightest shadows in the shallow cavities in the wood but I couldn’t take it anymore. I beat at my eyes, I beat at my head I couldn't stand it. They looked just like me, millions of them like the section of stacked masks at a Halloween store but all the faces were me. “Darling, look at me.” “I can’t.” “It’s just me, it will only ever be me.” The warmth of her soft hand spread throughout the cap of my shoulder and my heart rate started to go down. She fanned the back of my neck with her other hand and spoke sweetly to me while I tried to find my breath. “Look at me.” And with a slow turn of my neck I stared myself dead into my eyes.


"When did I choose to come here?" he asked as he stood upon the cliff, looking up to the grey sky. It looked like rain. "Do you really want to know? " asked the older man in the black fedora. He could feel the mans cold blue eyes piercing his back like icicles. "No... I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? " he replied without adjusting his gaze. "Because after this, I'll remember won't I? I'll remember everything." "Yes." the old man said "that is usually how this works." He turned his head toward the man for a moment. He was too bright to look upon, but he could see that hat and those cold eyes. Eyes that had seen the millennia pass, without rest. "Do you know... why do I do this? Walk among them, fool myself into believing I am one of them? " he asked the old man tentatively. "No." he answered coldly, and for the first time since they came here the man adjusted his gaze skyward. "Some believe it is your idea of amusement, or your way of keeping a closer eye on them. You share so little with us now, no one can be sure." He sighed pausing a moment. "I believe that it is your way of becoming more like them." Turning away from the old man, he fixed his eyes on the horizon. He wasn't sure of his reasons either. But as he watched the burning light fill the sky, he knew one thing. He did not enjoy watching himself destroy the world.


Hannah O Connor looked at the invitation on the iPhone screen which lay on the solid industrial style wooden kitchen table. She could sense the bumps of the joins without even touching the table, old habit of rubbing the tips of her fingers left to right while she pondered what to do. “Class of 95!” It screamed. Dear lord had it been so long? Everyone must have changed so much, with the freedoms of youth left beind and the ravages of having children played on the lined faces and stretched bodies of her old classmates. Although sneaky looks through Facebook showed a number of them cheating for sure! Lip fillers and Botox. Seems to Hannah the harder you have to try the older you seem anyway. Stacey, Hannah’s younger sister came into the kitchen grabbed her phone whilst shouting at her two beautiful devil children “Max! Liam! Say goodbye to grandad we have to pop to the shops to get something for dinner before Daddy gets home!” Stacey whirled out, armed with her phone, car keys and armload of bags with kid paraphernalia. Her sister singing “Bye I’ll see you tomorrow” then the beep of the automatic boot opening of the car as Stacey made the bustling noises of a busy working mum who never had enough hours in the day. Sounds of Jim kissing his grandchildren goodbye echoed through the hall, it was a sight to behold. Hannah could feel the love in the air just from hearing the squeal from his only two precious grandchildren. Hannah always felt a tinge of sadness that she herself was never able to have children, she knew her father loved nothing more at Christmas time and other celebrations as a house full of families especially children and the noisy clatter of fun they bring. James. He had been in Hannah’s mind ever since she saw the invitation on the phone. She had seen him a number of times over the years, had seen him grow into the strong capable man she knew he would become. Not classically handsome and with some scaring along his right cheek from the car accident all those years ago, oh but when he smiled! It would melt the hardest of hearts! The corner of his mouth seem to touch his eyes, such a genuine sweet guy. His wife was a lucky lady! Four children seemed to keep him fit, he was such an active dad. His wife Marie was forever putting pictures of their happy family on social media. Hannah was happy for him, even though he was the only person to make her feel truly alive, their happy ever after wasn’t to be. She’d go to the reunion. Hopefully Marie would be there. Hannah’s old best friend from school being there would prevent Hannah doing anything she’d regret! Two days before the high school reunion, Jim O Connor came into his room to look for his reading glasses to read ‘You and me little bear’ to young Liam and Max when he saw Stacey on all fours rummaging through his wife side of the wardrobe. “Honey.. you Ok? You loose something?“ ”Hi Dad, no, sorry, I didn’t loose anything, I was hoping to borrow the dress mum wore to my wedding for the school reunion on Friday night.” “I thought you said that invite was for Hannahs school year?” ”Well yes it is, I know but I was invited too, as I had a lot of the same friends as Hannah from then that I haven’t seen in years and I’d love to catch up, anyway I had no luck at the shops for an outfit“ Stacey moaned. Jim smirked, “you hardly need to buy more!“ “Dad I want to look classy, not like so many women my age in their 40’s trying to pass for being in their 20’s! When I was looking for a dress like mums and I thought maybe I could just borrow her one, it was beautiful and she spent a small fortune on it!” Jim looked forlorn for a second and said “Stace you’re right, it was a beautiful dress, she would want to to have it, Lord knows she would.“ “You sure Dad?” ”Sweetie yes it would bring back lovely memories of happier times“ A yell from downstairs let Jim know his grandsons patience was running out, he picked up his glasses, winked at Stacey “Maybe leave the fancy hat behind though” then hollered “Boys I’m coming go sit by grandads armchair, It’s story time!” Hannah smiled at the exchange she heard upstairs between her dad and sister. Since their mum moved into the care home six months ago after a stroke, it left an emptiness in the family homes atmosphere which sometimes could be hard to bear but it was a lovely nod to the style her mother enjoyed. Even though Stacey was a couple of inches taller than their mother, she would look very elegant in that dress. Hannah actually felt a little pang if envy! She moved from the fireplace where she was keeping an eye on her nephews to make space for her father to perch in his favorite spot to read to ‘his special boys’. “Ah hem, once there were two bears, big bear and little bear...” Jim began as his two grandsons, looking up, eyes wide, smiled, rooted to the spot on the fluffy mat in front of the armchair to hear their favorite story. James looked at himself in tall mirror in the bedroom as he did up his tie. “Marie, are you ready - the babysitters here?” Marie hopped on one foot coming out of the bathroom trying to squeeze her right foot into her black high heel shoe. “Yep nearly ready, God I think even my feet are gaining weight!” Marie complained. She always got quiet stressed about old school reunions. “You look beautiful as ever, you’ll knock ‘em dead! I bet you’ll even have the honorable Judge Sean Sullivan groveling all over you again” ”Stop teasing! He’s not a judge he’s a barrister” James pulled his wife close and smiles but before he could roam his coarse mechanics firm hands on her new dress Marie broke away, “the babysitter...I’ll let her in!” Later that evening as his wife Marie danced and gaggled with old friends, the band played Blurs “Park life” and James stopped in his tracks as he saw Hannah come in the door, it couldn’t be he thought. Stacey smiled at him and held her arms open “James I’m so glad you’re here!” “Stacey! Stacey. It’s great to see you! You look beautiful!” “ You look great too! A bit pale? Anyway I know I was the class of ‘96 and technically I’m gate crashing but I just wanted to see how all of Hannah’s old pals were going, you know, besides I haven’t seen many in years and there’s so many people I never had the opportunity to thank properly after- you know...’ James did know, unconsciously he touched his right cheek forever scarred physically and mentally from a car crash that cost him the love of his life back in ‘95. ”I know I bet people still think I was drinking that night and that the shock of the crash sobered me up“ James said, almost to himself. Stacey stood right in front of James “James that’s enough, you need to let that guilt go, I was there- I saw you leave with Hannah, she had a couple of Bacardi Breezers but you said you weren‘t drinking as your mother told you she’d have your ‘guts for garters’ if anything happened her car” James smiled her lobsided smile and thanked Stacey. “I appreciate that Stacey, I know you‘re right but every now and then I guess I need to hear it out load, hey is your Dylan here?” Stacey laughter, “Are you nuts? My husband miss the golf open to socialize with us- not a chance! When I mentioned it he said he would be feeling sick this Friday night! Cheeky sod! He did say to tell you guys he said hello” ”Tell him he’s a lucky man! A couple of beers on the coach watching sport on a Friday night is definitely more my scene too” James conceded. Hannah stood next to both people in this world whom she treasured the most. it was lovely to hear the easy banter between them. Hannah had long ago accepted just being able to be here and see them was as good as she could hope for. “God it’s good to see you Stacey, you bring so many good memories of Hannah, I feel like she’s here with us“ “You too James, I know she would have loved to see you so happy, oh is that Marie? She is stunning, oh wait that’s not Sean oh what’s his name again...?” James followed Stacey’s gaze over his right shoulder and sure enough Sean Sullivan was trying his charms on James’ wife, whilst she was far too polite to rebuff the overweight bespectacled balding redhead directly, Marie was slowly inching away. “Ha ha some things never change! Sean still has a soft spot for your Marie! I’ll go rescue her, I haven’t seen her since she was pregnant on your first baby!” James as still laughing as Stacey walked over to hold out an olive branch to Marie and for a moment there, somehow it was like the good old days, before that crash and his world changed, it felt like summer 1995 as if time had stood still.


I awoke with a sudden fit of coughing, my throat felt dry and I grabbed for the plastic bottle of water I had left on the side before going to sleep, there wasn’t much left so I took a small mouthful, just enough to rinse my throat, and swallowed. I tasted ash. Panicking, I swung round to where I had put the children to sleep, both were still on the single bed in the corner, the worn-out tartan blanket had been kicked off and had slid onto the floor but they both still had all 3 of our jackets over them for warmth, top to tail with the little ones legs thrown over her elder brother. Both had a slight rosiness to their cheeks so I quickly checked that both were indeed actually breathing before I loosened my shoulders and unclenched my jaw in relief. This had become a morning ritual, the panic and checking for signs of life in my children, not a routine I ever pictured myself undertaking back in the school run days of snack and jacket checks while hurrying everyone out of the door for another mundane, yet peaceful day at our local village school, chatting to other parents about a child-free alcohol-fuelled night out or gushing over 4 pieces of artwork brought home every day from nursery. This felt like a lifetime ago, although it had only been a few months, a mundane and peaceful life was now a happy memory and one we were all grasping to the hope of having again soon.

They should be home by now. My next thought. There’s ash and they’re not home. My shoulders and jaw are clenched again, and my stomach lurches. I lean over and pick up the discarded blanket off of the floor. It smells of dog. I wrap it around my shoulders. I squint my eyes out of the small gap in the makeshift shutters. It’s snowed overnight, I can see a layer of perfect crisp white peeking out from where the ash hasn’t covered it. A perfect example of this life and the last, laying together like some kind of horror story I never imagined myself part of. I look for footprints or even dog prints, but there is nothing, which at the same time brings worry as that means Eric and Glen haven’t made it back yet but is also a blessing as it means no one else has been here either. This new world has me constantly stuck between ironic emotions. I force myself back to being hopeful, for this to be a temporary world. As soon as one of the new wave groups breaks through the governments’ stronghold, surely we will get back to some kind of new normality? A better normality?

I hear one of the children stir and I pull myself back to the present and remind myself to keep it together for their sake. They have already been through a global pandemic, watched a far off war taking place and as far as they understand, it always goes back to normal. This is just one of these things, happening where we live this time. Fine. It’s fine, It’s going to be fine. I pick up the cleanest useable pot and head over to the log burner. The electricity has been off for the past month and we have all of the belongings we need to get through the days just now, moved into the living room, both for warmth and for safety if a quick getaway is needed. By some miracle, we rented a house with a working log burner before all of this, once for luxury, now used for eating, washing, heating, time is looping back on itself. I had prepped a new fire last night for this morning and I lit our final remaining match, said a prayer to the universe for it to work, and set some paper alight, it burst into an orange and blue flame, taking a minute or so for the kindling to catch and I turned away to prepare breakfast while the fire became usable. I tore open a packet of porridge oats and poured them into the pot, along with the last of the carton of almond milk. Hopefully, Eric would manage to get some kind of UHT milk on this trip out, and matches, Eric, please find matches I thought. As I stirred the dull mixture together one of the children sat up.

“Mummy, where’s Eric?”. He coughed.

“Just out getting some shopping, he’ll be back soon, have a drink of water please”. I handed my 6-year-old the bottle of water. “Leave some for your sister just now please, Eric will be home with more soon.”

“Why is there ash everywhere again?” “I think the wind has blown it over from the town with the snow,” I said, trying to avoid telling them why there was ash in the first place. I looked at the hole in the ceiling, caused by a weak spot from the gutter draining inwards, back when this was a trivial problem, now the gutter was completely broken and the rain and wind had created the hole in the roof cladding which allowed us a front seat to the elements…and anything else in the air when it managed to blow through our makeshift towel covering. I wished I’d had this fixed before, but it was always a tomorrow problem, and none of us saw this coming.

“Mummy, I’m hungry”. More coughing from my 3-year-old daughter this time and her brother handed her the last of the bottle of water.

He had taken it on himself to look after her as much as I did, to make sure she was always safe and warm, something a 6-year-old shouldn’t even have to consider. I used to hate their constant fighting, but now, I would love to see them fighting because one of them wants to watch Cocomelon and the other wants to play Xbox.

We eat the porridge in silence, all of us knowing better than to complain about its dull taste and consistency by now.

“Mummy, what are we doing today?” “Well we need to keep this fire going until Eric gets back so we can’t go far”, I reply, not mentioning the ash and potentially toxicity outside that I’m trying to protect them from. “How about we read some books to practice your reading?”

“But we’ve read all these books a hundred times…” my son moans. “Well, you will know the words and spellings off by heart the…” I was interrupted by a bark and clawing coming from the front door. We all jumped. “Eric?” Please be Glen and Eric.

“Stay there please. You know the plan?”. I say, trying to keep the fear from my voice.

I slip out into the hallway and quickly close the door behind me, leaving the room in the semi-darkness we were now accustomed to. The whining comes again and I can see a black and white silhouette through the frosted glass. Glen. I start to quickly unlock the deadbolt and yale locks then the newer additional sliding locks and I open the door just enough to let the ash-covered dog in. I stall for a second before I stick my head around the door. “Eric?” No response so I pull my head back and close the door, making sure to redo all of the locks before I even check Glen over.

“Slightly ash-covered but no visible bleeding or limping, I run my hands over his back and round his stomach. I take his muzzle in my hands and use my thumbs to check his teeth..all there and none broken. I let go, he whines again and nudges my hand. We slip back through to the living room where the children wait in silence. “Glen!” they shout in unison as they rush over to see him. “Where’s Eric? Is he okay?” “He’s fine, he’ll just be somewhere that dogs are not allowed so he will have sent him back.” “But how did Glen know how to get home?” “Because dogs are very clever and have a great sense of smell to find their way home” “But what if…” “Shhh.” I cut him off, “Eric is fine, Glen is fine. Let’s get ourselves ready for the day”. We tidied up the jackets, folded away the blankets and I rubbed down the dishes as best I could with a tea towel until we got water. I brushed everyones hair and we all brushed our teeth with our dry brushes in the name of some kind of normality. I tried to sweep up as much of the ash that had come in the damaged ceiling space and had lain across the living room as I could, and I slipped out the doors and reenacted my unlocking and locking act while I popped it out into the snow and ash layer that was covering the driveway.

I popped some more of our dried sticks into the log burner and we settled down for our story. My son started “Niko wanted a pet. Niko wanted a pet mon..” We all jumped again as a gust of wind swept down the chimney and almost blew out the fire. I rushed over and grabbed a bit of paper from old junk mail and shoved it in the embers, it relit. I restarted the fire using paper and some more dried kindling. We settled down again. “Niko wanted a pet monkey. That way he wouldn’t have to keep asking his parents to take him to the zoo”. As he read, his soothing childlike voice and the warmth of the fire soothed me into an almost meditative state. It must have only been a few minutes when another gust of wind in the chimney and a soft bang and a sizzle brought me back to reality. The wind had brought down some snow onto the fire and it was dying quickly. I jumped up and grabbed some more paper, pushing it in to try and ignite it the same way I had just before, but there was nothing left to ignite it, the snow and resulting water had extinguished the fire. Now there’s an idea I thought to myself and put away for later. I tried to blink away the tears starting to form in my eyes. With no more drinkable water and our last match used, I was going to have to go out into one of the towns or we wouldn’t be around much longer to even need them. Normally Eric would do this, but I was going to have to go in search of him too, he had never been away this long, and I was trying not to let the ash coming from the town and the return of the dog, extinguish my hopes that he would be back. It had been a long time since I had been out for supplies, and I had never had to go alone, we had all gone back in the beginning when it was still deemed safe and we still had family in town. We would need to go in the opposite direction of the ash, I couldn’t risk that. Do I take the children like we used to, do I leave them here with the dog? What was safer? I looked around for some items to trade while I mused this over, I wasn’t sure how things were in the towns now. I slid some dried firewood into a pillowcase, nothing else had much value at the moment. I gathered our empty bottles to refill. I didn’t want to wait much longer in case the snow worsened, or it darkened, also we needed water, fast, and what if Eric didn’t come back? I had made my decision. “Jackets and shoes on, we’re going on an adventure”. The children looked at me. “Are you sure Mummy?” “Yep, I need my best two helpers with this one today” “Okay, Mummy”…they went over and got their jackets and shoes on. “Don’t forget your masks” I added, they patted their pockets to show me they had them. “Come on Glen!” We made our way to the door and I picked up the pillowcase, it was heaver and squarer than before, my son smiled at me. Maybe we can swap some books Mum, you know I love reading to you.

I unlocked the deadbolt. I unlocked the yale. I unlocked the first slide lock, the second, and the final and third lock and I stepped out into the air filled with ash and snow.

“Hold hands guys. Don’t let go of each other.” Fine. It’s all fine. It’s all going to be fine.


I just found 20 dollars in an old coat pocket. There I was, standing on the edge of the bridge in the early light of morning, about to take my final step… and I found 20 bucks. Can you believe the nerve? The audacity of the world at that very moment? The wind whipped at my trench coat and pulled me forward, goading me into that one step; one, tiny tumble. A few seconds of falling, then darkness, and everything would be over. Peace at last. My toes were already peeking over the edge. All it would take was a tiny shift in balance. Now though... now I wasn’t so sure. It's not like it was a five or a ten. A twenty! And I haven't worn this coat in years! Trench coats went out of style forever ago. What are the chances I still had money in here? It has to mean something… doesn’t it? Now I was too far into my head, which is how I ended up here in the first place. With a deep sigh, I looked down at the water below. Darkness swallowed up my vision as I struggled to swallow my nerve. My left hand held me in place as the right tightly grasped the crumpled 20. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Maybe it wasn’t my time yet. My mind swirled as I turned around, putting the quiet river behind me. No - tonight was definitely not the night. Maybe tomorrow. I stuffed the 20 dollar bill into the pocket of my jeans and carefully lifted one leg to swing it over the railing. My other foot slipped, and I confirmed that gravity was still working. Seconds stretched as my old friend panic came knocking, quickly shooed away by instinct. My arm flailed, fingertips scratching the guard rail, seeking purchase - and not finding it. I kept my hand extended as I fell, every fibre of my being grasping towards the cold steel, towards life. I could see safety fading away as my torso and head cleared the bridge. All I’ve done for the past year was think about this fall, but this was not how I imagined it. This was all wrong. Suddenly, my whole body jerked to a stop. The sleeve of my jacket caught on piece of metal, my wrist painfully straining. I heard and felt a small snap, and my arm exploded in pain. Remarkably, the sleeve held. So now I found myself suspended from the bridge by my limp wrist, certain death waiting below; a fate I no longer wanted a part of. If I moved, the jacket might tear… I was helpless. Ironically, my life was no longer in my own hands. The absurdity of the situation hit me and I couldn't help it. Laughter began in my stomach, and soon found its way to my mouth, erupting in a laugh so real, so full of giddiness that it barely sounded like me. This was unbelievable. Less than a minute ago I was ready to take fall willingly, and now, I just want to get back up. All because of this stupid, wonderful old coat. I can't even imagine what she must have thought when she looked over the edge and saw me hanging there, laughing. Maybe she was the type to process information logically. Maybe she looked at me and thought “What a crazy idiot.” Whatever she was thinking, she voiced only one thought out loud. "OH. MY. GOD." I looked up, and the shock of seeing someone else choked my laughter to a stop. Her face was cute and bright, dark hair tied back into a ponytail... and her eyes were large and round. To be fair, that could have been because she was staring at a man quite literally hanging by a thread. For some weird reason, I felt exposed, naked. I'd rather have a nun catch me masturbating then this pretty girl see me now, at my lowest point. "Don't move!" she screamed, as she disappeared from view. That was already my top priority, but every muscle locked up as I swayed quietly. The wind moaned softly… no, wait, that sound was coming from me. I clenched my jaw and forced myself into silence, and as I did, I could hear the threads on the sleeve tearing slowly. I closed my eyes and for some reason, all I could think of was the next few weeks. If I didn’t fall in the next few seconds and somehow, I got back on the stupid bridge, would there be cops, firemen? Could I go to jail? Therapy, at the very least, and I might lose my job *(I worked so hard for that office!)* and then what? What next? Something closed on my arm. I screamed from shock and pain, but my hand became a vice grip as it found someone else’s. “Don't worry, we have you." *We?* Fantastic. A crowd of people to witness my humiliation. All that was left was for someone to film this. Wiry, lean arms pulled me up by inches, and soon my face peeked over the side of the bridge. I saw there WAS a crowd… and they were all wearing short-shorts. One woman had her cell phone out and pointed at us. It was official: this was my nightmare. There were two men pulling me up while another man and a couple of women held onto them from behind, forming a small human chain. For some reason, my brain had time to process that it wasn’t a crowd of short-short wearers, but runners. *They must all be part of some jogging club,* I thought as my heart pounded out a drum solo that would have made Neil Peart proud. *I should really work on my cardio*. As my torso cleared the railing, we all fell into a pile on the other side. When I landed on my shoulder *(damn it)* there was an audible and physical sigh of relief from the crowd. For a few seconds, there was even a smattering of applause *(for my rescuers I’m sure, not for the crazy guy who can’t even fall off a bridge properly)*. I closed my eyes and just lay there, shaking from adrenaline, pain and exhaustion. I was tingly all over, my wrist felt broken, my shoulder was in agony, but I could still feel the crumpled twenty dollar bill in my pocket. It felt like a million bucks.


As a preface, I started writing again after a long while because of D&D. This short story is an excerpt from the journal of a bard who met the mythical heroes of Tarkan, The Wyldguard, while they were still flesh and blood beings. Names and races are from D&D but do not follow the main canon of D&D. Enjoy, constructive criticism welcome.  My time with the Wyldguard has proven interesting to say the least, it is a wonder to have proper parchment to write on again. While I was imprisoned by them for justifiable reasons, I took to composing and chronicling even though I had no ink or paper.My initial time among them was short, as an anti-magic field soon revealed what I tried desparately to hide. I tried to plead my case but they would not hear me, calling me scum and a deceiver. I was on the cusp of getting a thrashing when suddenly a suit of forest green armor wielding a greatsword appeared over my prone frame in a silvery mist. I thought I was surely about to be smote by this seemingly animated creature when I noticed it had taken a protective stance over me and it was snarling visciously.Then, in a low, calm growl, it said, "Stay your blades pups or come see how I deal with scavs. I saw this one aiding the wounded from OUR clan and I will NOT see another healer dead this day. She will continue to aid the wounded in the medical chambers. Any who cause her harm will answer to me. Remember that looks are deceiving." It was then that he removed his vine-laced helm and I gasped and so did others who were seeing him for the first time and did not know him. I knew him though, I had heard the stories.Standing tall at around 8 ft, his frame was massive but he held himself like a tightly wound serpent ready to strike at any moment. Jet black fur covered him head to toe and with a short crest of hair atop his head that was a brilliant silver. His face was dignified, wise, and stern. His right eye was the color of steel with a gaze just as sharp. His left eye seemed like it had been slashed out in battle and bore three scars the covered the left side of his face. They glowed against the sleek fur with a faint orange light. It was when I saw that wound I knew. The Ravenous Traitor, who rose up against the great Gnoll warlord Yeeongzhu. The Gentle Alpha, who was raised by the Archdruid Melora and rode into battle as her Furyvine. The Ensaring Fang, who stole away gnolls to his own clan. The only gnoll in existence who had ever risen against The Clan and lived. His true name lost after being exiled, he was only known as Slag the Kinslayer. In my shock at seeing Slag, I failed to notice myself being gently lifted up by a pair of strong hands and found myself looking up into the huge grin of the kobold punter, Pelor. "Come on then, Bahamut's sent for you, all hands, scales or not on deck she says," he said before leading me through a series of vine covered hallways to a large room with many tables occupied by wounded. Pelor brought me towards the back where we found Bahamut finishing up with a patient. She motioned for me to sit, her eyes clear and surprisingly warm. "You know healing magic?" she asked in Draconic. "Y-yes," I stammered in kind, "I am trained." "Mm, no doubt," she said, her eyes appraising me. "What was someone like you doing at that port?" "Fleeing. I...I am not welcome among my kind. I was left to die," I answered, pulling down my tunic a bit to show her the top of the scar on my chest where I had been stabbed. Her eyes narrowed a bit at that. "I see. One more question. Can you read this?" She held up a scrap of parchment written with the word "key" in the language of my people. It wasn't an odd question, most of my people were illiterate, too busy fighting for the glory of the empire and all that. I was one of the odd ones in the clutch. "Yes," I answered simply. She broke out into a warm smile at that. Pelor broke in, "Come on now Bahamut, you know I can't speak your language well yet. What's the story?" he asked a bit peeved. "Our new friend here is a trained healer it seems. She will be put to work tending to the wounded. Assign her a guard, one Dragonborn and one of Grummush's men if you please. We don't want a scene like earlier, I remember what it was like when the Metal Clans and Slag's kin came to join the Horde." She stood up and gestured me to follow. "What's your name yuan-ti? Can't have people just call you scaleback, we'll have another brawl on our hands." "S-Saldana...Saldana Brokenscale," I answered.  Bahamut's eyes and mouth widened the slightest bit, "......I see. Welcome Saldana." Then she hugged me. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I could still feel the tension in the air when I entered the medical hall. People stared at me but said nothing. I assumed it's because of my guards that escort me everywhere. Rushak, a mountain of an Unok, Kalesh, a bronze Dragonborn of the Metal Clans, and her diminuitive kobold companion who only went by "Drek". I understood Bahamut's reasoning for these specific guards. The Dragonborn Metal Clans and the Unoks had faced significant resistance when they first entered the alliance of The Wildguard due to their nations' proximity to the Empire. It was only after a strikeforce of Unoks, Dragonborn, and Kobolds came to the rescue of a besieged fort on the Golden Sea that The Wildguard fully accepted them into their ranks at the command of Melora. My guess is that my escorts and their peoples had faced their share of discrimnation and suspicion. My skills as a healer kept me relevant, or so I thought. When I wasn't in the medical hall, I was confined to a small, spartan room and allowed access to my journal. Kalesh, Rushak, and Drek rotated guarding me while I was in my room. Rushak was a quiet and reserved person, always courteous to me but very duty-oriented I think. Kalesh was an amicable Dragonborn who seemed to take his job very seriously, as if he had something to prove. He was the most harsh to anyone who gave me trouble while I worked. The Kobold, Drek, was an amusing little fellow. He usually stayed silent and helped me with my work, surprising me with his extensive knowledge of healing and anatomy. He was also the one who would put my patients at ease if they were wary or harsh with me. I can safely say I began to feel comfortable around these three. The days had become routine during my...isolation, though Bahamut would frequently visit me and speak with me about healing or some such minor thing, until one night she asked me to accompany her above ground outside. I followed, not really having a choice. As we walked out into the night, I happily took in the sight of the clear sky framing the Three Sisters, then noticed that there was a group gathered nearby in the clearing that served as a courtyard or training ground depending on the day. As we moved closer, I realized I was in the presence of the entire Wyldguard. All of them were there, Kord the halfling, Silvanus the elf, Pelor the goliath, Moradin the dwarf, Grummush the Unok, Dacia the human, Slag the Furyvine and the head of the Wyldguard herself, Melora. I immediately froze in shock. This group had started as a mercenary group that favored helping the commonfolk in the Freelands, only to rise to lead the resistance against the Empire. Though the rest of the group was fairly well known, all that was known about Melora was that she was the most powerful Archdruid in the known history of Tarkan. Her gaze locked with mine as Bahamut and I approached and I could feel myself wilting under that steely gaze. This woman was fierce and wild, yet held herself with an almost....animal-like grace. All of us stood in silence until Melora said something that surprised everyone present. "Saldana Brokenscale, Tarkan has need of you. Will you join our ranks to save it?"All members of the Wildguard present went stockstill with perplexed looks on their faces, save Bahamut, Pelor and Slag. "Now hold on a fucking second Mel, why should we agree to this?" growled Moradin the dwarf, cracking his knuckles. "Easy there Mory, she has been doing good work and her guards seem to like her," said Silvanus. "She has skills we need you runt, you know that. She is skilled in healing and can read the tongue of the snakes," Kord answered curtly. "Who are you calling runt you midget?" snapped Moradin. "Both of you knock it the fuck off. Your height fight is tiresome. Lady Melora, how do you know we can trust her?" asked Dacia, who seemed like he was battle ready in the dead of this night. "Saldana, please show them your mark," Bahamut suggested softly. I looked around at those gathered, noticing there was no malice in their eyes to my extreme surprise. Instead, they were looking at me with curiosity. It was then I realized that I was probably the first yuan-ti they captured alive, as the warriors of my people would rather take their own lives than be captured by the "lesser" races. I hesistated for a second, then pulled my tunic down to show them my mark, the mark of a race traitor. It is a jagged scar right above my heart, with a brand around it that read "traitor" in my language. "I am....different from my people. I only wish to learn and chronicle what I see. This was deemed unacceptable by my clan as I sought to learn about the free peoples and their cultures. At first they sought to turn me into a spy." Some of the members present bristled at that, only to be quieted by Melora in an instant. "I resisted, I never wanted to conquer, I only seek the true history of Tarkan. I was betrayed by my clan when they learned I had refused to enter the Shadowskins. My refusal was....petulant, I made a scene and was branded a traitor to the Empire and given the name Brokenscale. I was then branded and run through and thrown from the top of the Black Walls. I managed to survive and immediately fled here to the freelands. I mistakenly thought I could hide here, but the Empire's reach is farther than I realized," I said breathlessly, relieved to finally tell my story. The Wyldguard murmured among themselves for a few minutes until Melora stood and walked up to me. I forced myself to meet her intense gaze and saw she looked at me with a pure kindness and understanding in her eyes. I immediately felt at ease, feeling a warmth to her presence. "Saldana Brokenscale, you have been through much. You have stood against what you believe to be wrong. Tarkan has need of people such as you. The Wildguard needs an asset like you. Will you join our ranks and fight to free this land and it's peoples?" As she finished, she pulled out a lute, my lute, taken when I was captured, and held it out to me. "Yes. Yes, I will help you," I said, accepting the lute. "I will aid you in any way that I can." "Excellent," said the archdruid, breaking into a beautiful smile. The other members rumbled their approval and began moving away, leaving me with Melora and Bahamut.


thinking of taking up writing in my spare time. please tell me what you think of my writing, and let me know what i should do to improve. this is the first thing i've written. thanks. how batman details the struggles you will go through when working in a corporation. every enemy from batman can be considered unique in their own right, not necessarily due to their design, but their overall motives as well. but while these villains might be considered strange should they be encountered in real life as they are in the batman universe, however, you might still encounter them when working for a corporation... not necessarily in the form of physical anomalies, but as internal struggles. working for a corp, you might notice that you are most likely never happy nor will you ever be happy (unless you're one of those happy go lucky people who pretend that nothing bad ever happens). this causes many internal struggles. but before we go into the specifics of those struggles, we need to take a look at the main character of the story; batman. Bruce wayne is a typical businessman by day, and a warrior against evil forces by night, showing the businessman image to the world, and harboring a dark secret while fighting constantly with his enemies alone, hiding his true image from the world. this is you, as a corporate employee. putting up a facade in order to maintain your life, while in constant struggle against a horde of enemies each with their own agendas. and the first of these enemies you may find yourself battling against would be your own dr. Hugo strange. The backstory of Dr. Hugo Strange is that he is a deranged psychologist with a feverish obsession for the caped crusader, trying to figure out more about him. the Doctor's obsession drove him to discovering batman's weaknesses, his true identity, and once tried to replace batman altogether. he is a representation of individuals who will do their best to harm your chances at that promotion, as in the corporate world, competition is a bad thing, and it's easier to get rid of the competition than it is to outshine them. every team in every division in every corporation is writhing with individuals like this, regardless of where they are on the corporate ladder, if you are an obstacle in their way, they will try their best to bring you down, especially when you are a threat to your direct line of command or management. which brings us to ra's al ghul. Ra's al ghul is the leader of an order of assassins, and has been a mentor to Batman, however the two do not agree on ideals. batman disapproves of the decisions made by ra's al ghul, and as a result, the two are sworn enemies. as you climb the corporate ladder, you too will experience this between yourself and your managers or old mentors. majority of the time, your conflict will arise from the thought that "management are idiots" or "i don't agree with management's decision" just as batman does not agree with ra's al ghul's methods. usually, this disagreement leads to the desire to usurp your management in an effort to improve conditions, which will indefinitely mean long hours spent at work. and spending long hours at work will cause a division in your personal life, just as poison ivy has caused a division between batman and robin in the past. poison ivy is an eco terrorist who believes that humanity should be replaced by plant life. but in this instance, we are not referring to her motives, rather her methods. she creates tension between batman and robin, which affects their ability to work together. this is similar to the problem you will have to face when you attempt to climb the corporate ladder. having to constantly decide between going out with friends and working a few extra hours for brownie points with your boss, your friends will appear to be less forgiving and patient with you. this tension will make you consider performing some more underhanded tasks in order to get the same results in half the time, as penguin does occasionally to earn batman's tolerance. Penguin is a mafia boss, representing the more unscrupulous decisions you might encounter along your way. he often sells intelligence to batman, which is why batman may tolerate penguin more than his other enemies. just as you may occasionally decide to make a decision that is not entirely considered moral to advance your career. every once in a while, this decision will surface, and depending on the corporation (banks especially), the higher up the corporate ladder you go, the more unscrupulous you have to be to advance easily. mind you, you don't necessarily HAVE to be unscrupulous in order to advance, however you will constantly have to show courage, as fear will be one of your main challenges. Scarecrow's real name is Dr. Jonathan Crane, a professor of psychology and psychiatry. as a result of being bullied as a child, he has a fascination of inducing fear into his victims. one would think that bullying ends in highschool, and maybe in a physical sense it does, however, corporate bullying is a very common problem in society. just as with highschool bullying, the reason why corporate bullying still exists is due to the fear of what will happen to you if you report it. as corporate bullying is usually done by people who you would report the problem to, you're left with fewer options, and thus you are left with the fear of seeming unhappy, as unhappiness is detrimental to corporate growth. your unhappiness will continue to grow, and considering your financial dependance on the corporate job, you will constantly have 2 minds about your situation. 2 face (harvey dent) was originally the white knight of gotham, the district attorney of gotham city attempting to clean up the streets and create a better gotham by the book, and not by fighting it head on as batman does. however, during the trial of a mafia boss, the mafioso threw acid at harvey, and as a result, half of his face had burnt, thus creating the two-face persona. when you start your first job at a corporation, your intentions are honest and clear. you know what it is you want from the company, and that is what you pursue. however, there will be a time when the corporation spits acid in your face (metaphorically speaking. imagine how horrible it would be if that was literal), and you will be at constant conflict with yourself about being at that corporation, whereas you also see the necessity of it. just as harvey, you will no longer care about what's right, but instead, you will want what's fair. but you will come to learn that the world is not fair, and corporations make their foundations on unfairness. and through all this, knowing that you don't want to be there, but you know you can't leave easily, you will become angry. angry at your situation, angry at your company, and angry with yourself for being there, and putting yourself in that situation in the first place. and of all the things that you will go through, anger is the one that will break you. Bane. the one who broke the bat. he is a massive foe, addicted to the steroid/drug called venom. the steroid greatly improves bane's physical strength, however he must take it once every 12 hours or suffer debilitating side-effects. the steroid also has bane easily slip into a steroid-induced rage, leaving all in his path destroyed, including batman himself. working for a corporation, you will be under constant stress, and stress leads to a lot of suppressed anger, which in turn leads to more stress. this is why some people take up smoking or drinking, and some take up drugs, all as a way to relieve stress and improve performance at work by being less stressed, which in turn leads to addiction, and as a result, more stress if your addiction is not satisfied. for some, alternatives are not an option. they just simply continue to suppress the anger and stress, and do their best to carry on, trying to keep the anger and stress from breaking them. but very soon, you will notice that no matter how much you try to bottle up, only so much can fit in a bottle. and when the bottle breaks, it's your own sanity that you must face. the joker is the embodiment of madness. there is no one particular origin story, as joker himself is unsure (he is cited saying "sometimes i remember it one way, sometimes i remember it another. if i'm going to have a past, i prefer multiple choice"). of all the enemies batman has to face, the joker is the most dangerous, and the reason why so many people like him so much is that we all relate to him in some way. we all have a spark of madness, and occasionally we have to do our best to keep it under control, but we aren't always able to. and when you work for a corporation, the madness will claw at you, desperate to get out, and sometimes it will become almost impossible to contain it. you undoubtedly will see this happening even to those around you, some will have nervous breakdowns and some will have a moment of insanity at the office. but at the end of the day, you will have to fight it.