#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: It's time for another mashup! **Fall Constraint Mashup: Choose at least 1 thing from 3 different categories below.** You’re welcome to mix and match! These were all suggested by your fellow writers! | **No.** |**Object** | **Phrase** | **Setting** | **Misc. Constraints** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | 1 | apple cider| It’s never what you expect | pumpkin patch/corn maze | features a scarecrow | | 2 | jack-o-lantern | The wind rustled naked trees | a quarry or lake | a transformation occurs | | 3 | homemade stew | It was the right thing to do | Grandma’s kitchen | features an ‘animal familiar’ | 4 | costume | How easy it is to forget | a highschool event | a secret is revealed | **Bonus Constraint (15 pts):** Choose 1 of the numbered sets above. Sets are listed horizontally (that’s 1 thing from each of the 4 categories). *Note: You are welcome to interpret the constraints creatively as well as mix and match categories! You can add onto the phrases and words, change tenses, etc. And as always, be sure to follow all sub and post rules.* 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/Brknside - u/OldBayJ - u/MaxStickies *Note: Due to being an active participant myself, points and votes have also been verified by another mod.* *** ###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.


A lonely young man and discouraged young woman make a pact in high school. If they are both single at thirty they say, they will get married. Several years go by, she gets engaged but breaks off the relationship. He does not find love, so the day of his thirtieth birthday he calls the woman and asks if she is seeing anyone. She laughs and says No. Me neither. You know that was a joke right? she says. He responds with an affirmation, adding they should try again when they are forty for they are still young and much of their lives is yet to be lived. Shortly after this conversation the woman is introduced to her roommates brother. They hit it off and are married. They have kids, careers, buy mid-sized cars and a house in the suburbs they can not afford. She works as a receptionist at his practice. One Saturday she lets herself to find him inside a partner. Papers are filled soon after. Property is split. Visitations figured. Now the kids have two Christmases. In a month she will turn forty. The young man strings together one relationship after another. He uses dating apps, work connections, friend’s sisters. They all bring sex without intimacy. His partners are for the most part willing and present. The fear is his. He cannot commit because if it. He does nothing to address the fear. Therefore on his fortieth birthday he calls the woman and asks if she is still single. She is but not is not a good time, she says. She talks about her divorce, about her pain and her need to be single for a little while so she can figure out who she really is. Why don’t you call me when we’re fifty? He laughs through the phone. Immediately the man dialogs with his inner voice. He confronts himself in the mirror, seeing a lot of middle age and not a lot else. He is inspired to get help. He finds a therapist he likes, a young asian woman with a doctoral degree from Columbia. She is expensive but their work pays off. The man address head on the issues of his life. He opens up about his absent father and overbearing mother. He learns to trust, others and himself. He begins a spiritual practice of twenty minutes of silent mediation morning and evening. He encounters his true self, the eternal place within. Living from a more authentic center he begins to flower. He opens himself to more intimate relationships. When vacationing with his girlfriend in Italy, he cries as she holds him. They are married on the plane ride back by a minister who happened to be sitting next to them. A stewardess served as maid of honor, one of the pilots was best man. The people traveling first class sit and wonder what’s with all the commotion happening in coach. On the ride home from the airport, their cab is sideswiped by a drunk driver. Both the driver and girlfriend are killed. Waking up in the hospital the man learns of wife. Only death consoles him. He wants to be reunited with his love. He wants to relive their Italian romance. He wants to unplug himself from the machines keeping him alive. On his fiftieth birthday he calls no one and no one calls him. The same thing happens the years of his sixtieth and seventieth birthdays. However at age eighty three there is knock at his door. Standing in his porch is the woman. She’s remarried but her husband has recently passed. I lost the one I wanted to keep, yet the one I don’t want is still around she says. They pass the time as friends, talking about their lives, their pains and triumphs and the lonely desperation of youth. They confess their ill-fated affection of one another. We didn’t get it right this time says the eighty-three year old man, adding do you think we will get another shot? I suspect not. I suspect the same. Would you like to hold hands and walk to the park? I would like that very much. The people of the park remark to themselves the loveliness of the cute couple in love at their twilight and they pray they might be so lucky.


 ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD  I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I checked my watch. I lay in bed for a few minutes more. Not because I was reluctant to get up before the birds had even begun their morning songs, but because I wanted to plan my route one more time. To see the route in my head, to plan my timing, my pacing. To get my strategies fixed solidly in my head. To calculate the risks, the dangers, the obstacles;

to map out Plan A and Plan B and just because that was the kind of person I was, Plan C as well. I was a cautious person by nature, but the nature of my hobbies and interests mandated that I look at every eventuality, every possible outcome, every contingency, every likelihood of unforeseen events.

I checked my watch.  Once I had my plan firmly fixed in my mind I sprang out of bed and quickly went into the washroom to perform my morning ablutions. Showering for exactly five and a half minutes. Five minutes was not long enough to kill any bacteria that might have settled on me during the night and six minutes would have potentially dried out my skin and caused inflammation or created itchy dry skin or eczema.

After five and a half minutes my shower alarm went off and I turned the alarm off on my watch and got out of the shower. I returned to my bedroom and dressed in my gear. Black track pants and a shirt that fit like a glove, and a black hoodie with multiple pockets. I had packed each pocket carefully the night before and memorized the placement of each object in them. I reached for my socks and running shoes and tied my shoes carefully, ensuring I double-knotted them. Falling down was not an option. Failing was not an option. I checked my watch. Getting everything right was key. I quickly made my bed, adhering to the hospital corner protocol that regimented my life. I carefully folded my night clothes and tucked them neatly under my pillow, then fluffed the pillow again making sure the corners were square with the bed. I checked my watch. I rummaged around the kitchen, restless to accomplish my goal for the day. Realizing my need for calmness, I

closed my eyes and took several calming breaths. I focused sharply on the tasks to come, knowing that my well-laid plan was flawless. Self-confidence surged through my being, quickly followed by power and peace. I was fearless. I was bold. I was brave. I was dauntless. I was intrepid. I was omnipotent.

I repeated this statement two more times. This was my mantra. I often repeated it throughout the day as if it were a sacred text, my shibboleth.

As a very young child, before my diagnosis, I was very impressed by the childhood story of The Little Engine That Could. I read this book three times every night. When faced with difficulties, the little engine uttered the words, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’

and was therefore able to accomplish the goals set. Now that I was grown, I had created my own mantra that I uttered to encourage and believe in myself. I repeated my mantra three times every night before I went to bed and three times every morning before breakfast. The mantra was also helpful during the day when things would go awry. I turned to the cupboard and prepared myself a light breakfast. One to give me energy and stamina for the day but not to weigh me down. After my breakfast, I washed and dried the dishes and put them precisely back in the cupboard in their appointed places. I checked my watch…again. I heard the song of the first bird of the morning and checked my watch, the bird was right on cue. I liked this bird, it lived on a branch of a tree just outside my window and every day it started its song at exactly the same time. I nicknamed the bird Timex. And its mate Rolex.

The previous birds that lived in that nest were not at all cognizant of the importance of the ritual of their morning songs, and therefore they were quickly eliminated. A little arsenic in the bird feeder did wonders to relieve me of their lack of attention to detail and their appalling lack of routine. I checked my watch one more time and saw that the clock had struck the hour … figuratively speaking. The double zeros at the end made it an auspicious time to leave the house. I quickly stepped out and locked the door, turning the handle and checking it five times before I was sure it was properly closed. It had been a windy night and I adjusted the welcome mat outside the door to make sure it was flat and square with the house, and properly centered with the middle of the door. That accomplished, I approached my car and after doing my circle check five times to make sure that all the tires were properly filled with air, and there were no scratches from the tree branches that had blown down during the night, I set off. The distance to my rendezvous was not far, and I was very familiar with the route, having traveled it every morning for the past several weeks. My destination was a track,

it was generally used as a sulky track by the local fairgrounds during either the Fall Fair, Spring Fling, or tractor pulls and demolition derbies in the summer. It was generally abandoned at this time of day except for a few runners who diligently used it rather than running on sidewalks or roads where the chance of being hit by a car in the predawn light was always a distinct possibility. I pulled my van right up beside the track, opened my doors and left the lights on. The morning sun was just starting to cast a glow on the horizon, but it was still too dark to see much of anything. The lights from the van would offer a little light to serve my purposes.  I checked my watch. It appeared that I was the first to arrive, but that too had been planned. I

knew she would arrive any second; that was one of the things that had drawn her to me, her punctuality. She checked her watch precisely the second she started her warm-up laps and the precise second she started her run. She frequently checked throughout her run and adjusted her speed accordingly.  I took a slow lap around the track while I waited. The track was lit by the headlights of my van. I knew her routine because I had studied it for the past month. She was always one of the first to hit the track. The other dedicated runner had taken a tumble a few days before and I had not seen him for the past few days. I was counting on this. The headlights of a car pulled into the driveway as I made to start my second lap. It was her. She parked close to the track, quickly exited the car, and without any preamble, crossed to the track and started off at a slow pace to warm her muscles up. I knew she would do two complete laps at this pace before she would make her move. Once she was warmed up her laps were at the speed of a gazelle so I had to get my timing right. I slowed my pace when we were both in the long stretch and bent down as if to tie my shoe and let her pass me. I raised my head confidently and we nodded to each other as she passed me. I quickly rose and followed her knowing she could hear the pounding of my feet. We had run like this for several days now, so I was a known identity. A fellow runner, someone she was somewhat familiar with. As we came up on the straightaway where the cars were parked I snuck my hand into my pockets and pulled out a cloth and a small canister. Speeding up to right behind her I grabbed her and pinned her against my chest with one arm and with the other arm I snaked it up and planted the cloth over her mouth. She fought like a tiger until the chloroform started to take effect.  I actually used a variant as chloroform usually takes about five minutes to become completely effective and render one’s victim unconscious. Bz 2 on the other hand was a more effective incapacitating agent, being more potent and more effective even than ketamine, which is odorless and tasteless, not that that was a factor in a snatch-and-run situation.  Despite her top physical condition, she was on the petite side and after she collapsed in my arms, I carried her easily to my van. I had left the sliding door open to facilitate the transfer. It had of course bothered me to no end to leave the door open but sometimes the end must justify the means. The overall goal or result had to outweigh an unclosed door. I had wrestled with this part of the plan for several days but felt that my Hero, Niccolo Machiavelli would approve this decision. I was therefore willing to bend my rules for the greater cause. I lay her down on the single mattress that I had put in the van expressly for this purpose. She was worthy of this comfort and I considered her my priceless treasure.

I glanced around the area and found that the track remained empty just as I had surmised.

I

pulled a roll of duct tape from my pocket and bound her hands and feet. Lastly, I tore off a smaller piece of tape and covered her mouth, making sure that she could breathe through her nose.

As soon as this was accomplished I did not linger but headed out of the area at a reasonable pace, it was always best not to draw attention to oneself by unnecessary speed. As I pulled onto the County Road, I noticed that the dawn had finally broken.  The return journey to my home took little time. Living on a twenty-acre rural property with numerous outbuildings offered a plethora of choices for her accommodations but I preferred to keep her close to me so I had renovated and fortified my basement. The windows were barred and boarded up from the outside, with numerous screws. A bathroom and shower had been added to the basement and I had purchased thick fluffy towels and an array of cosmetics and hair accessories. No expense had been spared to make her comfortable. I had even purchased a treadmill and a recumbent bike which were at the far side of the room. Her bed was a beautiful cream colour with a matching dresser and night table. The duvet was a pale lilac colour and I had taken great care to find several accent pillows in coordinating colours. I had purchased many outfits for her and these filled the drawers.

She would learn to love her new home.

I carried her into the basement and lowered her carefully onto the king-size bed, removing the duct tape.

I gently smoothed her long hair off her face and covered her with a light blanket from the end of the bed. I sat in the comfy chair in the corner and waited patiently for her eyes to open.

I checked my watch, but I had all the time in the world.

We had all the time in the world.


A young woman stood alone in an illusion; a hologram of vast blue space with clouds swirling in the distance. She was standing before the projector of this calming scape, having come to the floating cube to be interviewed. “What is your name?” the bluish-grey box asked, an array of smaller holographic cubes around it. It was a Cephalon, a digitized life form. Creatures of light and memory. The small blue boxes floated in a pattern that the woman could not clearly identify. They projected a sense of thoughtfulness as if pondering the small human’s existence. “Manmi,” the young woman answered, looking straight ahead. Her stance changed from akimbo to a more regal bearing as she introduced herself; her arms crossing behind her back and her legs coming together. She had been led here by a friend and intended to answer the Cephalon’s questions as precisely and honestly as was humanly possible. “Manmi…what?” the Cephalon asked, her voice mechanical and curious. Manmi could hear a warm tone through the artificial voice, echoes of the person Cephalon Suda once was. The young woman in red and orange wanted to answer the question, but there were gaps in her memory. Information that had yet to recover. Whatever had happened to her while she was in captivity still prevented her from recalling all of her past. Her history. Her identity. “Unknown, ma’am,” Manmi answered. Normally, Manmi would have felt extreme discomfort when failing to fulfill an objective. Be it a military order or answering a simple question, Manmi had always suffered a negative physiological reaction when she felt as though she were not living up to someone’s expectations. Fortunately for her, it was easy to keep her nerve when speaking with most Cephalons. There was something about their lack of humanity and highly analytical voices, absent of judgment, that kept her at ease. There were no eyes peering at her. No pressure. No presence. “This is fascinating information,” Cephalon Suda’s holograms pulsed excitedly, “Please tell me what you remember. Start from the beginning.” “The beginning…my childhood?” Manmi asked, wanting clearer instructions before engaging further. “No,” the Cephalon said, her tone more crisp and matter of fact, “I have ample data on the Zariman Ten Zero already categorized and indexed. We will revisit your information on that subject at a later time. What do you remember from waking up after the Old War? This will be new information for me.” “Waking up…” Manmi repeated, organizing her thoughts before nodding, “I remember…smoke. Bright flashes of light. The sound of energy weapons discharging. I was restrained…” she winced and shook her head, “No, *encased*. I was encased in a container of some sort.” “A cryopod, perhaps?” Suda offered, “Cryopods have been detected in greater numbers lately.” “Yes!” Manmi said, her eyes widening. Memories began to resurface as thoughts connected around that word, “I was put in-” “I know why you were placed in cryostasis, Tenno,” Suda said, silencing Manmi, “What happened when you were awoken?” “Apologies,” Manmi bowed her head slowly, “I was awoken by an alarm. The cryopod’s power was failing. Through the glass I could see a battle; energy projectiles and beams cutting through the air less than a meter above the glass. The power was reconnected and stasis resumed. When I woke up next, I was on a table…” Dark green eyes slowly opened under a bright white light. Pupils contracted as the mind behind them struggled against the fatigue. Her mind and body wanted her eyes to close, but curiosity and a sense of danger kept Manmi alert. She tested her muscles by slowly turning her head towards one side and then another. The sluggish response did not bode well if she found herself under attack, but the brain fog was starting to clear up. The room was slightly obscured by the holographic visor of her Zariman suit. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. She focused her eyes on the heads-up display to activate its functions but they were in the midst of rebooting. With a blink, she deactivated the visor so that she could better observe her position. Still having the suit on at all gave her a sense of security. That was a much-needed feeling since her surroundings, now that she was seeing clearly, were *far* from comforting. It appeared to be a medical facility of some sort; bright lights, reflective metal panels on the walls, and a faint scent of chemical cleaners and ozone. She tried to sit up but did not move. Her arms were similarly paralyzed, though with some slow flexing of her hands she determined that she was not *actually* paralyzed but instead restrained. Unable to move her head to see the extent of her restraints, she focused on her breathing and tried to move each extremity one by one as much as she could. There was motion just outside her field of view, and as she tried to move the source of that motion came closer. Several automatons had ceased whatever functions they were previously performing and came closer. Manmi guessed that they were ready to restrain her if she escaped based on observing them *not* moving to remove her restraints. One of the machines floated overhead, moving to block out the light that was shining directly into her face. It was a disc of some sort that projected a hologram down toward her. A man’s face with more eyeliner than should have been legal and what appeared to be a painted-on mustache. Manmi was not entirely sure what she was looking at or who this man was, but the way he smiled made her very uncomfortable. “Praise the Void!” the hologram said, its enthusiasm overwhelming, “The Tenno lives! I was worried the doctors would have to force their way through that *remarkable* suit of yours to make sure you were all in one piece! Dreadful about the forced decryostasis you had to go through but don’t worry! I had my best and brightest work on you.” “Decryo…what?” Manmi asked, her words slurred slightly as the muscles in her jaw that had not been used for an unknown amount of years struggled to keep pace with her overstimulated mind. The lights, the sounds, the man…it was all so much. Too much. “By the Void, it was a *nasty* business. Your cryopod was found by one of my crewmen during a routine patrol of one of my favorite shipping lanes. He logged your cryopod but in doing so caught the attention of a Grineer freighter, who started to snoop around for you. I’ll spare you the details, but one thing led to another and, before ya know it there was a firefight at Tesera Outpost! It was rather splendid, really, but you *did* cost us quite a lot of assets. But don’t worry, I’m certain you’ll be able to more than makeup for the investment we made by saving your life! OH! On that note, don’t-” Manmi had stopped listening to the rambling face as she planned for her escape. If she could not break free of the table restraints herself, she would break the entire table with Vauban. Closing her eyes, Manmi focused on her connection to her Warframe, on the Transference Procedure, and the Somatic Link. But as soon as she did she felt a sharp, *excruciating* pain shoot into her neck. It burned its way down her spine as fast as lightning and every nerve ending in her body exploded in agony the likes of which the warrior had never experienced. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Manmi shrieked as her body convulsed and her vision blanked out. The pain lasted for barely a second, but that second lingered well beyond what it should have. She lay still for a long moment before she realized that she stopped breathing and gasped for air. The first thing Manmi saw when her sight returned was the overly painted face shaking from side to side, making a *tsk tsk tsk* sound. “So impatient! I tried to warn you, Tenno. Please refrain from attempting to contact your Warframe again. It probably doesn’t even exist anymore,” the man shrugged, “Besides, you are now an official Investment of the Corpus. We can’t have you vanishing out of here, so we affixed a little accessory to you. Any attempt to harness the Void in any unwholesome manner will have certain repercussions. You just experienced one of them and I will waive my consultation fee to advise you that it would be in everyone’s best interests, yours especially, to not try to find any of the others. But let’s not dwell on that! Instead, we should rejoice in your awakening! Now we can take you someplace more comfortable for your recovery.” The hologram moved away and Manmi felt the tension on her limbs release. She lifted her right arm and saw a metal cuff still around it and before she could even think about moving any other part of her body, her arm was pulled to the side and the thin metal band clanged against a metal gloved hand. Someone in a technical jumpsuit ‘helped’ Manmi off of the table by magnetically attracting the cuffs on her wrists into each of its hands. An identically clad person - *were* they people?- did the same with her ankles and Manmi was carried between them. “Crewmen! Take our Investment to cell seven-two-two-six,” the hologram man said before the projection blinked off. The two bulky jumpsuits carried Manmi out of the room and out into a shiny metallic hallway. They moved with slow, precise steps, making Manmi think that if they *were* people at any point, they were more machine now. She looked around as best she could while they carried her, trying to mentally note directions, branching corridors, and any features of the facility that she could use to figure out her position. There was little to see in the narrow halls but she did pick up on a general grid-like pattern with the layout. The two crewmen carried her into a small room, the magnetic fields releasing her arms and legs. They dropped her onto a bed and marched out, the door sealing shut with a *clunk* and *hiss*. The room was small, stark, and rather barren. The bed was just barely long and wide enough for her to lay on, and the only other feature in the room was a holoprojector in the center of the ceiling. The rest of the room was otherwise featureless. Manmi curled up and pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed, crossing her legs as she took several slow breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. A lot of events had transpired in a short amount of time and her head, while no longer fogged or sluggish, was still confused. Alarms were going off within her but she could not immediately identify the danger. She was a captive, that much was certain. But what was ‘Corpus’? Why was she in ‘cryosleep’? She needed to think. It appeared she would have plenty of time to do that. “Hello there!” a chipper voice sounded from the walls around her. Manmi jumped to her feet in alarmed reflex but immediately regretted it as she fell to the floor almost at once. “Oooo…you should probably not do that for a little bit. Your body is still waking up! We can do some light exercises from the floor if you’re more comfortable down there though.” the female voice said brightly. “Who are you?” Manmi asked as she worked to crawl back into the bed. “Amita!” The voice answered. The holoprojector activated and a red glow appeared around the four corners of the ceiling. A pinkish collection of geometric lines formed under the projector, forming into a small red pyramid that twisted and folded in upon itself with tesseracts at each of its vertices. “Your personal security Cephalon! Well, I say ‘personal’ but I’m actually in charge of all of the prisoners in the 7,000 block! But right now you’re the only prisoner in the 7,000 block, so let’s just say that I’m your personal Cephalon for now!” “Prisoner?” Manmi said, trying to connect the dots. She knew she was a prisoner, but she did not know why, for what, or to whom, “That guy said I was an ‘Investment’.” “Hahaha! Yes, that’s Nef for you. He’s a little eccentric. But I assure you that you are most definitely a prisoner. And it's my job to make sure you stay sane and fit while in confinement. So! If I say ‘pretty please’ will you extend your legs out in front of you and try to touch your toes? Pretty please?” At the moment, Manmi did not want to do any stretches or exercises. She had experience with Cephalons before and knew that there was something off about Amita. She was far too personable, far too attached to the conversation. But if she was like other Cephalons, Manmi knew that she was not going to benefit from trying to refuse. With a million questions in her head, Manmi proceeded to follow Amita’s instructions and stretched out her legs to begin toe touches.


TW: blood, police brutality, violence. Xavier had ironed his black and sleek trousers that morning, by himself, smoking to the Rolling Stones. He had put extra care in choosing his outfit because in those clothes he would have died. In fact, over the black pants, he had a white shirt, candid like a soft cloud, that smelled like fabric softener, a dark jacket that fit him perfectly and made him look less muscular. He had even folded a red and white tissue to put in his pocket. Then, he had hid seven knives, a bomb, two razors and a pair of gloves covered in rubber under all that. Hoping nobody would have recognized a traitor of the crown, he went out in the open, the freezing air of December cutting his cheeks. Using a fake electronic ID code, he opened the metal building’s door. A few dozens of officers who would have happily tortured him didn’t even give him a glance. When the glossy blue doors opened, he entered the elevator. He was glad he was alone. That way, he was sure none of the King’s soldiers  would have seen him get down at floor 280. He stood with his hands clasped in front of his body, unmoving, looking directly into his metallic reflection. The light was blue, inside the palace. His heart was racing in his chest, so painfully he had trouble breathing. He knew whatever he was going to see in floor 280 would have hurt him. Another reason why he had asked Kaneka to go alone on the mission inside the palace, was that he didn’t want any of the boys to see that he was anxious. Of course, since the day he had rebelled against the King, he had known he had lost the opportunity to live peacefully. On floor 280, he was going to meet Tara again. The first time he had seen her, she was wearing a neon miniskirt and sending thousands of volts throw the bodies of a couple of the King’s guards. She had let them plummet at her feet, grabbed Xavier’s coat and yanked him out of the battle into a tiny alley. Her black hair was tied in two braids, and her eyes, instead of being radioactive blue as he expected, where just dark. “You are human. With powers.” “Yeah, not a robot. Now,” Tara had said, putting a gun in his hand, “let’s get out of here, alright?” The last one standing of his group of rebels, he had allied with her. Together, they had gone back into the square where neon billboards made the night as bright as day and the King soldiers shot their power weapons. At dawn, she, covered in scratches, bloody cuts, and with her hands still sparking electricity, had ripped the last guard off of him. Tara had laughed a very brief, tired laugh. Her big lips had bent a little, and she hadn’t taken her eyes away from his as she cleaned the blood on her mouth with the back of her hand. “You need to watch out for yourself or you’ll break.” Xavier hadn’t been able to reply. He felt the same electricity in his veins. His heart raced in front of her, as if he had found something precious and long lost. Then, she had taken him back to headquarters, and reported the win. Kaneka had half-smiled to him, and he had felt like he had just ended the King’s tyranny. Tara had walked with him, talking until they reached his room. Then, she had given him one electric bullet to put in his gun. It was bright in the dark, like a deadly diamond or something else beautiful made to kill. “We’re a great team,” he had told her, his voice no more than a murmur. “Come to me if you need help,” she had replied. But Tara hadn’t resisted in the living world for a long time. She had disappeared again. Xavier had gone visiting her, once, when the voices about her running away again started circulating. When he had arrived in front of her apartment, he had let out a small, shallow sigh, and then had sunk his hands in his jacket. The cold, dry wind moved the rubbles on the floor. The place didn’t exist anymore, and so the furniture. He was sure she couldn’t have lived there without a bed, a fridge, or at least a teleport platform to come and go freely. But even if those things had actually been there before, now everything was gone. All that was left of her were rocks on a street that nobody visited. That day, he had told Kaneka. She had kept staring at the hologram that portrayed the King’s palace’s entrance door, and had told him, batting her eyes slowly, that Everyone dies, if they don’t watch out. So he had. And in a couple of months of research on Tara, the King, and the electricity resources he had found three game-changing pieces of news. First. The City consumed as much electricity as the whole country of Taiwan. Second. The ways to get electricity fast and easy had all already been burnt and converted into volts centuries before. Third. The King needed the people to stay calm and nice to him, if he didn’t want to die lynched. Fourth. Tara was a natural source of electricity. All of these were clues that led only to one possible outcome, the most realistic scenario, which coincided with the worst one. Xavier had had to come to terms with the fact that the King had kidnapped Tara to use her as a reactor. He had told Kaneka. And while she had immediately widened her eyes at the thought that Tara was in the King’s palace, too close and subjected to him not to spit out what the rebels were doing, Xavier could only think about the little lightning in her fingers. He had seen them, once, in their beauty and not in their deadliness. Xavier and Tara were sitting on the headquarters’ roof. The night was shiny and bright like a crystal, blue and black and full of city lights. Her feet dangled in the void. He was scared to death of her, who always looked like she had done something more dangerous than what she was facing, and of the height. She had smiled like a fox to the City and spit on the ground. Her saliva made a jump of a few hundred feet. “We will own this place.” Freezing, with his legs against his chest, he had muttered something that meant he agreed with her. She had chuckled and given him her hoodie. He hadn’t put it on. She had sighed. “God of electric sheep, Xavier.” He had put it on. After his head had popped out of the fabric, he had noticed that thin, blue wires where shining around her fingers. She was playing with them, letting the energy sting her skin. She laughed, her small lightning cracked. He looked at her a little scared, but feeling safer on that roof with her than he had felt in his room in the headquarters, manned 24/7. She had closed her hand. “You know what’s worse than being wanted dead, Xavier?” She had said his name, but her eyes were on the City’s blue skyline. He hadn’t said anything. “Being wanted alive.” The elevator reached floor 8 and stopped abruptly. Under his breath, he muttered to himself: “What the fuck?” The lights went off, the temperature seemed to drop. He tried to touch the buttons, but even if they were clicking under his fingers, nothing happened. “Come on.” He took a deep breath. The sign said he was on floor 279, so close to her. “What the hell are you doing, Tara?” He put his hands on the cold metal and waited. He tried to calm himself. Xavier was scared of small places, because they reminded him of when the guards had imprisoned him for stealing water from the nobleman’s table. Somewhere, his skin still carried the long, slender wounds of their clawed gloves and the electric shots that they sent through his body. Later on, when he had joined the rebels, Heko had stared at him like he was Jesus resurrected. “Sweet Jupiter,” he had said, in his monochromatic tone, “how are you alive?” He didn’t know. He only remembered his young skin breaking under their gloves and being dragged out and thrown in a dirty street. Now, Xavier reminded himself that he was fully clothed and armed like a fucking soldier from World War IV. He also started thinking that they had killed Tara. Or she had tried to escape and they had decided to execute her. No, this was stupid. The whole City would have stopped breathing, food would have gone bad, people wouldn’t have been able to work, the King himself would have been just a kid in silk sitting on a bed in a small room in a silent palace. And all the doors of the prisons would have been open. Xavier got up from the wall and tried to open the gate of the elevator. He slipped his fingers in the small cranny between the two metal panels and pulled. His muscles flexed, he got closer to apply more strength, but nothing happened. He let himself sink on the floor. The metal box moved slightly. In the dark, he began seeing a starry sky. His father had told him that before the world was completely urbanized, in certain parts of the globe you could see the galaxy. He had shown him pictures of the stars, and Xavier had started drawing them. There, curled up with his knives pressing against his ribcage, he counted and named each of them under his breath. He reminded himself of his humanity, that he was a beating heart, even if nearly everything in the world was a metallic machine, even if the door of the elevator was pressing against his body and trapping him in. When he started feeling breathless, he got to his feet. There was violet and blue in front of him, just like the day he had got into the rebels’ group. Kaneka was a woman all black and red, and was taking clothes off him. His face was masked and he could only see reality in spots. He felt the last piece of fabric been thrown away. “He’s shaking. How can he fucking go killing a King if he shakes in front of you , Kaneka?” Heko’s voice had made him go red. Xavier had heard Kaneka close, very close to him. “He’s a boy who bends only in front of who he knows actually rules. Now, kneel.” He had obeyed. And she had beaten him and he hadn’t said a word. She had put him in the dark and let him starve and choke. And after ten days, his skin was just as thick as she had wanted. Perhaps, he thought to himself in the dark, to beat a bad thing, you had to become worse. Some do. Some are Kaneka. Some don’t, like Tara, and run and fight and disappear. But in an elevator where you’re alone and the source of life of the City is gone, you need to set your priorities straight. It was at that point, that he started hearing the explosions. It was like fireworks going off. Xavier backed off, chuckling. His breath came in short and shallow. His head was spinning. He prayed to a God he knew was dead and asked them to please, let her enemies die horribly . A fierce song started playing in his head and he was one with the dark. The smoke started coming in the elevator slowly and he breathed it. He didn’t know about it until he was dying. But at that point he could do nothing. He just sat down and waited. He prayed again to that God to let him find peace somewhere else, even if the afterlife was a joke. Then, the doors opened. A blade of light cut his face gently. He took in a long, pure, soft breath, and let himself relax. Out of the elevator, an angel was coming with the smell of burnt metal and blood. She knelt to carry him out. “You’re okay.” Tara laughed. Her chest vibrated. “We’re both still alive. Disappointing.”


I have an appointment today at 1; I’ll be home in time to pick up Alice and Janie for dinner and to pick up my son from practice at 4. He’s a Striker on the Michigan Jr. Shooting Stars. One of these day’s he’s going to be seen on TV playing with the professionals I can just feel it. He’s at that age where changes will be coming soon. I have already seen his attitude growing but I know when he’s older I’m going to miss these days. I pulled up to the soccer field 15 min early. I liked to watch him practice just a little bit before it was time to go. He waved at me to acknowledge I was there as I sat on the bleachers to hear the final whistle blow from the coach. “Alright, great practice you guys! Let’s be sure to focus on speed when it comes to drills next week. Some of you are falling behind.” The coach always seemed like a real douche to me but he wore those mini shorts every week which told me he probably didn’t know it wasn’t the 70’s anymore. I waited for my son to grab his gear only to hear him be stopped by his coach. “August, can I talk to you a moment?” My son stopped and headed back. I looked at my watch to see it was already 12:08 and I still had to drop him off at home. I couldn’t make out what the coach was talking to him about but all that mattered was seeing my sons face sink to the floor. “Hey kiddo, everything okay?” I asked as he approached me. “Yeah it’s nothing.” He answered with such melancholy in his voice. “Are you sure? Your face doesn’t say nothing.” I asked again. “I said it’s fine dad can we please just go?” He snapped at me, I stopped pushing the subject and let him get in the car. This team means everything to him..... I hope that prick of a coach knows that. I pulled up to the house with him and unlocked the doors, his face was still drooped the whole car ride home. “Your mom is inside working if you need anything. I am heading to an appointment right now but I’ll be home soon alright?” The door slammed behind him with not a word said. I really do worry sometimes...he may not know it, but he is a part of what makes up my entire world. My appointment wasn’t anything special, I just had to take another physical for work in order to keep my job after a recent injury. I fell down the stairs at the office a few weeks ago and have been having trouble seeing out of my peripheral on my left eye. Turns out it’s nothing that will affect my work so I have one less thing to worry about. The appointment didn’t take long, I was fortunately in and out before 3pm with plenty of time to get back home, relax, then get ready for our monthly family dinner. We have dinner as a family all the time but once a month we like to take the kids out for something special and today just happens to be Dave and Busters. Good food for Alice and I and games for the kids. Today has surely been exhausting but it has been one of the best days. I can’t wait for dinner. I didn’t realize as I was thinking this that my wife was looking right at me the whole time. “What are you off smiling about now?” She giggled to me. “Nothing just...” i sighed in between to wrap my arms around her waist. “I’m feeling extra grateful today. I don’t know why I just... can’t help but be in a good mood.” She pushed me away with a smile and threw my Marvin Martian T-shirt at me. She bent over to lift up her stocking, as if her arms and hands were made of water. That’s all I had to think about to get my blood pumping. Of course right before dinner with no time to spare for a quick one. Isn’t that how married life is though? I rushed downstairs to grab my jacket and keys listening to the bickering screams between my children. “Come on kids your dad is waiting!” Alice yelled out to the top of the stairs. Their thundering roar of their feet was heard again. “Mom can I invite Josh to come with us?” My son asked with a sudden hopeful tone compared to earlier today. “Maybe next time, hurry up to the car I’m starving.” She pushed both of them out the door with haste. Don’t stop that woman from food. This is advice based off experience.


Did you know that snow makes sound when it falls? Most people imagine snow as a silent event, a quiet whispering, but snow can actually be loud at times. It falls with a SPLAT against the ground, hitting the windows and leaving streaks as it drops along the pane. It's like a *pssmtpssmt* sound, the impact of it. She thought such things to herself throughout the day, her mind much more silent than the snow around her. She clunked her boots against the stone floor, knocking off the remnants of ice from a journey to the wood shed. Pulling her sweater around her neck, she lit the kindling and turned on the water to boil. Her movements were automatic, rehearsed, predictable. The motions were the same today as the day before and would be followed by the same tomorrow. For the most part, her mind was quiet. The silence filled the rooms with waiting, a haunting devoid of life and energy. With a cup of her homemade tea, she sat at the desk next to the stove, staring at the window before her. Another day, another page. She wrote the number at the top of the page, a long script in the right corner. 3652. A number for each day she wrote a page, for each day she had occupied this one room in the forest. Alone. She sat back for a moment, staring at the blank page. Ten years gone then, she thought. Ten years since she began this seclusion, bent on discovery. She had been a researcher then, a mind dedicated to the next big adventure. She had traveled the world with her companion, seeking the newness of life in other places. Her world was hailed as extraordinary, as revolutionary, as dangerous. People questioned her sanity in undergoing the events she had for the sake of publication. Then, just over 3652 days ago, she hit upon her biggest idea yet. A test of the human mind, a study of sanity and silence. What if a human were to be completely isolated from society, from the advances of the age, for a decade? What if they were to be silent that long? What if they did not see another human face, including their own? Her colleagues dismissed it, too radical, too risky. Who would agree to such a thing, to be the subject? She thought herself the perfect subject after all. No family, few friends, no lasting connection in the world. Who would miss her? To test the human brain, it was worth the price. What better test subject? So she disappeared. Off the grid, in the tiny cabin of some long lost relative's last testament. Packages of supplies left quarterly at the front gate but her one trusted companion. No face-to-face meeting though, no talking, otherwise the experiment would be moot. One page a day, to record thoughts, observations, curiosities. Someone would dissect them, interpret them, see the patterns of her brain change with time. She continued to stare at the page, it's blankness looking back at her. It bothered her. What should she write? Should she mention that it is time to return to the world? That she missed other beings, of hearing voices? That she's happy it's over? That she's not? She grunted under her breath, frustrated. Who the bloody hell cares?! Just have to write the honesty of it all, just have to think and write, just put the pen on the paper. 3652. She picked up the pen and began to write. *Today is the end of the testing. Subject is relieved (pause) and slightly nervous at the concept of returning to the world.* She nodded and set the pen down. There that should do it, good enough. She stretched and went to put on her coat. It would be a long walk to town in the snow. She grabbed the snowshoes hanging by the door, strapping on the leather, and the compass on the table. It took a few hours by the sun's time to reach the nearest town. To her it was an amiable walk. After all, she had been in these woods a decade now. She knew which animals lived where, at watched generations come and go with time. From the hill, she could see the small town below her, a mountain town not prone to visitors. Would she scare them, she wondered. After all, she had driven through there ten years ago. A couple more hours later, she found herself at the mouth of Main Street. Something was off. It was quiet. Silent. No cars were moving, they all remained parked. Strange vehicles she had never seen before lined the road. The store fronts were dusty, filmed over in sepia. The road was covered in snow, and had been for a while. She turned in circles, brows knitted with confusion. Where were the people? She kept walking. Nothing. There was no sign of struggle, no broken glass, no trash. She walked quickly to a newspaper stand, searching for a date, a period of time that something could have happened in. Nothing, not a single paper. No date. No sound. Nothing. She kept walking, toward the town square, the center of it all. Still nothing. She turned the corner, the large white courthouse looming in a snowy shroud. The cloudy sky continued to let the flakes fall.*pssmtpssmtpssmt* As she got closer to the steps of the building, a shape. A man. He stands. She freezes mid step, eyes widening, breath ceasing. He smiles broadly. "Hello Amelia," he says, evenly. Her eyes bulge and she hears a sound, from far away. Her own voice. It's screaming.


As I lay on this floor bleeding out, I look back and wonder, why must it all end so suddenly? I had plans to go party with my friends tonight. Who is going to feed my dog? I should of asked out that cute girl at the gym…. Did I live my life to the fullest? I should have traveled more…. All these random thoughts vanish in my head just as quickly as they came. The truth is that I am currently dying and soon nothing will really matter. Its funny how life works, and entire sequence of events that seem to randomly come together and for what? For 3 damn bullets to end up in my chest? If it wasn’t for the agonizing pain I'm in right now I would be pissed, this is not how I pictured my life ending. Wow this is taking forever. I’m still waiting for my life to flash before my eyes, nothing is happening, I just feel cold. Well I guess I could go down memory lane myself, I just hope I have enough time to remember the important parts…. That’s right! I have a mother and a father… I don’t know why that just popped up since EVERYONE has one but I’m trying to recall my life from my earliest memories. We were a happy family once but sometime between my 2nd and 3rd birthday things went to shit. I don’t really know what happened and it doesn’t matter since this is my story and I’m the star!. Anyways things were bad where we lived, corruption was at its peak, gang violence prevented anyone from going outside after 6pm. I knew money was an issue even at that young age of 4 but I would never have imagined that it would drive my dad to leave our country in search of a better future. I didn’t even know what was happening when my dad said goodbye, I did not see him for 7 years. I try not to think about the time I was with my mother, every time I look back, it seems like a blur of abandonment, hunger, tears, pain and suffering at the hands of my many stepdads. She was young when she had me and even though I blame her age for what happened, I still resent her. Dad never forgot though, he would send money and try to be there for me as best he could from such distance. At the age of 11 he asked me if I wanted to go live with him. It was a no brainer. I applied for a visa and after an extremely long process, I got it. It seems like only yesterday I was a goofy looking kid from South America seeing a Burger King for the first time. I went from always being hungry to not being abled to finish my food. Life was good from that point on, I went to school, made many friends and had normal teenage years. It wasn’t until it was time to apply for college that I realized my peers had something I didn’t. You see, I had overstayed my visa therefor making me an illegal immigrant. Although my dad had applied for a green card two years before I got to this country there weren’t any signs that we would get one any time soon. I was one of the only seniors that did not have a plan after finishing high school. Life went on and on my 18th birthday, 2 months after I had already finished high school, my green card came on the mail. I should have been angry because it caused me to be left behind by my peers that had already went on to college, but I was just happy and grateful that the country that took me in when I was young considered me a legal resident. It was a euphoric sensation to finally feel like I belonged somewhere. That day I went to a recruiting station to join the U.S Air Force and try to give back to the country that had already given me so much. Until this very last moment I still think my life didn’t truly began until I joined the service. I honestly thought I would meet my end fighting for this nation because i love this country, I love its people and I loved the opportunities it was able to give a young immigrant kid from South America. The words: Land of the free, home of the brave keep popping into my mind. Who would of thought my trip to El Paso would end this way.


Nellie was near the rear of the shoppe when her aunt opened the door for the killer. It was a little past normal closing time for Flowry. That is the name of the thriving floral boutique that is run by her aunt. Nellie has worked there for several years. The front door to Flowry was a milky glass; this did not lend itself to knowing who was on the other side of the portal. There were two large windows to either side of the door; but if you didn’t see who was coming, through one of those windows, then it was a surprise when they entered through the front door. It was as much a surprise as any baby coming into this world; despite how many old wives said that it must be a boy, or girl because you’re “carrying the baby” this way or that in your pregnant belly. As surprises go; this was not a good one. This surprise was somewhere along the lines of the Dr. telling you that maybe you want to go to a drier climate because it would be better for you: would give you more “time.” She saw her aunt open the door; more to poke her head out and speak to whoever was on the other side, than to actually grant access. It was slightly past normal closing time for Flowry after all. It had been an unusual day in the city; what with the unprecedented snowfall in June. From her vantage point in the rear of the store she was unable to see who was at the door; but she did hear her aunt speaking to them. She couldn’t quite make out what her aunt was saying, and she was going to go about her normal business of closing up the floral boutique; but then her aunt did something that sent a chill through Nellie. With her head still poking slightly out the front door; her aunt had taken her right hand from the door itself and lowered it behind her back, and then with her right hand forming the “OK” sign, she had vigorously moved her hand back and forth. The gesture in and of itself would have been meaningless to anyone who did not know Nellie’s aunt very well. It was 100 percent: an “inside joke”; only this was not funny. Nellie had been living with her aunt for several years after her father had gone to War, and not returned. Her father was her aunt’s younger brother; only living brother, before he went to War, so she was taken in by her Aunt. Nellie’s mother had passed years before the War; and she had no other brothers or sisters. Her aunt had taken her in and given her a place to live and work. More importantly she had given the girl “family.” Nellie worked at Flowry, and lived above the shoppe in one of the spacious rooms. Her aunt and cousin Teague lived above the shoppe with Nellie as well. They were her family now; and had been for several years. When her aunt made that gesture; which stopped Nellie in her tracks, the young girl looked about for a place to hide. There was a back door; to an alley, and also a door on one side of the shoppe that lead to the living space above the boutique where Nellie had her room. Both of those doors would have had her cross the shoppe and come into view of whoever was on the other side of the portal that her aunt was currently holding firm, while conversing with the person on the other side of the door. There was a lovely fireplace in the salon above the shoppe. This was where; more often than not, Nellie would have her meals, with her aunt and cousin Teague. One of her favorite things in the evening was sitting in front of the fireplace, and listening to her aunt talk. Teague’s mother would talk about growing up in the old country. He aunt had a gift for story telling; and most of her stories were whimsical, and many were funny, some quite hilarious. But when the weather was dreary, or her aunt had a few glasses of sherry with dinner; then she would tell other stories. The shoppe keeper would talk about lean times; about losing friends and family to consumption. She would talk about a time when there was a conflict in the city between rival factions; and that there were attacks on the street and even in people’s homes. Her aunt would talk about how her father was involved with one of the factions; and that he had a signal that meant “danger.” When her father made that signal; it meant that you needed to hide, and do it quickly. That signal meant that death could literally be at the door. Her aunt made that signal; and it made Nellie worry. Near the rear of the store where she was working, there was an open wooden bin where they would toss the detritus of their floral trade. It wasn’t overly large; maybe three feet by three, by four feet high. It was currently half full of stalks, flowers, loose baby’s breath and what not. Nellie made a quick decision and moved to the bin; and stepped over and into it. She was a lovely girl: at least that’s what everyone had told her for most of her life. She was on the taller side for a woman; close to 176 centimeters, but slender. Nellie knew that she could easily crouch in the bin and not be seen; so that is what she did. As She crouched below the edge of the bin; she heard, more than saw her aunt open the front door to admit the person from the doorstep. The shoppe was very aromatic; as it was still half full of various plants and flowers, even at closing time. Nellie could smell the pleasant scent of Cornish Heath, because there was a bit of it in the bin with her. The smell of the bell shaped lilac flower made her think of the large man who came in several times a week to pick up bundles of it. Fitz was a big man, who worked for that Penrose fellow. She didn’t care for the leader of the enterprise; but she did think that Branok was sweet on her. And for her part; the prospect of his attentions were somewhat exciting. Everyone knew the enterprise troubleshooter by his surname, which was Fitz: but she had overheard Mr. Penrose calling the big man Branok. The head of the enterprise that ran the West Side of the city had a habit of referring to everyone he dealt with on a regular basis, by their given name, as opposed to their surname. Once she learned the big man’s name; she couldn’t help but think that he looked more like a “Bran”, so that is how she referred to him. She found it amusing that she learned her own cousin Teague’s given name from his employer. Everyone called her cousin Teague, which was his surname. Even her cousin’s own mother, Nellie’s aunt, referred to her son as Teague. She had never thought to inquire after his given name; so when she first heard Penrose call her cousin Jowan, it took her several moments to realize that he was referring to her cousin Teague. She struggled to see through the gaps in the boards that made up the bin. She could see glimpses of her aunt and a handsome man. The man was tall; not near as tall as Bran, but close to her cousin Teague in height. But whereas her cousin was built very solid; with broad shoulders and powerful arms, the handsome man was more lean. She couldn’t help but think he was more like a Panther to her cousin’s Tiger. The handsome man looked about the shoppe from the entry way and after he stepped in, he linked arms with the shoppe keeper. From her vantage point, Nellie could see that the man was well dressed. She watched the two as they walked slowly down the aisles. They stopped at several different points and she could see her aunt gesturing towards the flowers or plants that they were near. The two were speaking as they walked, but Nellie had a hard time making out the words. At least her aunt didn’t seem distressed: Nellie thought that odd, since she had seen her aunt make that desperate gesture. At one point; they stopped by a bundle of flowers and her aunt plucked a bloom from the bunch and she could see her aunt place it in the lapel of the man’s jacket. The two of them were closer than they had been during their rambling about the store; so she heard her aunt say, “a handsome lad like yourself needs a flower in his lapel.” From her place in the bin, Nellie could see the man’s smooth, handsome features. He had a distinct Mediterranean look about him. His hair was darker even that Bran’s, who had hair black as pitch. She felt a little uneasy at her aunt’s choice of flowers for the man’s lapel. It had been a black Chrysanthemum that the shoppe keeper had placed in the handsome man’s lapel. After the man had said “thank you Mrs.”, in a silky tone, they had walked a little more down another aisle. Nellie watched the handsome man walk; and couldn’t help compare the way he moved to Bran, or her cousin Teague: or even their employer – Mr. Penrose-. Each of those men had a way of moving that made Nellie think they were dangerous. This man moved in a similar fashion. He was graceful in his movements; and matched her aunt’s steps perfectly, as if they were in a dance. They stopped near a bundle of Cornish Heath: Nellie could not help thinking, “some call it Wandering Heath”, and the handsome man leaned over to smell the lilac flowers. After he straightened up, he spoke some more to his aunt, though Nellie was unable to make out what he said. She tensed as she watched the man pull something out of his jacket pocket and offer it to his aunt for inspection. The item in his hand was a straight razor with an ivory handle. Her aunt was clearly reluctant to handle it; and did not even reach out to take it. It was actually almost beautiful; even though it made her shiver to look at. Before the man put it back in his pocket Nellie did hear him say; “found it in an antique shoppe on Fleet Street.” The pair walked down another aisle; and made their way toward the door at the rear of the shoppe. Nellie heard her aunt say;” well of course I have to lock up.” She watched her aunt lock the back door and then the handsome man took her aunt’s arm in his and walked towards the front of the store. They spoke as they walked; and Nellie clearly heard her aunt say, “I’m worried.” Whatever else she had to say was unclear as they were moving away. Her aunt stopped at the door to turn out the shoppe lights. As she did this; her aunt looked to the rear of the store and Nellie knew that her aunt knew where she had been hiding. Nellie heard the tinkle of the little bell as her aunt closed the door and left with the killer.


My boyfriend’s shaky, scared breath jutted in short, quick puffs. “Yeah,” he panicked into the walkie-talkie, his eyes darting as they widened and then normalized under this flickering science laboratory. The lights dimmed and then brightened—no, it was too nerve-wracking. No, scary and brain-numbing. The only thing I could think of was to stare right at the chocolate haired, white-faced, slightly freckly guy in white Converse sneakers. Who was staring straight up at the thunder and lightning ruling the sky as they took turns crackling and booming up a storm. Literally.

“Uh…” He stammered, attention glued to whatever was so freakish above us. “It…” A direct bolt of lightning struck and fried a bus station shelter and its bench. I gaped as the whole construction went from metal and plastic to complete charred ashes in a split-second. I inhaled. My boyfriend threw the walkie-talkie to the floor and dashed bravely—and maybe stupidly—over to me behind a counter with glass chemistry bottles. He grabbed my hand before I could hiss at him that he shouldn’t be risking his life for me, but he had this aura about him. I should just thank him in times like this one. Although the world had already come to an end, we two high school sweethearts were the only few teens left after a grossly large, mechanical alien spaceship-like thing evaporated downtown Eagle Wing High School without somehow taking all the students. We, desperate, tried to find other people who survived the attack. Mainly students—hopefully not middle or elementary school age. Actually, as we raced further downtown—past an abandoned hotdog stand and pizza parlor, a barber shop, a sizzled hamburger joint and a burning, smoking hair salon—Avery yanked my arm and reacted to my cry with a tight-lipped, white-faced stare back at me.

Let’s go! Hurry. His fear-streaked face had I’m really scared written all over it. I even gagged a little on my cough as I struggled to breathe. Apart from the gloom and doom happening right in front of us, the air itself was so thick with terror and wonder as to whether anyone was going to be alive on this planet much longer. We could all be evaporated in milliseconds. We could be that bench station or the hamburger joint. A loud siren blared, and red lights flashed warningly as we two made a mad dash around the corner, making a U-turn for a wall and then switching left for an open door. Avery pulled again, saying “Come on!” amidst lips barely moving from the obvious icy terror keeping them far from open. Entering a darkened, empty parking garage, Avery and I stood together, me about to ask what he was going to do to try to save himself from either shriveling up in total fear or brave his surroundings and look for ways to survive this nightmare of a reality.

My lips barely audible, I chanced it. “What are we going to do?” I ran my fingers through my silky, straightened black hair, my bangs getting pushed around my pierced ears. I played with my ponytail and then looked at him for an answer. He was my only protection. “I don’t know….” Icy fear had definitely started to cement his mouth closed. He almost started to freeze up, and I saw little beads of sweat form on his already creased forehead. I looked away, not wanting the terror to invade my brain and cause me to panic as well. I would be strong for him, for myself and for everyone else out there. I had to save us. I had to save everyone around us. Jerking over, I witnessed two silhouetted figures come running towards us. I squinted and saw that they were extremely dark skinned with flecks of tan around their wrists and elbows. A boy with curly brown hair was coming towards us and a girl—thin braids running from just above her forehead down to the beginning of her spine in her neck—was behind him. I watched the boy as he kept running and then felt the urge to save him. “No!” But he sprinted faster than I, my outstretched hands almost grasping his neon orange exercise shirt. Galloping after him, I yelled, “Stop!” He slowed to a jog, and I sprinted harder, catching up to him. “Hey!” But he darted off. “Mallory!” I whipped my head back—Avery was trying to save the girl now. I screeched to a halt, staring at her. She was sprinting in the opposite direction than us, down the sidewalk Avery and I had rushed down while escaping from the abandoned science laboratory. I then gaped in horror as she made a U-turn, heading for and then stopping right in the middle of the intersection. She was turning her head from one direction to another, her legs jerking each way like she was deciding whether to go down the street behind her or run towards the affixed stores. My attention went back to the boy. He was rounding a store corner, and then he was out of sight. I was frozen, and didn’t know what to do. Avery was calling to the girl, staying rooted to his spot but crying for her to listen to him. Then she bolted for the street. “No—girl!” I screamed as she made a mad dash right where a bolt of lightning was about to disintegrate another bus stop station. I lunged, without thinking, towards the lightning and then curled up, hearing Avery’s mad yell slur into blurred speech. A loud ringing in my ears distracted me. I lay in a ball, my jeaned knees and my chin glued to each other. Avery, sounding distant but also near, waved his arms, eyes open and flashing with terror. Shoes, up in the air, came soundlessly down onto the street. I saw, before fainting, a black shirt with a neon orange lightning bolt drawn on it… “Mmmm.” The groan—did it come from me? Then my eyes flashed open and I jerked upright the second I heard beeping. A press against my shoulder, and I looked into familiar eyes. Avery. But… “Where am I?” I moved around, trying to make sense of the long, extremely thin tubes and white patches stuck like tape to my skin. Why was a monitor beeping behind me? What were polka-dotted sheets doing covering my legs and hips? I hated any kind of resistance, so I ripped the blankets off and scooted myself towards the concrete floor. As I jumped off the raised bed, I swung around and glowered at Avery. “Why am I wired to this—” “Don’t!” He grabbed my other hand before I could tear the assumedly injected needle out of my wrist. “You can’t do that!” “Why?” I seethed through gritted teeth. “Where—am—I?” “You’re…” He stepped back, motioning with his palms up. “You’re in the hospital. I need to get you better. Some nurses will—” “I don’t want nurses. I want to stop…” I jerked my eyes all around, turning my body. “I want to get out of here. I don’t want anyone…” I started breathing deeply and then slowly crawled back into the bed and under the sheet. “I’m…tired.” I pulled it up to my hips until my arms went limp and I lay back, barely able to keep my eyes open. I yawned and heard, “There, there!” before all went dark again. “Mallory. Mallory!” I groaned again and blinked several times as blurriness cleared and Avery came into view. He was leaning over my bed, looking at me with a sad smile on his face. I instantly reverted to anger again, but apparently the stupid beeping machine didn’t allow me to do so. I clenched my hands, but they went weak and I had to rest them against the polka-dots. I attempted to curl my toes, but then they just stopped sensing the curl. What was going on? I widened my eyes and shook my head at Avery. “What’s going on?” I panicked, shifting so I could leave the bed—the hospital—If I had to. Because I had to. He sighed like he had told me a hundred times to just sit back and relax. “Mal, we’re here for several more weeks.” “Weeks?!” I began ripping the white tape off. As I tried to wrestle my clasped hand away from Avery’s clutching one and release myself from this dreaded needle pumping who knows what into me, I started feeling tired again. So weak and vulnerable. As I lay back, almost nauseated, I noticed everything was going dark again. The pillow cushioned my head… Then I bolted right up and blanched. “Who is taking care of us?” While Avery pressed that I should remain calm, I ignored him, stretching my neck and maneuvering my body all around so I could see the nurses—and whether they were legit people caring for the actually sick or injured patients. Narrowing my eyes at one curly-haired brunette in a white lab coat, I hissed at her. “Who is she?” Avery sighed and turned his head. “She’s just—” “How do we know?” “ I know because I talked to her. She’s the one who,” Avery turned to me but I narrowed my eyes into slits. “helped you get here.” I grumbled something and pulled my knees up to my chest, staying there. “At least you’re here.” “You can’t just—” “Just what?” I almost spazzed. “Just trust people when an apocalyptic future is already here? Just say ‘Okay’ to someone who could very well…” A nurse was arriving with some gross colored medicine and set it down on my bed in front of the footboard. “Just take the medicine?” Avery cut his eyes to the nurse. “Um…let’s continue this later.” He walked around and then held out the tray to me, which I completely smacked to the floor, all the medicine—or whatever it really was—crashing onto the tiled cement. Glass smashed and pills rolled everywhere. “Mallory!” Avery reprimanded, but I merely glanced at him like I was under severe medical treatment and couldn’t process his outburst. “Mallory, that’s—” “Drugs.” I croaked, turning to the nurse who was now doing something to my bed. “Get away from me.” “Jus—” But I whipped my hand towards her wrist, clutching it and ripping it clean off the bed handle. As Avery screamed at me to freaking stop attacking an innocent woman, I threw back that she was no ordinary nurse—why would she induce a needle that made me want to lay back and sleep when our very lives were at stake? I scrambled off the bed, the woman obviously too shocked to react past gasping, and I demanded Avery come with me. He burst out with an absolute “No!” “Yes!” I demanded, but Avery dug his sneakers in, firmly telling me through barely open lips that I needed to get my act together. I jabbed a finger in his face to let him know I was not going to marry such a stubborn man. I attempted grabbing his wrist again and it worked, him crying out with a squeak of pain and a harsh yell that I had hurt him.

You’re going to be hurt a lot worse if you don’t get out of here. Getting out of the door-less room and speeding down the hallway, I found ourselves outside, it still lightning and thundering, but hail pounded the sidewalk, driveway and cars parked a few feet away in the lot. “Let’s go!” I urged, freeing his arm and commanding Avery follow me this instant. “Mallory!” He pulled his long sleeved button shirt up over his head as he ran towards me, ordering me to follow him. Raging, I clenched my hands and almost screamed for him to follow me . He just kept running away, not even looking back. I escaped towards the right. Dodging the hailstones that seemed to get bigger as I moved along, I found a lone umbrella and stole it, opening it up and using it to shield myself from the now really big ones about to squash me flat. I squeezed my eyes shut but kept running and somehow avoided them. Baffled as to why I wasn’t getting pummeled, I heard distant laughter and dared to look back. Some nurses in my now windowless and darkened hospital room looked my way. One of them shifted her eyes between me and the glowing computer screen. The light lit up all their faces, and I shivered, wanting to leave this horrible place called Earth forever. I heard another noise and peered in the direction in which Avery had left me. He was standing there, and I felt his visual direction on me. He was beckoning me on, waving frantically. Something like “Come on!” flew through the air and entered my eardrums. I nodded, grateful and relieved, and ran over there. He let the shirt go, swinging out an arm as I held the umbrella over us and continued running, his feet almost in step with mine. I told him about what I had seen in the hospital room with the computer screen and the creepy nurses, but he just kept repeating “Stop it!” as we headed downtown, just racing through the two-lane highway and making it to an empty barber’s shop. No, it was unsafe. We knocked our way through the backdoor and ran towards who knew where. When we managed to find a trailer park, we just busted into a home and shut the door, me wanting to cry from how hopeless and weak we were in the middle of a life that was out of our hands and, worse, never-ending. We didn’t want it, but we somehow had to survive such a sign of the end of the world. After shutting all windows and barricading all doors, we scrambled into the booth seats, sitting across from one another. We started discussing our map of escape. Where’d we go was out of the question. Spying a backpack lying near a bed, Avery jumped up and grabbed it, slamming it down onto the table. “Here’s what we do.” He rummaged through and grabbed two pencils and a big notebook. He tossed me a pencil, which I caught, and flipped the notebook to a blank page. Stabbing the paper with his pencil, like a military commander he started drawing an outline of our town. “But how do you know…” I sat up straight and looked at his crude pictures of a park, our high school and its baseball field a little ways off. “where we need to go?” “That’s the question we need to find out.” He looked at me as though he knew I wasn’t sure whether we could pull this escape plan off. “Okay?” “Yeah.” I doubted. “Mal, we’re running for our lives!” He stated the obvious. “What’s a map going to do?” I grabbed the book and tossed it on the ground. “How are we going to escape with our lives by wasting—” “Mallory, do you want to survive?” He gesticulated, but I calmly remarked back. “I would like to figure it all out instead of having no idea where we are going. We can’t just guess. We need—” “A map?” Avery stabbed the sheet of paper after collecting it from the floor and dropped it, open, onto the table. “We need to do this.” He continued sketching some things as I pulled my knees up to my chest. I watched him draw and doodle some more and asked, “Why didn’t the hailstones hit us?” “You tell me.” Avery didn’t look up from his map-drawing. “What did you—” “The computer screen. The nurses must’ve been controlling…” Avery slowly looked up at me, and we widened our eyes. “The weather!” We realized in unison. “Is this some kind of game?” He panicked, seeming to abandon the map, because he reached over to peel back the curtain with a shaking finger. As he looked outside, he jerked back but told me to watch as the hailstones grew to almost thrice their size but disappeared like in a video game. Lightning struck somewhere far off, its loud crackle illuminating the almost dark sky. “They’re not hitting us. So we don’t have to worry about them.” I deduced, but Avery looked at me like there was a bigger problem. “But can they control us ?” He worried, pulling his lips in and studying the outside again. I gave a fear-filled laugh. “No. They’re just nurses.” “Just nurses.” Avery bobbed his head up and down, already shaking a little and rubbing the back of his neck. “Just plain nurses. You think that tells us something?”


The Kearnes had not made this journey pleasant for any of us, utterly salivating at the fact they had control over so many, no doubt. Usually, these weaklings would have been kicked down and left in the dirt. But their close proximity with the King and coloured history allowed them to operate with impunity. They poked and prodded each other, hurled rocks at passing animals, and acted in general, far below their station. Micah pulled up beside me, cloak pulled over his head. “Bunch of absolute morons.” He spat under his breath. I nodded in approval. “However, they are our appointed guides for this journey, and we would do well to not rouse any suspicion for what our plans are.” He quietly pulled his warhorse back into the fold. I looked towards the front of the group. The Dunkans still held the front, their great lumbering bears seemed to never lack stamina, as they trotted at a quick pace for the last several hours. We could easily feast on the blood of animals when the occasion called. Our party left the carcasses of many rotting beasts behind us, strewn across the path. While it satiated our hunger, we all had a deeper need for something more fulfilling. I hoped for some more humans to share once we reached the village. The winding road outstretched before us as we crossed the plains of Gwynedd. At the top of the nearest hill lay the village in question, fortified on all sides by stone walls and a great iron gate. It seemed the reports had been far too modest in terms of what we were up against. In the middle of the village towered a great keep that likely had archers stationed within the battlements. As we proceeded down the path, Cian held his hand up, motioning the party to stop. He held the scroll up to his face, illuminated by a torch that was our only guide in the pitch darkness. “The report says the party was attacked here nearby…” Cian urged his horse to the right of the beaten path. The smell of rotting flesh greeted our nostrils uninvited. “House leaders, join me.” Roy, myself and a few others motioned our companions to wait on the path while we moved forward. We waded through trampled branches and fallen trees, clearly signalling some kind of combat not long ago. There were claw and sword marks in the trunks of some oak trees which had been completely toppled. The image of the melee came into my mind, as I attempted to picture just what kind of force had killed two of our brothers. “Look Rathiel!” Came a familiar high-pitched and urgent tone from behind me. “Layla, you’re not supposed to be…” “Hush.” She juggled something around in her hands. “What is that?” I jumped off my horse to get a closer look. The other leaders were starting to take an interest as well. “Looks like bullet casings.” She said, seeming smug and pleased with herself, allowing a smile to slip through. “Let me see that.” I picked one up off her palm. I studied the piece of metal carefully. My eyes narrowed into black slits as I pushed them into focus. It clearly was an ammunition casing of some kind, the make of which I hadn’t seen in many years. From the weight and appearance, it reminded me of the brightsilver that had been used centuries ago in the battles fought for east England. We had been trained about all silver weaponry extensively in classes as children. I dropped the casing, not noticing the red blotches it left on my hand. “Lets keep looking.” I motioned to the others to move forward. We fanned out in the forest. I walked further eastward, moving not a hundred paces before I heard Roy’s voice call out from behind me. “Here!” He shouted. I grunted and turned to a wisp of smoke, not caring for professionalism. In an instant, I reached his side with the others, and reappeared. There were two horse carcasses in the clearing, bloodied with claw marks and with bite wounds in their neck. This must have been where our brothers were attacked, I reasoned to myself. There was a human wagon not far off, toppled over and contents littered all about. Uninteresting books about Christianity, blunt weaponry and jewellery littered the piles. I heard a sharp HISSSSSS escape one of my companions over my shoulder. I turned to see Wayne Alnwick writhing on the ground covering his eyes. I rushed over to him. “Wayne?” I put a hand on his shoulder, worried. “Arrrrrrghhhhh. wretched Catholic dogs!” He covered his face and bared his fangs menacingly. As the others moved to tend to him, I walked to the source of the commotion. Beside the wagon lay an opened black box. Inside was a silver cross and a rosary that had spilled out. I picked it up in my hands, carefully inspecting the ridges in the craftsmanship. “Wayne, there are no blessings upon this cross.” I said reassuringly. I put it back in the box, but I was becoming worried. Turning to the others, I began to speak, but I was interrupted by Cian. “Its clear we aren’t just dealing with any rag-tag band of hunters here.” He said slowly, choosing his words carefully, which was uncharacteristic. “The side of the wagon bears the Kingdom of England and Ireland's Royal Coat of Arms.” Concern started to bubble up in the group as we all looked at each other, not knowing what to say. The royalty was not something we usually came into contact with in our coven. Even leaving Castle Beaumaris happened very rarely, to avoid such danger as angering the crown. “We cannot jump to conclusions…” he continued. “This must only be kept to yourselves, to avoid unnecessary panic.” All of the leaders present agreed, and our eyes flicked towards Layla, who also nodded in compliance. “If King James or other Royal houses are involved, this goes far deeper than we could have imagined. Wren, Dunkan, send your best and fastest men back to Beaumaris with this news, and keep it discreet.” I nodded and made my way back to the path to deliver the news.


I usually only write once I get inspiration and my stories are short and incomplete- that's what I feel anyway. My grammar isn't the best but I really put my heart into this short story! ^^ tick.tock.tick.tock.tick.tock. Up until now I had never realised how loud my watch would sound when everything was faded. Blurry. Faded. The sun seemed so bright. It's rays pierced my eyes. Always. Soft lofi music rang in my ears. Lofi kept me rooted to reality. As weird as it sounds, all the colours, every single one of them around me- they were shades of gray, black and white. It was like I was in an old black and white movie where I was the lead actress as I was the only one with slight traces of hue. I hated everything, everyone too. Sitting in the cafe all alone staring at the cup of coffee in front of me I felt at peace. Sad depressing peace. I picked up the cup and let it's warmth caress my fingers and palm, and for a brief moment I smiled. The faint jingle of the door opening reached my ears. Although I was disinterested, I looked up. Something was compelling my eyes to look forward rather than stare at the floor all the time. I drew in a sharp breath. My breath was ragged- something that rarely happened to me. There He was. A man filled with colour. There were bright shades of blue and magenta swirling around him. Perhaps you could call them His aura. He radiated colour, colour that was bright but non scathing at the same time. My eyes were drawn to His. Why? I didn't know. I didn't have the faintest idea why. I watched Him walk to the counter and order something. I watched His lips move. As if in slow motion. I could make out the words He said. I tried to look away. But I couldn't. I couldn't look away from the man whose body oozed with vivid colours. There were warm hues swirling around Him but I noticed magenta. A lot of magenta. After what seemed like a year He turned his head, possibly looking for a place to sit and I drew in a sharp ragged breath again. Why? Why the colours? Why was I able to see them? From someone I hadn't even seen before. I watched Him walk over, to the table next to mine. Oh god no. He noticed me staring at Him... and smiled. I was taken aback. I expected Him to get creeped out but he didn't. He smiled instead and His smile was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time. When He smiled, for a split second the colours around Him pulsed as if they were alive. Not knowing what to do, I looked down at my lap embarassed. What happened next almost shocked me. He sat next to my table and smiled again. That smile. The colours around Him pulsed again, with more energy this time. I could tell He was shy. Hell I was shy too but my body almost forced itself to stand up. It felt like my nerves and muscles had a life and brain of their own as I slowly walked to His table and timidly sat down in front of him. colours. There were so many. Some swirled around my head- soft welcoming tones of orange. Tinges of blue flew past my neck while pigments of yellow chose to lay still next to my hands. For a few moments I was lost. The colours were breathtaking. And then my eyes focused on His. He was smiling. He was shy. And my heart melted like butter under heat. Pinks and purples nestled closely together near His heart and some adventurous ones flitted to mine. Of course He couldn't see this. Only I could. I had never seen such vibrant colours before. I was so drawn to Him. This complete stranger whom I had just met. But it felt like I had known Him my whole life. How? I didn't know either. Then He spoke. "I'm R." He said. His voice was deep, but not too deep. It perfectly matched his face. His beautiful face. When he spoke, the magenta near his face glowed. "What about you?" He asked. "I- " why did I stammer? I never stammered. "A" I said feeling like a complete fool. "That's a beautiful name you've got there." He replied. As He spoke, the colours around Him danced like they were elated. It was beautiful to watch. He was beautiful to watch. "Oh. Thank you." I blushed, deeply embarrassed. A few more pinks and purples guarding his heart whirled over to mine and I gazed at them in awe. "Shiloh? Huh I like lofi too." He said and I realised He had noticed the artist on my phone. "Oh- um, that's nice." I replied feeling like a massive idiot. But He just laughed. A short but beautiful laugh. And some of the magenta surrounding Him twirled and glided and made its way to settle next to my face. I blushed again. I wasn't used to this attention.