*\*Edit: I removed the "Prologue" because I don't think it is necessary or adds to the story.* Chapter One: Vampires I rubbed my eyes to remove the sleep. Sitting up in my bed, I could see from my window that it was already dark outside. I glanced over to my clock. 9:00 PM. That's good. That means I slept 12 hours. And it gives me time to get ready before Emily and her friend pick me up at 11:00 PM. I consider myself nocturnal. I prefer to sleep during the day and be up at night. I never liked waking up early or having a typical 9-5 job. Not that I have a job now. Since graduating high-school 5 years ago I have not been able to keep a steady job. I move from one shitty paying job to another. After I was fired from my last one for spitting in a client's meal, I decided to say fuck it and give up. No one was doing anything big or important in this shitty town anyway. Over the past 10 years I've watched the city atrophy. Businesses left, people moved out, and only those who were too poor or too stupid to leave stuck around, including my family. I knew the moment I graduated high school that I was never leaving this city. That I would live and die here. Not because I want to stay here, but because no one leaves here anymore. No one comes and no one goes. Not since the gangs moved in... With a sigh I crawled out of my bed and made my way over to my dresser. I pushed the negative thoughts out of my head as I looked through my drawers to put together an outfit. I had recently turned 23 and tonight I was going to celebrate. There's nothing else to do in hell hole than work, sleep, fuck and party. And for the rest of tonight I only planned to do one of those things. I slid a black cropped tank top of my head, followed by a black mesh top. I put on my favorite pair of fitted black cargo pants, accessorized with chains, and completed my look with black platform combat boots. I brushed out my shoulder length hair and parted it down the middle. The dyed green ends starting to fade and blend into my natural dark brown color. I wrapped each side up into bun and pulled some strands out to frame my face. I then took my time working on my make-up. I wanted to really sell the "goth/rave girl vibe". I found some assorted bright neon stick on gems and applied them around my eyes, covered with dark green eye shadow and an intense black liner. Lastly, I put on matte black lipstick, set my face and hair so the look would hold all night, and the sprayed some body glitter on my arms and around my collarbone. I grabbed some studded earrings and bracelets and took one last look at myself in the mirror before I decided the look was finished. My phone buzzed from on my bedside table. I picked it up and read Emily's message. She will be here in 10 minutes. Did it take me that long to get ready? I grabbed my bag before leaving my room. I walked down the hallway, passed my parent's shut bedroom door, towards the stairs where my brother, Christopher's room is located. I noticed my brother's door was slightly ajar so I pushed it open and stood in his doorway. His thin and lanky frame was slouched in his gaming chair, intensely focused on the game on his monitor, which provided the only illumination in his room. His shaggy brown hair fell over his bloodshot eyes. He was surrounded by empty energy drink bottles and bags of chips. "Hey." I greeted him. "Hey," he responded. "I'm going out." "Cool. With Emily?" He asked, not removing his stare from the computer screen. I wonder how long he had been up playing games. He doesn't sleep much, but he also has no where else to be or anything else to do, so he stays in his cave all day. At 19, he has never had a job. But I can't judge. "Yeah. Her friend Patrick is taking us to this new club downtown. I don't know when I'll be home." I offer. "Ok, I won't wait up." he smirks. I glance down the hall to the closed bedroom door. "Anything from them?" I ask, not needing to explain the question. "Nope." He curtly responds, still not breaking eye contact with his screen. "Oh well. I'll see you." I say before walking away and down the stairs. "Be safe." I hear him say, quietly. \ Outside, Emily pulls up riding shotgun in an beat up, grey 2010 Toyota Camry. The car looks like it smells like weed and Doritos. The grey paint is faded and chipped, and the several parts of the car are being eroded by rust. As the car comes to a stop in front of my house, Emily sticks her hand out the window and waves me over. In the driver's seat, is a husky looking guy with short, blonde hair and a matching blonde beard, trimmed neatly. I open the backseat door and immediately the scent hits me. Weed...and yep, Doritos. Called it. "Hey!" I say excitedly to the carpool as I slide into the seat and close the door. I look for my seat belt and cannot find it. The floor in the back seat of the car is filled with trash and other miscellaneous items. I use my foot to clear an empty space in front of me. Emily whips around to face me, her face covered in bright pink eye shadow and lipstick, adorned in similar jewels as my own. She is wearing her dirty blonde hair down, with small braids through out. "Alena, this is Patrick!" She enthusiastically introduces the man in the driver's seat. "Hey Alena, nice to meet you." He says smilingly to the rear view mirror and making eye contact with me without turning around. He puts the car into drive and pulls out onto the road. I greet him back. "Are you so excited?" Emily asks, still contorting her body to face me from the passenger's seat. She's smiling wide, and her pupils are massive. Small beads of sweat have formed on her forehead. She's already high. "Yes! I'm so ready to party." I respond. "So what is this place?" "Oh, it's this super cool club downtown! I guess it's been open for a while but I had never heard of it. Patrick goes there all the time and says he can get us in, he knows the bouncer or whatever. The music is supposed to be really cool, and the drugs are even better!" She says all this without taking a breath. "What are you on?" I laugh. "Cocaine. Duh." Emily says as she whips herself back around in her seat. She lowers the overhead mirror and checks her make up. "Patrick has the best. But he says this stuff at the club is way better. Even better than H!" Her eyes dart to meet mine through the mirror. "Oh, cool." I say. She knows I don't do H anymore. I couldn't handle it, things got out of control. "Yeah, have you heard about it?" Patrick finally joins the conversation. "It's seriously the best stuff ever. It use to be really hard to get but now these clubs are popping up everywhere and they are the only places you can find it." "It's not on the street?" I ask, suspicious. "No. It's tightly regulated by..."He trailed off, like he didn't want to finish the sentence. "By what?" I asked, but Emily interrupted, slamming the overhead mirror up, "Who cares? This shit is supposed to amazing! And we don't even have to worry about the cops, they never bother these clubs. I guess they have an understanding or whatever." That gave it away. The only entities not bother by the police are the gangs. I felt my heart rate increase as we turned a corner. I had heard stories, but I didn't know what was real or what was being told like a fairy-tale to deter kids from getting mixed up with the gangs. Soon I could see the building in sight. It was a modern building painted in a dark color. In the darkness, it looked black. There were no windows, and what looked like only one door to get in. A neon purple sign hung above the entrance way: "The Lair" it read. Well that is ominous. We parked on the street a block from the club. Downtown was beginning to look like a ghost town. Two-thirds of the businesses and buildings were closed with "For Lease" signs hanging in their windows. The street was relatively empty except for a line of cars parked on the same side, leading up to the club. Although the club looked busy, it was eerily quiet outside. A line of people were waiting to get in. I followed Patrick and Emily as they passed the line and headed straight for the bouncer at the entrance. Patrick said something to the bouncer, turning to point to Emily and myself. The man nodded and waved us through. He was unsurprisingly tall and muscular with a stern look on his face, but what caught my attention was the fresh puncture wounds on the right side of his neck. Emily bounced up to the entrance, beaming with excitement. I followed behind her, taking one last look at the facade before entering into the darkness, and knowing in my heart that the stories we were told as kids were true. Vampires are real.


It was running through the mountains with great agility despite it's size. Hopping over smaller rocks and magnificently keeping it's balance on the snow-covered rocky terrain. The prey -a human in his twenties- was running away from it haphazardly about 30 meters away. He was quite experienced in these mountains, and would not easily trip over the rocks or slip on the snow. Despite this, the creature was quickly catching up to him. The footsteps made him shake even from that distance, like thunder. The human anxiously glanced around the general area to find a corner or a huge stone to hide behind. When he spotted a sharp, horizontal edge popping up from the ground to his right, he changed his direction and quickly took cover behind the stone shape. He let himself slowly slide down onto the snow, pushing his back to the barrier. He tried to slow down and quiet his breathing, so the creature wouldn't sense that he was behind the rock. The thunder kept rumbling harder towards him, shaking every single bit of his body like a small earthquake. Then it stopped. Abruptly. The creature's breathing also stopped; it knew how to trick. Fortunately for the hunter, this human's experience with trickery was quite extensive, and so he got up as heavily as he could, and started stepping to his right as sneakily as he could. Unfortunately for the hunter, he could only take a few steps before a hand his size reached out from over the stone barrier and wrapped it's furry fingers around him, trapping his arms to the side. He was swiftly lifted up from the ground and came face to face with the creature, almost passing out from the pressure of being elevated to 30 meters in two seconds. But that dizziness quickly gave way to sheer panic when he saw it's eyes directly locking onto him. And then it spoke: "*Nolite timere*. *Ego nolo malum*." He shut his eyes. Waiting. Waiting for it to either eat him in one gulp, or pop his head open like the cork in a champagne bottle. But he quickly understood that his anticipation was misplaced when instead of getting shoved down the creature's throat, it spun him around as if it was inspecting him. When it was done appreciating the fine details of this petrified human, it slowly lowered his hand to the ground and loosened his grasp, letting him slide between it's fingers and fall onto the soft white blanket. He screamed as loudly as he could, then ran away with great fear in his eyes. *What just happened? Why did that happen? Am I going insane?* These were thoughts that crossed both the minds of the creature and the hunter. After seeing the him get a moderate distance away from the mountain, the creature slowly walked towards his cave, and dug deeper into his mind with questions like: "Why did I do that? What did I just feel?" going through it's head like lightning. When it reached the pitch black cave, it activated it's infrared eyes. It could now see the cave perfectly to the finest detail. To the right of the cave there were countless little inscriptions and notes in Latin carved onto the wall meticulously. The creature sat down in front of an empty space in the notes and carved another whole paragraph in : "*Today, something very strange happened. I saw a lonely traveler climbing on the mountain and I ran towards him to eat him. He tried to hide from me, but I found him and grabbed him. I was going to swallow him, but this weird feeling came over me when I was about to do it. I felt... weird. I felt bad for him for some reason and didn't eat him. I let him go. I've started to have these weird feelings a lot over the past months, since I ever saw that beautiful human. I think it was female. Normally I would want to eat or crush her, but for some reason I didn't feel that need. I wanted to... protect her. Take care of her. Ever since then my urges to hurt or crush have slowly faded and they have been replaced by these urges that hurt me and prevent me from eating. I don't know how to stop it."* It put down the rock it used to carve the paragraph, and glanced over to the tiny (relative to his size) book titled "Latin" and huddled up in a corner to get some sleep.


I sit alone in a tavern. It's quiet, almost as if my deeds have echoed through the town, shocking its residents into a disgusted silence. I drink to forget my worries, to forget the things I've done. If I drink enough I can feel normal again, as if I'm just a regular person; I lie to myself.  An Orc walks in. His massive body barely fitting through the door. He laughs to himself as he enters loudly.  "Give me the largest cup of goblin-dusk you've got!" He shouts at the young girl behind the bar.  I take a quick look as I have never heard of this drink. After a quick scan of the board, I see it's the cheapest, and somehow, the strongest ale on the menu.  "AHH!" He even makes noise by just sitting down. He sits next to me, his weight barely being supported by the stool.  "It's good day to be alive, isn't it?!" this is aimed at me but I get the feeling he doesn't want an actual answer. I force a smile and carry on drinking.  "Not much of a talker, eh?" His voice bellows in my ear.  I take a look at him, everything about his appearance screams: "please look at me". He makes no effort to hide what he does, who he is. His clothes are covered in spatters of blood. Around his neck sits a necklace made from assorted skulls; I can only assume he wears them as trophies. His large sword on display for all to see. He is everything I despise.  "I take it you're a warrior?" I ask him, already knowing the answer.  "The best damn warrior!" he exclaims, slapping my back and laughing to himself. I clench my teeth, holding back my anger.  "And you? What is it you do?" it always sounds like he's demanding an answer instead of asking for one.  "I mainly do work for The Brotherhood" I tell him. I hear whispers through the tavern. I guess I shouldn't have said anything. It's too late now.  "Haha. I thought you looked familiar, aren't you?-" He shouts, for all to hear.  "No." I quickly cut him off, "I'm no one. I'm new; there's no way you could have heard of me."  "Didn't mean to cause offense" he tells me, "but you do look a lot like-"  "I doesn't matter" again, cutting him off "I'm not him." I go back to my drink.  "OK, OK" he says, chuckling to himself. "People these days; can't say anything without someone taking offense." He takes a few more gulps of his ale.  "You know" he continues, "What you and me do ain't that different"  "Is that so?" I ask, annoyed by such a asinine comment.  "Yeah, think about it. We're killers, respected and feared all over the land." He says, boastfully.  "I don't think of it that way." I tell him.  "No? You think what you do is better than what I do? Maybe you think you're doing something noble?" He chuckles to himself "A killer's a killer, ain't no other way of lookin' at it."  "It's about the process." I tell him.  "Huh?" He looks at me with a stupid look on his face.  "You go into a village, killing everyone and everything that gets in your way to get what you want. Am I right?" I know that I am.  "Haha. More or less, yes." He seems to take pride in the fact that someone knows how he operates.  "What I do requires finesse." I try explaining, already expecting him to not understand "It's about knowing when to strike, as well as when not to. Watching a situation, playing it out over and over in your head. Preparing for every scenario. I've won or lost a fight before I even draw my daggers."  "Who's got time for that?!" again, not expecting an answers, just shouting his opinions at me. "Just go in, swing your sword and best everyone in your path, face to face. I win fights by knowing that I'm the greatest swordsman. There's no one who can control a sword with such great accuracy, speed and power as I can."  "You could be right," I tell him, "but what happens in the situation when you turn out to be wrong? The best never stay the best forever. There'll always eventually be someone stronger, faster and more accurate. What do you do then?"  "There'll never be no one who can beat me!" He shouts, naively.  He seems to like his double negatives. I think about pointing them out, but I don't think he'd understand. Besides, I can see that he's starting to get worked up and it's blatantly obvious that he's the kind of person who deals with any sort of confrontation with violence. I know that I should just leave it, there's no point in pushing him, I will be met with nothing but aggression. I might be a master at what I do, but fighting a warrior head on is not going to end well for me.  "You think you can beat me in a fight?!" he laughs to himself. He phrases this as a joke but I can tell that this is a challenge and he's hoping I say yes.  "No." I tell him "I don't expect to be able to do what you do any more than I expect you to be able to do what I do."  "Ha! That's what I thought" He smiles to himself, smugly, and goes back to his ale.  "Surely you can see my point though?" I ask. I'm not sure why. I don't expect him to see my point any more than I would see his.  "No! You talk like a coward. Hiding and waiting. Backstabbing from the shadows. I would never fight like that and I would destroy anyone who tried anything like that on me." I can see that his anger hasn't subsided.  "I guess you'll never have a chance to realize the art in what I do." I tell him, as I lean over the bar to grab some napkins.  "What the hell does that mean!?" He shouts for an answers, but it is too late.  I am back in my seat. I have no need to reply and even if I did; he's in no position to comprehend. His throat is cut. I use the napkins to wipe the blood spray off my face and clothes, as best I can. The tavern staff notice him, they rush over. It's of no use, he'll be dead in seconds. I am gone. The contents of his pockets are now in my possession. Anything that isn't of use is discarded. Many people would see this as an act of theft, but anyone who knows this place like I do knows that anything left in the pockets of a dead man will quickly be taken by the authorities. They claim they take it to the council, I know this to be a lie.  I leave the town, there's nothing here for me now. There's no need to stay and take the risk of a witch hunt breaking out. Maybe tomorrow I can go somewhere and try to forget my worries, forget the things I've done. I can let everything go and become normal again, just like a regular person; I lie to myself.


“How difficult would it be to screw all my furniture into the floor?” Samantha contemplated while washing the dishes for the third time. "Maybe glue would be better." Gawking at the clock, she moved on to fluff each pillow twice. She then lit her eucalyptus-spearmint candle. It was made for stress relief but was probably just a placebo. Rushing into meditation was counterintuitive, but her definition of productivity prioritized quantity over quality. Legs crossed and eyes closed, she repeated, “Have fun. Have fun. Have fun.” Last week, she met a guy for a walk at a forest preserve. His conspiracy theories dominated the conversation. Five days before that, she met another man for drinks. He refused to tip the waiter. A week earlier, she met a man for coffee. He was not the man in his photos. Samantha needed a good date. Some would say she was desperate. Others would suggest near hopeless. After watching a self-help documentary, she became infatuated with control. Count the shoes. Reorganize the bookshelf. Measure the portions. Trim the house plants every day. Tape the floor to mark where the furniture goes. Triple check emails. Triple check text messages before sending them. Go to bed at 10:30 p.m. every night. Rise at 7:00 a.m. every morning. No room for error. Tonight, she had a date scheduled with Brian. She described him to her friends as "a simple man." She scurried around her apartment trying on different shoes, shirts, pants, and skirts. One garment short of her whole wardrobe. She tested her make-up in various lightings and at different angles. Jumping from the family room to the bathroom to the kitchen. Snapping profiles. Approximating his point of view, assuming his dating profile listed the correct height. She counted 100 strokes of the hairbrush and reapplied her deodorant twice. Despite all the effort to get ready, it took her even more to leave, as if she was allergic to the doorknob. She didn’t have OCD but hopped around every crack in the sidewalk. Better safe than sorry. She got into her car, locked it, double-checked all the windows were shut, and triple-checked the volume sat at 10. Not 9 or 11, 10. Even though she had been to this bar before, she still used her phone for directions, checking her estimated time of arrival every four seconds. She would arrive ten minutes early and get seated first. She needed to be seated first. She needed the seat with a better view of her surroundings. The waitress would not spook her. She would be protected. She parked further away than she planned, so she hustled a bit. An increased heart rate did not help her nerves. And then she stepped on a crack. Lord. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Have fun. Have fun. Have fun.” She opened the restaurant door and entered. She tested a smile on the host, warming up for her big event. “Hi, I have a reservation for Samantha.” “Follow me.” She flicked her eyes between looking at the floor and the people she walked past. In her pocket, she grazed her thumb along her fingernails, back and forth forever. Within thirty feet of her table, she saw Brian sitting in her seat. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Have fun. Have fun.” She thanked the host and settled for the second-best position. “Hi, Samantha,” he started. “It’s nice to meet you.” She remembered that it was okay to say that at the beginning of the date. If he said it at the end, it meant he wasn’t interested. Samantha didn’t want another bad date, especially one that was caused by her. “Hi, Brian, nice to meet you as well.” Under the table, she drummed her fingers on her thighs. She always followed a specific rhythm and pattern, and now was not the time to challenge tradition. Strictly using her middle fingers, she’d hit three times on the left leg, three on the right, six alternating between the two limbs, and two on both legs at the same time. She only stopped to flip through the menu. He talked for three minutes straight, let her squeeze in five words while he wet his throat, interrupted her, and carried on for another two minutes. He gave her plenty of time to repeat her mantra to herself. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Have fun.” She learned he worked in banking, had five siblings, enjoyed mountain biking, dabbled in video games, enjoyed medieval literature, dreamed of being a history teacher, talked with his mouth almost full, and that he rambled when he got nervous. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” When he started talking about politics, she ordered another drink. He still wasn’t done with his. When she finished her dinner, he had half his plate left. When the waiter asked if they would have dessert, Samantha faked a yawn. She winced in guilt when he insisted on paying for the meal. “Breathe in.” They grabbed their things and exited the restaurant.

“It was nice to meet you, Brian,” she said. As he tried for a hug, she excused herself to get to bed early. “I’m so tired. I don’t know why.” Walking back to her car, the once all-seeing woman had now become blind. Perhaps, she stepped on each crack on purpose. Like a missile programmed to hit its target every time. Once home, she kicked off her shoes and let them topple over and fall out of their assigned area. She plopped onto the couch, shifting the furniture out of its taped-off territory, yet she didn’t flinch. For the first time in months, she was steady. She had no plans to do the dishes. Her pillows would remain unfluffed for weeks. She was done with meditation. She never liked it anyway. With her coat still on, she made her way over to her collection of candles. She dusted off a vanilla candle her mother gifted her and lit it. Its one-wick flame marked the start of this woman’s new Olympic games. She didn’t give a fuck anymore.


The sun was back with a vendetta, only it held rays like fire over the earth instead of a machete. It wore a mask of radiating, pulsating heat and Beba Maria felt like she was going to pass out.

The day had been long, the road hard, and the undertaking of their task was proving more difficult than they had expected. They’d missed the boat because Oscar had fallen down, scraped a knee, chipped a tooth, cried for ages.

There was now a stretch of desert between them and the spaceships that would shoot them towards a literal new beginning on an entirely different planet so Lina was holding Oscar and Beba Maria by the clammy hands and pulling them along with her as far as she could go. She had to keep going. They all did. It was the same with the boat, if they missed this ship to the stars, they would have to go back home. Lina didn’t think she had it in her heart to turn around now, but every time she snuck a glance at Oscar or Beba Maria, she could easily see that

Oscar was still in pain because of his teeth and Beba Maria was near the melting point for human flesh. What was it, anyway? She knew the temperature for paper. She knew it for steel and other metals but the fact that human flesh could burn, just fry right off your bones, was horrible to her. She didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to have a reason to think of it, but the reason was staring down at her from the sky as it broiled her alive in the hot sauce pan of the desert. The reason, Lina thought, was no longer a benevolent ruler who gave the lands warmth and safety. Instead, it was a villainous royal, with eyes of hot coal, feet and hands of electrifying fire. And was Lina scared of the sun?

Yes, but she was also scared of the things that never changed under the sun.

Robbers. Kidnappers. People who were less fortunate than she.

Why were they dangerous? Well, they were more dangerous than the wild animals.

Wild animals didn’t look up at you with cracked hands, broken limbs, split lips, and begging, pleading-with-you-for-mercy eyes. Wild animals never asked for your last piece of bread. They never broke your heart into a million pieces when after all you gave up to help them, they still curled up and died like roly poly bugs. Yeah, Lina thought, the people who were more unlucky in this desert would bring her down and then Oscar would fall, Beba Maria would fall. It was Lina’s job to keep them going. She was the oldest. She had the plans.

“ Lina,” Beba Maria suddenly dropped to her knees in the sand, “ Lina.”

“Que? What?” Lina dropped beside her, cursing everything for stopping their march towards the starport. “Es el calor? Is it the heat? Tu cabeza? Your head? Que pasa?”

“Mi cabeza, Lina. My head is killing me. I need to rest, please.” Lina shook her head. “No.” She pulled the younger girl up by the arm. “We can’t rest.” She threw her friend a soft smile. “Never quit, never surrender.” Oscar bounced on his heels, further tearing the soles of his shoes. “And when we get to the spaceship, there will be seats made of gold, Lina. Did you know? Did you know the seats are all made of gold?”

Lina did know. She was the one who told Oscar that in the first place. She smiled at her brother. “Yes, they are gold. And do you know what else?”

Oscar asked, “What? What?”

Beba Maria mouthed, “What? Que?”

Lina was glad they were moving again. If she told them stories, maybe the walk wouldn’t seem so hot. Maybe if she talked of gold on spaceships instead of murderous sun villains, they wouldn’t catch on fire. They wouldn’t have to be Ash called Oscar. Ash called Lina. Ash called Beba Maria.

“On the spaceship, they have fountains that splash chocolate.”

Their smiles grew, and she continued.

“On the spaceship, they have beds made from the geese that live in the fluffiest clouds.”

Beba Maria gasped to think of such a high delight and Oscar beamed, happy to hear his sister chatting like she used to. “Que mas, Lina? What else?”

“Well, there is a never ending supply of toilet paper. There are parties that last until midnight every day. There are,” she paused for effect, “Dancing girls and singing boys that twirl you away and away until you forget all about your problems. They twirl you right into the stars outside your windows.”

“We can see the stars?” Beba Maria loved the stars.

“Yes, all of them. And you can name them whatever you would like.”

Beba Maria liked the sound of that a lot. “I will name one after mami, one after papi, one after mis hermanitos, and the others will be after us.”

“What do you mean?” Lina stepped over a dead rattlesnake.

“I mean there will be stars with our names.” Oh so she meant

Stars called Oscar. Stars called Lina. Stars called Beba Maria.

“Yes,” Beba Maria said, “Because once we’re out of the desert and on the spaceships, no one will be able to hold us here. No one can touch the stars.”

No, thought Lina, but they can see us waving down at them.

Oscar’s stomach was growling. He tugged the shirt of his sister. “Tengo hambre, I’m hungry. Where’s our food?”

They couldn’t eat yet, though. There was still such a large expanse of sand before them. Lina had to be wise with her food rationing. She was the oldest. She had the plan. She also had the bread, though, and that was what Oscar wanted. He began to cry again. Lina resisted his soft brown eyes.

She didn’t look at his trembling lip or chipped tooth.

She ignored his quiet sniffling, running nose, sad shuffling feet.

And they marched on, deeper and deeper into a jungle with no trees.

This was Lina’s fault. She should have waited until Oscar and Beba Maria were older to make this journey. The thing was, however much of a mistake this was, she wasn’t sure she would have made it to be much older if she had stayed where she was. So it was her mistake, and they could all die, but there was no erasing what had already been etched in the stone of time. Yes, Lina said to herself, time is not sand. You cannot run your feet over clocks to make them turn back to yesterday. Time is stones, or mountains, even.

Time doesn’t move for anybody.

Luckily for Lina, she was no longer a body.

She was a star.


As the man was walking in the street market he was being watched and he was nervous, he had a mission to set off a bomb that would kill hundreds of people. His name was Abdul Mujahde, he had joined Al Qaeda a few years ago in order to defend his family from the US. He never imagined he would be giving up his life in a suicide bombing, strapped with 10 pounds of explosives before he set off his mission was to blow up inside a US embassy and not leave any trace of who he was. He slowly walks into the embassy sweat on his palms cursing the people he saw as evil westerns, but then he spotted a beautiful girl finely dressed in her hijab, and he asked himself why was he doing this to kill more Muslims this isn’t what he was promised. The girl he head seen looked exactly what he thought his future wife would look like. He asked “How are you today ma’am” and she responded “I am well what can I do for you” he replies “I would like to know more about how to apply for a visa” he’s now trying to think of ways to disarm his suicide vest realizing his horrific mistake. He then ask if he can use the restroom and the woman points to the restroom, as soon as he enters the stall he takes off his clothes trying to find out how to pull out the wires anything to help at all, there it is the wires to the timer of the bomb, he pulls the wires loose freeing him from certain death. He then heads back outside and tells the woman about how beautiful she is he asks “Can I get to know your name, because you’re truly a gift from Allah(SWT)”. She blushes nervously and responds, “My name is Mayruh and it’s nice to meet you, would you like to meet me after work” the man agreed to this and will meet her there at 6 o’clock that evening, the young man comes home to his father and is filled with joy he says “father I have met the woman of my dreams, Allah has truly gifted me with a most exalted and a woman who’s a spectacle to the eyes” his father starts to cry thinking his youngest son had died or been captured, he talks to his son with anger but also joy “You’re alive son I’m so happy but I can’t believe you almost killed yourself, Allah(SWT) forbids any form of violence even against those who aren’t of your faith, you foolish kid” the son asks for forgiveness from his father saying he had been led astray from Allah(SWT) and His teachings. The son tells his father his plans and he would meet the girl at 6 and the father hugs his son for this girl had just saved his life and the father responded “son, I’m glad Allah(SWT) has blessed you with this woman for she has spared and changed your mind, for this we must truly give thanks” the father and soon then recite a dua for the first time in years and they feel the most connected than ever before calling to Allah asking “o, Allah(SWT) bless me with kids and a wife that is a spectacle to behold my eyes and to you, o Allah I will be most grateful.


Out of the Cave (CW: Gore, Psychological Horror) He watched as his farmhands dragged the body in by the wrists, bound, coursing a thick line through the mud. Evening’s end smouldered through a skylight streaked with soot, casting the men in claret-dark patches. They slumped the body against the gate of a pigsty. The pathologist kept the hood over the corpse’s head. Better this way, for matters of instruction and practice. It was just another body. He ran his knife back and forth against a whetstone, weighing meaning and matter idly. He called on his farmhands to bring two pails, one with fresh water, the other empty. A shallow, kidney-shaped dish for his finer instruments, a bulkier, ox-hide case for the larger. He placed the knife upon a dampened towel near the body. A viewing lantern came forward, fire licking its insides, the light flowering out, insectile wisps arcing into the dark beyond. Poor conditions, poor environs. He was used to the latter, less so the former. No time to wait for an improvement. The pathologist pulled on black gloves and a mask. He angled the light towards the neck and chest and unbuttoned the blood-sodden shirt, exposing a frail lattice of ribs. The lip of the empty bucket touched the side of the neck, as he turned the head away a deep artery swole like a worm surfacing. He spread a cloth over his palm and gave pressure above the collarbone, a firm squeeze. From the other hand a knifepoint fell upon the worm as quick as a flicker of light caught the motion and the palm drew down; another draining squeeze. The blade was out and away and the hand claimed its red winnings, the smell of iron and a soft metallic patter dribbling into the bucket. “Turn the body back towards me” The pathologist told another to take the pressure where his own hands were as he moved down to the thighs. He released the belt on the body’s trousers, pulled them to the ankles, the lantern sat supported upon a hip. The knees, dun-coloured with filth, were washed from the freshwater pail. A cloth across a palm, a hand pressing the inside of a thigh, a knife point revealed, the process repeated. “Wait” The pathologist paused. A young voice, the groom of the stable, Isaac. “Speak up then” “I want to do it. You told me I was ready.” Lantern raised, within the crooked frame of night shone an adolescent face, spotty and shining with grease, in bold relief to the dwindling hours. “No you will not”, the mortician replied. “Why not”, the boy winced at the tone of authority. “Because yours is the first exploratory incision: breastbone to yolk-stalk” Less than smiling, he nodded. The pathologist turned his attention back to the thigh incision, as the flow fell weaker, the men massaged the flesh to drain the blood as thoroughly as possible. At an earlier hour they would have strung the body up to drain over hours, but it was too late. Identifying whether the old man had been infected with the blight was all that mattered. A blood stained hand twirled the knife around to its handle. The boy was to make his incision. He met the invitation without hesitance. Locating a space beneath the sternum, breath hissed from his nostrils as he drove the knife tip down. A sound of jellied spill blubbered up from the blade slitting down to the groin. He pulled the long puckering gash apart, the body sagged within itself. A pungent gas mushroomed out sour spores of rot and the men recoiled and gagged under their masks, only the mortician and boy keeping close. “Good work. Bring out the large intestine.” The knife aside, the boy reached into the cavity with his hands. A few searching and pulling movements isolated the organ. One of the men staggered outside to vomit. Flecks of ash picked up with the wind outside, turning the black outline of his profile a blotchy gray as he wretched. The pathologist took hold of the cecum and called the lantern in. The veins were marked with star-splayed tendrils of orange blotches, the surrounding epithelium pallid and sick. Closer inspection revealed the speckled pattern to have spread to most of the surrounding organs, the more the blood was drained, the deeper the penetration of infection. “So it has travelled this far”. “As far as the Patea River, it seems. You know what we have to do, right”. “Yeah”. “Then call it”. “Bag it and burn it”. Soon a sack, barrel and canister of gasoline sat at the foot of the corpse in preparation for its disposal. Gusts of voices distant whistled through the barn. The pathologist turned his head, sensing a message on the air. “Quickly now”. A sack was drawn up over the body from the feet upward. The outside voices started to close in; they must have been spotted during collection. Wrangling with the sack turned to hesitation among them. The *second fit*, a violent cadaveric spasm typical to the virus upon the host’s passing, could happen up to 48 hours after all life signs were declared extinct. Such phenomena had been documented as unpredictable and dangerous, explosive with hazardous live contagion. Some accounts went as far as to describe a state of temporary near-reanimation. It was agreed that the intruders beyond had to be deterred and the body hidden before plans for safe disposal could be made. The farm hands moved to close the barn doors and stand guard. The pathologist pulled the boy aside and told him to hide the body. He nodded, nose sniffing, eyes squinting. He looked back at the corpse, the frozen gasp of its jaw pulling the hood taught like a shallow dish, the sack scooped up to its chest, the splay of infected organs an image still impressed upon his mind. It was impossible to imagine anything but nullifying solitude in that cavernous husk, to sense anything but the occluding silence of death’s walls drawn upward. The pathologist shook him. “Listen to me, no matter what you see during our work together, understand that life and death are separate. I need someone young, willing to learn, and without superstition. Someone who will continue my research whatever happens. No matter what you see or hear, nothing resides beyond this life.” “No matter what I see or hear” the boy repeated in reflection. The pathologist had left him to address the commotion outside. The boy reached into the medical bag. He was seeking a sharp, snub-nosed saw. This time he knew they were simply going to lift the sack into the barrel and burn the body whole out back. He knew correct procedure differed. A body going through the second fit while engulfed in fire was a bad idea, no matter the size of barrel. He rolled the sack back down. He could hear voices beyond the gate: “Gentlemen. Ma’am. How can we help you.” “Evening guys, I don’t know if we’ve met. I’m Sherriff Tuteao of the South Taranaki Bight” “Recently appointed, then. Excuse us for being out of the loop, we tend to avoid affairs in town-” “Fine and fair, unfortunately it’s my job to inquire into yours. Would you mind telling me where you fellas were at round three o’clock this afternoon” The voices outside flickered low under the breath of the wind. Dismemberment had to be completed quickly; a fit could occur at any moment. The boy was surprised at the efficiency of the saw, or at how easy it was to cut up a body. Outside, the voices were getting louder. “Been at ranch all day. Got our own witnesses here. Nothing more to it.” The young Maori farmhand gave a curt nod, leaning on the handle of his pitchfork. “Like I said, that’s not what we’ve heard from eyes and ears local. You boys know the river is off limits at the moment. I’m not accusing; I’m asking if you believe there’s been a mistake-” “Ay there’s been a mistake. Got all we need down here, no need be hanging round upstream or down. Bit fed up with that lot over there sticking their ihus in where they’ve no business, though”, another nod suggested the village westward. The pathologist raised a conciliatory hand. “Let’s not be testy, Sheriff’s just doing her job, we need not antagonise the locals”. “Antagonise” the young farmhand repeated with a sniff. “Choice word”. “Look, problem is we’ve had reports suggesting that a group of men were seen dragging a sack southwest from the inlet at three in the evening, large enough to contain a fully grown deer. Now if being there’s bad enough, you should all know hunting’s strictly prohibited.” “And we’re the only group of guys east of town you know about. Understood.” “More to the point, town marks you out. Multiple accounts, similar descriptions. Some saying that if *you* were there” - she kicked the dirt and looked up, as if it were her own, difficult admission - “then previous records and statements in the station’s archives could suggest a pattern of activity. It’s a plausible avenue to explore...” “But again, so we’re clear, you’re not accusing...” he delivered the measured words slowly, in a neutral tone. The farmhands coiled back firmly into their casual stances, exchanging wry looks with clenched jaws. “...I figured on your honesty, meeting you and your lads face to face. You haven’t disappointed me yet. Could we take a look around” Her ingratiating affectations were a statement of intent. The pathologist scanned Sheriff Tutaeo’s wide, freckled face. The domes of her eyes shone in the hearthfire evening, glinting sharp light over black pockets. Despite an exchange of lies by omission - she’d not venture forth with armed men before checking police records - he and her had no want of understanding. The insinuations laced through her talk would pull taut at any resistance to her request. A violent knowledge lingered. The men beside her stood as blank columns of muscle and bone, the blood within them hissed. “This way”. Over the work of the saw the boy could hear the voices outside the barn closing in. He hurried to push the detached limbs down into the sack. His eyes searched the workshop, the hay and manure compartments, the sty. He chose the latter, leaving the sack of limbs and torso hidden behind a trough and a team of bulky sows slumped in their rows, sleeping. His hands shook as he reddened a pail of water with his hands and the saw. Thoughts of his actions flooded his conscience. He had to hide from the voices beyond, from himself, shame and dread entwined, fear and trembling. He ran over to the workshop table, threw the tools underneath, and kneeled on the workbench to wrench a .22 rifle off the wall mount above. The sound of a bolt on the barn door snapped open at the same instant he fell back, taking the rifle and a rusty bracket with him. Scrabbling to his feet he pushed himself behind one of the haystacks, under the whining clatter of the barn door testing its hinges, he fiddled with the rifle’s action, clacked it shut. One. “Indoor feeding lot, workshop with horseshoe forge, bedding. We rotate livestock through here twice a season. We’ll keep poorly stock underroof for monitoring of physical health; hydration, infection treatment, stool quality, so on. We operate by the Bight guidelines, over two-thirds are fit and healthy for transport and slaughter. We compost the rest.” The boy heard the squelch of footsteps in the mud, a group of five, six extra pairs. The tinkling of buckles, holsters and spurs, the groan of leather like a gasping throat. He heard a female voice. “Healthy *for* slaughter, you say, when they leave *here*. Well there’s a lot of blood around, what’s all this mess about?”. The sound of something firm tapping the gasoline canister he’d forgotten about; a stick, the toe of a boot, the end of a weapon. “I said the poorly stay here for a while. See those pigs over there. They’re breeders, but their teats are swollen, they bleed. Damaged produce. When times are tough, less sows are brought to bearing age. There’s a plague out there, as you well know.” “He’s saying we deal what we’re dealt, missus. What you call mess scrapes us a living” one of the farmhands interjected, “...while all else is dying”. The sound of spit hit the ground. The boy heard the piercing whine of a single note in his ears. His mouth was dry and open, his bloody hands shook, clamped around the rifle’s muzzle. He pushed forward through a gap in the hay. A hiss, until he could go no further. The shadows of their bodies stretched together like a fortress mapping the ground, warping under the lamplight. A chill caught his neck, his breathing grew heavier. He was cold. Condensation exhaled from his mouth and nose and he drew a hand up quickly to try and mask it. Everything was cold. The rifle wavered under his arm and nearly fell. His eyes fixed on the dark shapes before him, as portions split from its mass, the centre of the fortress gave way to a passage within. The surrounding arch thickened and pooled into an inky black substance, breaching the translucence that bars shadows from the primary world of their objects’ cast. A deep, subterranean warbling percolated under the piercing din, a noise splitting into voices. He saw the dark heads of human-like figures within the archway. The voices split again and again, an endless fractioning off, the parts increasing beyond the sum, yet if he listened closely, he could hear each individual figure. Worlds of one and all bled together into an hypnotic experiential rush. He felt a giddy sense of omnipotence shroud his voyeurism. Many figures sat beneath the arch. Others came and went within the sparse confines of the interior, some sat on rock-like protrusions, others moved back and forth restlessly, in and out of a vast network of catacombs beyond. One figure leant against a wall, carving a tally, as if counting the members present, or marking time. A veiled, feminine figure stooped down in despair, holding her head in her hands. She sobbed out a long list of names, sometimes leaning back to cry them out as if they were the names of her own children, gone, yet the names were so numerous, so diverse of time and place, that this was impossible. The figures congregated at the centre sat in front of a large wall, their silhouetted bodies obscured whether they looked up at it, or outward. They murmured under the howls of the veiled woman, as if speaking to each other, but they only told their own stories, to themselves. One spoke of an ocean so hot it spat the bones of the life within it out upon the shore, a cage of bleached white ribbing the brown coast for miles. Another recounted the story of an adolescent, delirious from hunger, who injected air into her sick mother by mistake, killing her. He imitated the girl’s helpless weeping with an air of mocking irritation. Another spoke of a seedling that grew a shoot out of scorched, dry land and wouldn’t die. He repeated the tale over and over, like a mantra. But within the mass of stories, a single voice drew in the boy’s reception. “My fault. The blame lies with me. Elsie couldn’t hide me from them any longer. Came for me early morning. I just knew it. Some new, self-appointed lawmaker had her thugs kick down the door. *‘I’m in here, it’s me you want’*. I roll off my bed and claw my fingers into the floorboards, dragging my useless body, breath rattling and I know what’s coming: *‘Else, get out of there’*, but the walls trembled and the guns barked *rah rah rah* screams and I’m hauled over the floor out onto the mud, covered in my baby’s blood. Then the *crack*; a bullet per head. Kill the host and the vectors. Did me last; sentence and execution. Her dead black eyes. Dumped me by Kaupokonui Stream, and that was that. My wife, my daughter. Should’ve taken care of myself as soon as I caught it. At least wherever they went in the end, it isn’t here.” “The stream...” the boy heard himself mouth the words. “*You should know my guilt, Child”* The shadow got up and stepped beyond the congregation. “*You’re the one who opened me up”.* Naked shock lapped over the boy, awareness prickled through his body like a wildfire fever. The faceless audience was facing *him*. The veiled woman cried out a name, impossibly familiar, ancient, yet placeless: *“Abraham”* *“Abraham”* the audience responded in chant, first in the disparity and chaos of their number, then in unity: *“Abraham... Abraham... Abraham”* His gaze trembled, his breath tore in and out like bones raking up on the shore. He was watching the dead speak against the world from the end. The back wall of the cave lit up: his pallid, spotty face, drained with terror, reflected in unbearable brightness. *“Abraham, Abraham, Abraham…”* the black council sped up their chants. “*Be still, lad”* the man said against the chanting, *“you shan’t suffer long, it might be yours that lifts the sentence of our Lord”*. His voice quivered with sadness. A dark gloved hand came down upon the boy’s head, pulling him back by his light blonde hair, exposing the neck. A cold, sharp sting, the teeth of the snub-nosed saw sank upon his throat. A grimy light winked off the crimson surface of the blade. *“Abraham - Abraham”* A voice answered: ***“Here Am I”***. The audience groaned in morbid ecstasy. The man marking tally dragged his score down into the rock, wracked with madness he sank to his knees and the long gouge marked this sacrifice to heaven and dirt as the teeth bit into the young boy’s gulp and the desperate voices clamoured upward like thrashing piranhas. A gunshot erupts. **“Isaac!”** The pathologist runs over to the boy convulsing on the ground by the hay. The boy’s eyes flicker upward, his throat gurgles, but when he feels the pathologist’s arm against his chest he clings to it, holds it close, the struggle ebbing away, his gasps dropping to a sigh. His gaze steadies and stares upward, his parched lips rest into a placid smile, the expression of a martyr passing over. No longer of this world. The second fit smoulders, then dies, within him. A farmhand picks up the discharged rifle. He walks over to one of the men standing near the body of the sheriff. The men look at each other blankly. “Guess we’d call this an accident”. One of her guards tips her head back, exposing a single gunshot wound to the neck. “Guess we would”. “What now, Abe” The pathologist closes Isaac’s eyes, then his. “Burn her with the other body. But not the boy. The young deserve better.


   Every Halloween this happens. Some of the family believe it’s a gift and leaves treats for it, although others think it’s a bad omen or a curse. I’m the last of this family generation to get their “gift”. None of my family knows about Her. I don’t want them to, but I can’t even blame the stupid Black Cat because it had never shown up for me.     Anyway, my mom hurried me out the door so I wouldn’t be late for school. My mom’s ability was one that people called a blessing, she can change the color of anything she touches. I walk out the door with my younger sister, Lilian, even though she is younger than me she had been given her gift by the Cat before me. Her gift was a lot like our mother's where it involved colors. She could add color to things that were black and white and take color from things too. I was terrified to be given a gift. Everyone had to do something or some kinda test before they could use their hidden power.     My sister skipped ahead of me. We walked past the Kinder home, in front of the spookily decorated house sat a black cat with glowing yellow eyes. It sat so still I thought it was a statue, then it moved, its head tilted and tail flicked almost as to say “Your next”. I blinked and it was gone. Shuddering I raced to catch up to my sister.     The principal had wanted the small middle school of Rhaninege to be “spooky, fun, and festive” as she put it. One of the blow-ups was a man in a black hood with flashing red eyes, it looked to be on the verge of falling over in the wind.

   “That one’s new,” I said to Lilian, pointing to the man. We had made it a game, seeing who could find each new decoration that continued to appear each day. “I wonder why everyone thinks red eyes are so creepy?” I heard my voice say. Lilian looked at me with a curious face, one that was surely panted on my own.

   Someone behind me sneezed, causing both of us to look. It was one of my only friends, Neveah, who was almost always sick or with allergies. She was one of the few people who even noticed me let alone talked to me. I was seen as strange even though I was more normal than the rest of my family, but since I would say things like I did just now no one knew what to do with me. Everyone in my family had gone through training when they were young on how to conceal their powers. Yet I’m the odd one out even when some of my relatives go to the same school as me because I, the oldest one without powers have a hard time acting normal.    No one knows about Her and they can’t, not even my family would understand. If I started talking about another world or a different life I would be exiled from home and seen as a psycho.

   “Go on.” Said Lillian as she rolled her eyes and walked off to go be with her “popular girl”, friends. We stood there awkwardly for a few minutes until I broke the silence “Do you want to go to class?” As soon as I said it I knew how ridiculous it sounded, but Neveah just nodded and started to walk to the front of the school. I had to run to catch up.

    I loved English class it was one of the only times I could be myself. My teacher Mrs, Bill encouraged my stories and told me to put my creative imagination into them. From a valiant knight fighting an evil sorcerer to a humble youth pastor named Bert Rand. It was the only reason that I wanted to go to school. It was also the last class of the day and I could never believe how fast it went.

   I walked home alone. About halfway from school to home I started to get dizzy. Tripping on my own feet I fell, but I never hit the ground. After several seconds of black, I stood up and blinked as nausea faded. Shaking slightly I looked around taking in the large glass dome above me and the rows of children my age standing next to me. I was in the third row from the front. I didn’t understand, even if this was the doing of the Black Cat it wouldn’t have happened now, the tests have only ever happened on Halloween. A woman in a silvery dress walked up on a platform. She must be someone important because guards flanked where she was standing.    “Welcome, children,” She said speaking into a microphone, “My name is Aadya,” Aadya beamed at the crowd, she looked harmless but the way she held herself, it gave her a powerful feeling, like this woman was the one in charge. “We are looking for someone, someone to help us advance our kind and give us new talents and abilities.” She paused as if expecting us to cheer but when no one did she continued. “I know that some of you have these extraordinary talents but some of you need to be… returned. Speak up now or,” She waved her hand and soldiers grabbed the front row and pulled the kids forward. They then raised their weapons, I recognized one of the kids in the front on the far left, it was Neveah. I had to do something It didn’t matter if I exposed myself. Just as the soldier pulled his sword back readying to impale her, I flashed teleporting in front of her and taking the sword. A fierce pain erupted out of my chest. No matter how many times I have been stabbed it still hurt. When I didn’t fall over dead but instead pulled the sword out, the soldier started to panic. Something flew through the air and hit my neck, once again the world went dark.

   I woke up in what looked like a hospitable room thinking that maybe I had fallen and hit my head on the sidewalk but when my eyes came into focus I noticed Aadya and she looked mad. Once she saw that I was awake she put on a sugary sweet smile. “Good, you're awake. Let's begin,”

   I drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like weeks, every time I opened my eyes a new doctor was there. They were draining my blood I could see the tubes coming out of my arms. One time Aadya came in she wasn’t happy, she yanked me up and screamed at me, the doctors had to hold her back or I think she would have tried to kill me. Once she had settled down a bit she walked stiffly over to the bed, so close I could smell her perfume.

   “What did you do to the blood, you witch.” She snarled, I was confused I had no idea what she was talking about. She must have noticed the look on my face because she continued. “Our machines are of the highest technology and yet they can’t read your blood. Why?” It took me a minute, probably from the loss of blood, to realize what she was talking about.

   “I don’t know.” I lied, before she could question me further and discover my bluff the doctor came in and told her that she needed to leave. After giving me one last glare she walked out, slamming the door behind her. Not long after she left I passed out again.

   The next time I woke up there was a commotion that sounded like fighting. I wondered if Aadya was getting into a fight with the doctor. That idea was dismissed as soon as someone came crashing through the door. In my drowsiness, I didn’t know who it was but they pulled the tubes from my arms and yanked me up. I don’t know what happened next because I slipped back into uneasy unconsciousness but I got the feeling that I was teleporting and suddenly someplace place sunny. Not too long after maybe ten minutes I regained enough consciousness to sit up somewhat. Blinking as my eyes adjusted to the bright light I saw five people all with worried faces. I tried to get up but stumbled someone caught me.    “Here, drink this,” the voice said handing me a bottle, I took it eyeing it suspiciously. The liquid was a reddish pink and shimmered slightly. Even though I hadn’t seen the person who gave it to me, something told me to trust them, so I drank it. It tasted so bad, like spoiled milk but worst, I almost spit it out. Thankfully I didn’t because whatever it was after I drank it my head started to clear and the pain faded.

   “Thank you,” I said turning to look at them. I froze, in complete shock.    “You didn’t think I would just let you die, now did you?” Said the stranger. I knew them, but I didn’t even know what to say. I kinda just stared at him. The other people there watched me to see what I would do.

   “Stella, are you okay?” It was Nevaeh who spoke as she put her hand on my shoulder. I still didn’t know what to do. On one hand, is people who know me as Stella, kids who I go to school with, Nevaeh, Ella, who I was friends with, Chris, Preston, and Logan, who I didn’t really like but had classes with, and then on the other is Uriko who knows me as Star what am I supposed to do. If I say I know Uriko who is clearly not from our world with his red eyes and what people would consider strange clothing, I would expose myself in front of everyone and who knows what they do. What if when we get home they tell everyone? Not even my family will be able to protect me. So instead I cover it up.    “Ya, I’m just still a little dizzy, but we should get going so no one finds us.” I put on a smile and started walking toward a line of trees not far from where we started.

   “Wait,” I turned It was Uriko who had spoken, for half a second I was afraid he was going to say something like ‘don’t you recognize me?’ or call me Star, but instead he pointed in a different direction and said, “There is an abandoned house that way we can stay there until we find a way to send everyone home.” He started walking and everyone followed.

   “He’s so creepy, right?” Nevaeh said once she thought we were out of earshot. Some of the others were talking to each other it was clear that no one knew what to do other than follow the person they were all terrified of.

   “What do you mean? He saved you right?” I asked giving her a confused look she nodded. “I’m going to go talk to him” Now it was her turn to look at me with curiosity.

   “What he’s so strange, he just appeared right after they took you away and teleported all of us away. He hasn’t really said much.” She sounded concerned for me but she also gave the impression that she wasn’t going to stop me and when I walked ahead to talk to him she didn’t follow. It was a good thing that she didn’t because there were some things that I wanted to talk to him about.     “Uriko,” I started he looked at me but kept walking “Do you know why we’re here?” I asked he shook his head. I felt bad because he’s normally more talkative but I maybe I hurt his feelings by not saying I know him. Just as I was about to apologize he stopped and looked at something in the distance.    “There it is.” He said pointing to a small structure. It was getting dark and everyone was a little on edge. We walked up to it and everyone went inside except me and Uriko. “Are you ok?” He asked I did something between a nod and a shake.

   “Sorry,” I said looking at the ground. He gave me a confused look, almost as if to ask why. “I didn’t want them to know.” I stammered. He rolled his eyes. Even though his eyes are solid red I could always tell when he was rolling them because he would make a huffing noise at the end.    “Really? Do you really not think I know you by now? Literally every time you tell me about these kids you make it so obvious that you don’t want them to know.” He said pulling his hood over his head making him almost blend into the darkness that was deepening around us. “Good night Star,” He said retreating into the woods, the moon reflected off the sword strapped to his back. I walked into the house. Everyone was already settled and didn't see me make my way across the room. I fell asleep to the sound of someone snoring.

   I woke up late and everyone was in what looked like it used to be a kitchen crowded around something. I got up and walked over trying to see what everyone was looking at. It was Logan, he was holding what looked to be a dairy. When he saw me he shoved it into my hands, “Read this, out loud,” He said I gave him a look but I started at the top anyway.

   “‘September 15, it comes every night and for two nights it just stands there looking through the window and won’t go away. Some of the men had gone out to try to kill it but they didn’t come back. It is taller than my dad and he’s 6' and all you can see is its outline and glowing red eyes. Even though it's terrifying to have it just stand there it’s the third night that everyone fears. That's when it comes in and destroys everything. We hide in the attic and lock the door.’” I read aloud and looked at them.    “Do you know who they're referring to?” Asked Logan they all looked at me like the answer was obvious. When I didn’t answer, Logan garbed the book back and started reading “‘It is taller than my dad and he’s 6' and all you can see is its outline and glowing red eyes.’ Who does that sound like?” I finally realized who he was talking about.

   “You think it's talking about Uriko,” I asked afraid of what the answer would be. He nodded “But that doesn’t make any sense,” How could they think he would kill people for no reason? I started getting mad and confused. He saved them and they still think he’s a bad person.    I spent most of that day avoiding everyone. I did find Uriko and had a conversation with him. I wasn’t accusing him, I didn’t even bring up the idea that it could be him but I did tell him about the diary. He wasn’t mad at them for thinking it was him but he did look confused and said that he was only in this realm a week before we all showed up. He asked me why I cared what they thought about him and I had to explain once again that if they thought he was terrifying then they would think the same of me. He only laughed.    That night everyone ate fruit they had found and even though they were terrified they still ended up sleeping. I woke up in the middle of the night, figuring that I wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon I walked to the front room and sat down on the torn-up couch. I heard something, it sounded like breathing and it was coming from behind me. I turned, standing outside of the window was a creature that matched the description of the thing in the diary but it was a lot more horrifying in person. Even though the window was broken and it could easily come in, it just stood there. I slowly got up and walked into the other room.    The closest person to me was Preston. I said a quiet apology and woke him up. He murmured as I pulled him into the room. Turning him around to face the window he spotted the creature, unlike me, he couldn’t see in the dark but it was light enough that he was able to see it. Instead of screaming or fainting like I thought he was going to do he just sat down and started crying. I felt really bad but I needed someone else to see it because no one would believe me. He eventually cried himself to sleep but I just sat there staring at it for the rest of the night until it turned around a left.

   That morning Uriko woke everyone up saying that he had found a way home. Everyone still thought that he was the monster. That didn’t change when I told them what happened of course no one believed me but Preston backed me up.

  “Why do you still defend him?” Chris asked me. At this time I was done.

   “Wouldn’t you defend your Father?” I yelled at them turning my eyes red and standing next to Uriko. At that moment everything went dark. When I could see again, I was in some sort of throne room. Sitting on the throne was the Black Cat, it jumped off and shifted mid-air into a black-haired woman in a black dress. She smiled at me. “Congratulations, you’ve completed the test.”


Going to be the First The Situation I have long wanted to be the first one to do something memorable. And now I am just about to do what no one on my planet has ever done before. But I’m not so sure that this is something that I want to do, certainly not alone as I am now. I had known about the exciting possibility of this great event and worked towards its likelihood for years, from boy to man, from school to experience. But now I do not feel completely comfortable or ready for it, especially in the present circumstances. I have to make a decision soon. Do I go for it, or do I return back to where I came from? The First Strike            There were three of us at the beginning of this space adventure. We laughed over how we were going to race to see who was going to make the first big step onto ground untrodden by our people before. But the first major obstacle we encountered eliminated one of us from ‘the touching the ground race’ as we had been calling it. The obstacle was a round flying object that came for certain from our eventual destination and quickly closed in on our spaceship before we had time to put up our defences. The object exuded such an incredibly strong attractive force that it slammed one of our number against the nearest wall of our space craft, crushing his breath and his heart beat right out of his body. There was nothing the two of us could do to rescue him from his fate. Fortunately, we had been strapped into our seats, while he had been walking, so we could not be moved like he had been. Granted, breathing was quite difficult for the two of us for a few seconds, but still possible. Our heartbeats sped up, but not to a rate that would force our hearts to burst, as happened to our flight mate and good friend. The Second Strike            As we got closer to our destination, we faced another threat. A rocket circled our space ship. It shot a ray that, without breaking the outside surface of our ship, literally set my one remaining flight partner on fire. He glowed for a second or two and then went up in flames. I am now alone. I am lucky to have been sitting down in the inner office, not near the surface of the ship like my friend and colleague had been. The First Decision            I have to make a decision now. Should I land on the planet and complete the mission, or head back to my home planet? After some thought, I decided that I should complete our mission. I owed it to my two colleagues. I owed it to the boy I was that yearned to have this chance. In addition, there was important work here that I needed to do for our people to have a safer future. I turned on the undetectablizer. As soon as it began functioning, I was protected from having my craft and I seen, heard or the source of a rebounding ray. Soon afterwards I saw several space vehicles apparently sent out to seek me out. One of them nearly collided with me quite accidently. I’m knew that the pilot could not detect the presence of my vessel. The undetectablizer had worked its magic.            I approached and then passed close to their moon, and, much to my surprise, I found it to be completely empty of life. I would have thought that they would have occupied it by now. They had first landed on it a longt time ago, according to our space history books, and made a big deal out of it at the time.            It did not take me long after that to land on the planet in a field filled with plant life. I believe that the local name for the plant was corn. The task that we had been set was to take a sample of a particularly successful plant, to see whether there was some genetic element in the planet that made the people that lived here so incredibly aggressive towards people from other planets. I was shocked to hear what they had done to the people on Mars.. The plants were easy to sample, not having strong defences against what I was doing. It would be interesting to see what our scientists would find out about life on this planet based on this sample. I had a bit of a hard time resisting eating the corn, as I had read somewhere that the people who lived on this planet thought it to be quite tasty. The Second Decision            Just as I returned to my space ship I picked up a signal that was being broadcast around the planet. Apparently the message it sent was that the planet was being attacked by ‘dangerous aliens’. I wanted to reply to the message saying that there was only one alien currently on their planet, and he was about to leave, having done no damage to the people of the planet, although he had stolen some corn.            I felt now that it could be possible that I would not only be the first of our people to land on this planet, but could very well be the last to set foot here. These were not an easy people to deal with in any mutually beneficial way. We might never again take the chance to return to Abbadabba ‘land of the unknown’, as we call it. I discovered when I was listening to the signal that their name for their planet was ‘earth’. Right at this moment I think that a better name for it in this one of many languages on the planet might be ‘stone’. It certainly seems to me to be a hard place.  I am glad that I live on Neptune, and that the denizens of this planet do not yet know that we exist. Still, I want to return here and work towards establishing a friendly connection with this planet. I will have lots of time on my flight back to think of how that might come to be. Right now I think that I will try to override the signal transmitting the ‘dangerous aliens’ message with the simple but truthful words, “We come in peace.”            And that was to be the first step.


Being seven years old stinks! This evening I was supposed to go to the soccer club pizza party, but I’m grounded for failing a test in school and trying to lie about it. I wouldn’t have been able to go anyways just for failing the test but I still didn’t want to miss it if I could help it!  Wendy Green was going to wear her new JoJo Siwa watch and Taylor Gates was bringing her Glitter Girl doll in a new outfit, and I have to miss seeing them! And it’ll be so embarrassing to explain why I couldn’t go! Mom and Dad are out on a date tonight so I’m stuck at home with a babysitter. Of course, I’m not the baby. My little brother is, but the fact a babysitter comes to my house would be another thing I’d be embarrassed to tell my friends. But secretly I think she’s super cool. The babysitter’s name is Allison. She’s fifteen years old ! She just started high school! She wears makeup and does her own hair, which she’ll help me with sometimes when my baby brother doesn’t need much attention. She has a smartphone with Snapchat! Mom and Dad won’t let me use Snapchat, but when Allison’s over and after she takes care of my brother, we take selfies and use the filters and stuff. Then she sends the pictures to me. She’s learning how to drive, but she says she can’t take me anywhere by herself until she has her license. She even has a boyfriend ! But my brother is taking up a lot of Allison’s time this evening. He didn’t settle down until I was in bed myself so we couldn’t do the fun things we normally do when she’s over. I can’t wait to be a grown-up so I can do what I want. I won’t get grounded for failing a test. If I know everything by now, I imagine I wouldn’t even fail any more tests by the time I’m in high school. I won’t need a babysitter. I won’t even have to live with my parents and baby brother if I didn’t want to. I could use Snapchat. I could drive, go on dates, and to pizza parties whenever I want. I’d go to bed anytime I wanted too. When I wake up the next morning, I turn on the lamp and see I’m not in my own room. My My Little Pony comforter is not on my bed and my dolls and stuffed toys aren’t next to me.  No other toys are to be found anywhere in the room either. Instead, I see a dresser scattered with makeup, jewelry, perfume, and hairstyling things. Some clothes lay around the room that look bigger than me. Have I become a grown-up already? I get out of bed and start shuffling across the room. My body isn’t moving with my own control, which is confusing and scary. But I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see Allison’s face. I’m in her body! Allison shuffles to the bathroom and turns on the shower. While in there, she shaves her legs! It seems so easy to her but thinking about a razor makes me worry about cutting my skin off! When she gets out and dries off, she puts some face cream on a few pimples. Eww! But she puts makeup on a while later and she has the pretty face I recognize. The pimples are hardly noticeable too. When its time to go, Allison gets to practice driving on her way to school, which isn’t as easy as I imagined. There are so many things to keep track of: the car’s speed, the mirrors, the dashboard meters, the signals, the signs and lights, other cars on the road. On top of that, her mom in the passenger seat was more nervous than leaves in a wind storm the whole time. She was constantly fussing at Allison to stop, slow down, use the turn signal, or watch the blind spots. It’s overwhelming! They pull up to the high school in one piece though—thank goodness—and Allison gets out. I don’t see what her mom was so nervous about.  I never noticed how big the high school is, or even been this close to it until now. Allison must’ve gotten the hang of it by now but I’m afraid I’d get lost. She makes her way down the halls to her locker. I wish we had lockers in elementary school. We have just as many books and crap. First thing in the morning, Allison is in a class called algebra. Its like a math class but it uses letters. I thought just learning how to do multiplication was hard. It looks like algebra uses all kinds of math. Her teacher reminds the class about a test at the end of the week and passes back assignments. Allison’s paper has several teacher’s marks on it and I can tell she’s nervous. I guess you can even fail tests in high school. Over an hour later, a bell rings and Allison goes to another classroom. This time, English, one of my favorite subjects! I’m one of the better readers in my class, I’m a decent speller, and I enjoy the vocabulary activities. Except, in Allison’s English class, she’s working on a ten-page research paper on a current issue—whatever that means.  And ten pages, holy cow! The whole class period, Allison was on the internet researching something called her thesis, writing things on notecards, and then typing an outline. I thought writing my book reports were tough! Allison’s lunchtime is almost like mine. The school lunch even looks a lot like what we eat at my school. In a crowded cafeteria she eats and talks with her friends and her boyfriend until time for the next classes. I guess they don’t have recess during lunch in high school. Allison goes to a class called homeroom after lunch. While there, her class is instructed to take something called career assessments. They’re like personality quizzes, where they ask if you would rather buy and sell stuff, or study or build something. You choose whether you wanted to do that the most or the least to answer the questions and, in the end, it suggests the best things for you to do after high school. The fact that Allison and her classmates are taking quizzes for that seems a little funny to me.  When you’re around my age, all the time people ask what you want to be when you grow up. When a kid answers that question, I think sometimes we want to do what our moms and dads do or we just think a job is super cool, and we think a lot of things are super cool too. To me, playing soccer, creating outfits, and teaching a class all seem super cool, so when I grow up, I want to be either a soccer player, a fashion designer, or a teacher. Do kids in high school forget what they want to be when they grow up? What if the test says they should do something different? Most of the choices on those quizzes all seem super cool but only one could be the answer. How do you choose? I only have about eight more years to figure this out… The school day finally ends after a few more hours and classes. I thought that Allison would have the time to do what she wants now, but she had to call and talk to her mom first. “Can I go with my friends to the ice cream place?” She asked. “Who’s going?” Her mom asked back. “Candice, Sarah, and Ella,” “What about your homework?” “It’ll get done, Mom!” “If you fail your algebra test, you’ll be grounded,” Her mom warned. “Can I not have a little fun, Mom?” “Stop it, Allison Kenzie! Don’t forget curfew or you’ll be grounded sooner.” Wow…Allison does some super cool grown-up things, but she still has to do homework and pass tests. She has pimples and has to shave. And she has to talk to her parents before going out with her friends and has to be home at a certain time. I guess life doesn’t get any easier in eight years.


"You said you'd teach me the true meaning of wrath," the man with the gun said. Disgust curled each word before he spat them out through gritted teeth. "Is this what you wanted?" His hand did not waver as he kept the gun fixed on the woman in the shattered doorway. In another lifetime, he had called her beautiful. He remembered the time before the earthshakes began to last days- weeks, even. When anyone could risk traveling up into these high-risers and not just the fools who had something to prove. A life where fragility and delicacy were cherished and beautiful, not something one had to beat out before the Quakes did it for them. There was nothing of that life left in either. Her eyes were just as hard, her hands just as bloodstained, even as she held them before her with palms up in plaintive surrender. He didn't take his eyes off those hands, knowing, knowing that as soon as he did, she'd make him regret everything and more. "Cal," she said, in that tone of voice. His teeth ground together. One finger played with the trigger of his gun, offering the slightest pressure before releasing it. "Don't you dare." The woman eased into the room. He took a step back. She took another forward. A jerk of the gun halted her in her tracks, and she spread her hands just a bit further apart. "I just want to talk." His smile was so forced it almost pained her as much to see it as it did for him to wear it. "Yeah? Yeah, really? Talk? I should have shot you as soon as you opened your mouth." She winced. It looked genuine. "Cal, I'm sorry. I never should have started this." Another careful step forward, and she lowered her hands. "It's best we step away before any more of our people get hurt." He laughed out loud, a surprised bark. "Our people?" His boots crunched over broken glass as he swiveled to peer into each corner of the room with wide eyes. The gun remained fixed on the woman as Cal went through the exaggerated motions before he looked forward again. His expression went flat. "The only people getting hurt are yours. Because of me. I'm hurting them. You haven't gotten close to touching me or mine." Her eyes lowered. Submission? Guilt? He doubted it. "I realize I was wrong," she said. "If I had known-" "If you had known," he cut her off. "You did, Rae. You fucking did. Don't fucking try to tell me no one told you better. Don't play this game with me. It might work on all the others, but you know damn well I never thought you naïve." Her eyes flashed and her chin lifted in that little stubborn tilt it did right when she was ready to give someone a piece of her mind. Cal didn't wait for her to do that, forging on ahead anyway. "Blood. Fire. Pain. Your exact fucking words, Rae. So how dare you come here and beg the dog to stop after you kept on kicking and kicking and kicking it into the fucking corner. You want me to stop? Then you can damn well MAKE ME!" He breathed hard, his eyes alight with the fire of his words. Rae's hands had curled into fists at her sides. Her voice turned low, harsh, and controlled. "I thought you would see reason, Cal." His finger brushed the trigger once more. "I can't turn my back anymore, Rae. So either you step down; admit you're wrong so the world can see, or my hands are going be stained red with every one of your boys." "I can't step down," Rae said, half to herself. Her face turned, that delicate profile suddenly lit by the setting light through the window. The pang of her voice would tug at the heart of anyone who carried one and it settled like a thorn in Cal's chest. "I have nothing left." "I didn't start this, Rae." His voice turned harsh to counter the sorrow in hers. "I'm just-"The gun twitched in his hand. "-I'm just winning it." "So why not just shoot me here?" Cal said nothing. Instead, he raised his gaze from her hands, tracing over the scars of her face and lines of her brow. He finally settled on her eyes and allowed his own to lose their hard edge. "Because," he said, his voice gentle, "for the sake of everything we shared together," he paused, seeing her face soften, then stiffen as he continued, "I want to see you suffer, Rae. I want to watch as you finally understand the mistakes you keep on forcing and the pain you cause. I want you to know that, as much as you pride yourself on finding everyone's little weaknesses, their little place it hurts most, it doesn't make you any less vulnerable." Her voice matched his for softness, yet simmered with the force of words she just barely held back. "I'll kill you and everything you care for, Callahan." The man shook his head and lowered the gun. "Too late for that." And, as she turned for the door, he clicked his tongue at her. "So long, Rae." Her footsteps echoed down the hallway and faded into silence. "That could have gone better," Cal murmured to himself as he turned to the window and crunched his way across more glass to peer out at the street. He watched for the small hooded figure exiting the building and tracked her path until she disappeared down another street before letting out his held breath. "Could have gone worse too." He was in no hurry to leave this room, though a chill wind with the scent of ocean tugged at his collar in threat. It had been a nice building, before the Quakes, and as Callahan turned back to consider the scattered wreckage of windows and furniture, he considered something else. That consideration led him out the doorway, through the hall, down the winding stairs, and out through the sagging doors where he turned to face the building. The gusts of wind and beginnings of rain stood no chance against his coat, and so Callahan stood there for some time, pondering what he saw before him. "Are you gonna stand there 'til the sun goes down?" Cal cocked his head briefly in a nod to acknowledge the soft voice before he turned to face a woman leaning up against the mangled remains of a bike rack. She had settled into an almost cliched pose, her arms crossed and chin lifting her cocky smirk. Like his own, her dusty coat bore the stains and tatters of many battles. Unlike him, a chain-wrapped bat dangled from one hand. "A book could be written about everything to observe on this street, Keth," Callahan said without preamble. He gestured between them. "About us, even." He wasn't wrong. Tall where he was short, pasty where he was tawny, the two couldn't contrast each other more. She had even chopped off her hair, leaving only a fine black fuzz. Cal would rather put an eye out than touch his own pristinely curled locks. "Is this going to lead somewhere or have you been sneaking snakebite again?" Cal granted her a thin smile. "Both. We're going to have company soon." "Ah, fuck. You're not gonna-" "Ah- ah- ah," he held up a finger to halt Keth's protest. "It's not that many. She never risks more than a couple of her boys." Just a talk, he had said. All they had to do was arrive, chat, and leave. He had said there was no way Rae would try to strike out at him. "You lied to me," Keth said, her voice not even incredulous only because it was just so like him. "You lied and now I have to beat some idiot asses because you thought I wouldn't come with you if I knew?" His pleasant smile faded briefly, just a touch. "I never said-" "Tch," she said, her turn now to cut him off. "I told you I was only here for your protection. Not to start murdering in your damn one-sided war." "Technically it's not one-sided, they're attacking us now-" "Cal." He shrugged, his brow quirking in a sheepish manner. "Does it help if I say sorry?" "It might if you actually meant it." Keth turned her head to scan the street, gripping her bat more firmly. "I don't hear anyone." Callahan turned as well, swiveling his whole body with lips pursed and dark eyes searching. "That's strange. I really thought she'd take the bait." Ignoring that comment, at least for the moment, the woman straightened from her half-seat on the bike rack. Her head cocked, ear turned towards the harbor, and a searching tenseness to her expression. Before Callahan could say anything further, she put up a single finger, stilling him into silence. The silence stretched on for longer than it should have. "Fuck," Keth said softly, realizing what exactly that silence meant. "No birds," Cal agreed. His smile had returned, thin and tight, the man pretending that his face hadn't suddenly gone pale. Reaching into her coat pocket, Keth pulled out a set of binoculars, fumbling with them the wrong way in her haste. She righted them and peered through towards the harbor, straining to see where the grey waters were. Or at least, where they had been. "Quake?" Cal dared to ask. She nodded grimly. "Water's gone." In the distance, a foreboding grey swell had begun to ascend in a wave towards the city. To the naked eye, it seemed laughably tiny. No one would be laughing when it closed the distance to finally crash over land. "Well?" Callahan stretched out his hand to Keth, fingers curled invitingly. She snorted once, ignoring the gesture in favor of breaking into a full-on sprint in the opposite direction of the tidal wave. With his coat flapping in the wind of his passing behind him, Cal did the same. "I think!" he called to Keth between breaths as they ran, "That we! Were set up!"


Disclaimer: I am from Germany so please excuse any grammatical errors. When I looked out of the window it was still the everyday grey. The cold season always made me feel glad to be inside all the time. You had no obligations when everything for school was finished. That was what I always felt the first week of the winter holidays. The other weeks were lonely. I didn’t want to text anyone if they had time to meet. I thought I would annoy them. But there were this one holiday season that was different. On the friday the school ended one female friend of mine threw a party because she was finally 18. I asked her if i could bring a good friend of mine. At the moment I didn’t knew it but it was my best friend. As everyone said you only see those things when they are gone. At the party I got drunk. I got really drunk. My friend also got very drunk. At the end of the party my female friend and my best friend were kissing. I was really drunk so I didn’t bother. I only noticed that something was wrong when my friend didn’t want to hang out because he drove to her. I was mad. I missed him and that was when I realized that he was my best friend at the moment. I was hanging out with other friends but it just didn’t feel right. I always tried to come down by saying that I would also neglect my friendships if I were to finally get a girlfriend and that I shouldn’t be so mad about it. I cheered for them. I love to see other people being happy. But I wasn’t able to drown out the fact that I felt like I was being replaced. It was New Year’s Eve when I realized that I wasn’t able to ignore the feeling that I got replaced. My friend was a cook so he needed to work New Year’s Eve, or so I thought. Me and 3 other friends were throwing a party and he told us that he needed to work. When we saw the snap that he was hanging out with her instead of his year long friends something broke inside of me. I told him my deepest secrets. I thought that we would at least hang out a bit the next few years. At this moment I felt my heart ache. I knew that people were doing everything for a loved one. But at this moment it felt so bad to be betrayed. I didn’t thought he would lie to his year long friends for someone he only knew one and half a week. At the next moment my thoughts reminded me of the movie “Stand by me”. When I realised what was happening I giggled. I saw the bigger picture. I wished them a happy new year and went my way. Most of my friends are still with me and we are still keeping in touch. When I look back I knew my thoughts weren’t egoistic and his weren’t. They were feelings. And I learned my lesson. Friendship and love isn’t asbout the time you spent it is about the intensety of the things you go through together.


There were six friends, three boys and three girls. The boys were Cooper the football-obsessed blonde, Hector the anxious nerd and Grant the detective wannabe, and the girls were Sally the gentle goth, Emily the chubby asian and Melissa the ginger hippie. They went to explore an abandoned church, a church where multiple priests and nuns died due to gruesome yet unknown circumstances, what makes their deaths more odd and mysterious was that they all died in one day after leaving this church. Cooper, Hector and Grant were busy searching around the place while Sally, Emily and Melissa chit-chatted. After for only a few minutes, Cooper decides that it's time to leave as this place isn't interesting but then Melissa called out to her friends, saying that she found something "cool". The boys and girls gathered to see what Melissa had just found; it was a poem, written on an ancient piece of paper, the words were written in "red ink". "Read it!" Grant politely demanded Melissa, after clearing her throat, she read the following: "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims five lives but leaves one. The Man In Red will visit the lucky one with a feeling of DREAD and evil. The Man In Red will follow the lucky one all day until they're DEAD. The Man In Red will go back into rest until another MISLEAD fool discovers him". "Oookay... That's edgy" Emily says, unnerved of what the poem said, "Oh, don't be such a wuss, Emily! It's just a stupid plain poem!" Cooper laughed. Then the six decide to leave the church for now. The next morning, Melissa made herself breakfast and turned on the news, only to discover that some horrible things happened to her friends. Cooper had somehow broken his entire spine and neck during training, Hector had died of a heart attack, Grant was brutally beaten to death, Sally hanged for herself for unknown reasons and Emily became a victim of a shooting. Melissa couldn't believe what happened, it left her in sadness and shock, how did they all die in one day? Then she remembered the words "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims five but leaves one". Then the living room turned red, it wasn't her vision, everything was literally turning to red like blood. Melissa was confused and afraid, she didn't know what was happening, then she noticed a thick puddle of blood, she was about to touch when the puddle of blood suddenly started to vibrate and bubble up, then "he" rose from the puddle. It was so-called "The Man In Red" but didn't really look like a man, it was an amorphous mass of red slime taking a humanoid shape, it was tall like a street lamp, it only had empty eye sockets and a toothless mouth. Melissa was paralysed with dread, then whatever this abomination was, leaned over and stared at her with it's black voids for eyes. "**YOU'RE..... LUCKY.....**" The Man In Red said with a calm yet distorted and demonic voice. As she closes her eyes and opens them again, the creature and the redness were gone, but Melissa realised something; The Man In Red will always follow her for the rest of her life. It has been about eight years and Melissa couldn't take it anymore, she had took her own life in her apartment. One day, a young boy and seven of his friends were walking home from school when the boy finds a piece of paper on the ground, it's a poem. He picks it up and reads it; "The Man In Red will SPREAD a plague that claims seven but leaves only one. The Man In Red will visit the lucky with a feeling of DREAD and evil. The Man In Red will follow the lucky one until they're dead. The Man In Red will rest until another MISLEAD fool discovers him".


## Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills, areas in which we excel, and ways we’d like to improve. This is our weekly thread to discuss all things writing and to get to know your fellow writers!! We will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion each week. Feel free to join in the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, and more. You do not have to answer all the questions, but please try to stay on topic! ## This Week’s Roundtable Discussion **If this is your first week joining us, please feel free to introduce yourself! Tell us a little about you and your writing!** > I’m Ali and I’m *obsessed* with baking, particularly cupcakes - as I’m known for on the server. I think I favor reading over writing. My favorite author is probably Neil Gaiman. However, when I do write, I lean toward romance, urban fantasy, and magical realism. **Additional Questions this Week:** - **How do you decide what feedback to use in your drafts?** - **Is it difficult for you to accept praise for your work?** - **How do you offer praise for the work of others in a way they can believe and accept it?** *** ### Reminders **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussions in any form will not be tolerated. **Please try to stay on topic.