The first thing you do is butter the bun. Then you drop it down the toaster. The toaster takes approximately eighteen seconds to toast. You then put the top and bottom together, place them on a red tray and then cover the twelve buns that fit on the tray, 4x3, with another tray and place them to the side. Once you are ready to make the sandwich you place two pickles on the bottom, no more than a quarter inch over lapping. Then you place the chicken filet with the smooth, round side facing up and then place the crown of the bun on top. Finally open up the sandwich bag allowing enough room for the sandwich to easily slide in, then fold the bag over twice and place it in the warming drawer for five minutes. Any sandwich that sits there for longer than five minutes gets trashed. If you would like a deluxe sandwich then place either a slice of American, provolone, or pepper jack cheese on top of the filet, then put two, whole, tomato slices on top of the cheese and two pieces of lettuce, shiny side up, that frame the bun on top of the tomatoes. Then repeat until your soul has been crushed, pissed on, and every dream and fire that has ever existed in you has been stomped out by the ceaseless, monotonous work you subject yourself to in order to not even get by. They, being the people who don’t work with you, will remind you that you chose to be there, just be thankful to have a job, or that it is just temporary. You know that isn’t true though. You can’t find a better job because you are working 50 hours a week and you are too tired to do anything else. You can barely even find the energy or will power to get out of bed in the morning. Every once in a while you feel like you have enough energy and fortitude to say enough is enough and move on but then you realize your life revolves around this job. All of your friends are there. They are the people that deal with all of the shitty customers who think they are the Queen of god damn England, the ones who think they own you because you stand behind a register. Your coworkers are the ones that after all the shit you put up with tell to forget the customer, he is an asshole, you didn’t do anything wrong, people like that just happen. You have a bond with your coworkers, like brother in arms who are united by their common misery. So the cycle repeats, week after week after week after week after week after week as if your days are manufactured on an assembly line. Then you find yourself waking up in the tiny room you call an apartment. You shower and head to work and start your day off like you have the past, seemingly, five thousand days. You clock in, take your slip that shows the time you clocked in and put it your wallet. Then you say high to everyone. Then you either go to the kitchen or the front counter depending on what you are assigned that day. Then you spend the next ten hours slaving away like the robot you are. You listen to the exact same orders, make the exact same food and you have the exact same routine to live by. Then you watch your boss drive up in his new, gas guzzling behemoth of a truck and say “Hi!” to everyone as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. It is as if he has no idea what the people he employs put up with on a daily basis. It is as if he hopes his friendly disposition will be contagious but what does he do besides sit in that office of his in the back while you are the one who gets burned at the fryers and the one who has to choose if it is worth turning the heat on at night. You are the one that has to decide whether or not to fix your car or just walk the five miles or so. The one who should just deal with the tooth ache or dish out the three thousand dollars for a root canal because god forbid giving his employees health insurance would just decimate his profits. No one likes the boss. Between the shitty boss, shitty job, and shitty house and lifestyle what can you find to be joyous about? You are simply a tiny little speck. In fact you aren’t even speck in the scheme of things. You are less than a pixel, you are less than even the red, blue, and green lights that make up a pixel. You are nonexistent and utterly replaceable and no one will notice if you go. Just like no one has noticed the billions of stars that have existed and perished and no one ever will. Just like no one ever notices the trillions of bacteria that are beneath our feet. That is what you amount to. At some point we have all been there. The thing is though that not all of us end there. That is the saving grace. There is a glimmer of a hope that one day you can escape the cycle of the daily grind. Get a degree if you are young enough, have a support system while you find a better job, or maybe you are stronger than most and do it all alone. Not everyone is lucky though. Sometimes the grind wears you down and grinds you to you are so thin that you become a part of the walls there. You are an everlasting stone that will be a part of where you are stuck, just like the walls. Bills add up and sooner than you know it you are living out on the streets and left with nothing but free time. Maybe you cope with a steady dose of drugs. Maybe you cope with a healthier method. Either way it leads to the same thing. If you aren’t apart of the club, the haves, then you better get used to meaningless, mindless tasks that ask nothing of you but obedience. The boss, the haves, will tell you that working at these crummy soul devouring jobs is fine. What would they know about what you do though? It is not a matter of them being any less hard working but it is a matter of having something to show for it. If you work at a restaurant and you can’t even afford to eat there they pay you so little then what is the point? It gets to the point where thinking physically hurts. It breaks you just as bad as your job does. You think of all the things that you gave up, that you let slip by and you think never again will I let that happen, but it is too late. You have already buttered the buns. You have dropped them in the toaster. You have placed them on the tray. Put the two pickles on the bun, then the filet, and then the top part of the bun. You have wrapped the sandwich and placed it in the warming drawer until you throw it up for the next customer to devour or for it to get thrown away because it has been the warmer to long and has grown hard and unpleasant and unwanted.


The Farne Islands are black places. Most places in the North Sea are. From their black cliffs a small fishing boat travels precariously between the rocks in the local harbour to Inner Farne on the near horizon. Around the boat, little black specs tornado in unison, their wings silhouetted against a thick sky. The boat eventually finds it’s mooring and a woman comes into view, her long blond plait falls from under two hats pulled low to her face. A seal breaks the water to watch the newcomer, buoyed in the angry water like it’s riding a wave machine at a kid’s amusement park. They lock eyes for a moment and the seal gets bored. The woman empties the boat carefully of food rations and equipment, though obviously not enough for a long stay. She stops and looks longingly at the boat for a moment, leaving a box of wires and a phone still in the dingy. Without hesitation she unwraps the rope keeping the boat moored and sets it free unpiloted. The sea takes it slowly at first, as if checking she means to let it go on purpose. The rope slips away and her only way of escape disappears quickly and vanishes to the black. The seal reappears looking visibly confused. Her job to be done is simple but important. Bird flu ripped through the local population on the small island, meaning no puffin, shag, turn or razorbill was safe. They had no respite from the disease, no technology to turn to for help. She felt she owed it to them; an exchange for her life where money could, and had, bought an easy life. The wind on the Island grabs jealously she walks up to the tower at the top of the black cliff edge. She’s never been inside but has seen the tower many times from the shore, it’s weather worn stones have seen Vikings, Christians, chavs, but yet it remains just so. Her hands begin to unpack rations whilst her mind is still with Max and Alex and Nicky in the city. Home comforts were gone; no cashmere, no Instagram. Only sheepskin rugs from the Northumberland mainland offer any respite; the smell of salt and smoke holds deep into the woven tapestry of the place. On one side of the room sits a desk, it’s screens and monitors and radios cast an unnatural blue hue over the ancient stonework. At it’s side lays what appears to be two sunbeds from circa 1994. They wait with their silvery lids open wide, invitingly clean and ready for use. Where a head would go protrudes a large metal probe, along with a selection of other needles and cables which attach messily to the desk close by. She rubs the back of her head. A screwed metal disc aches at the curve of her skull, not used to the severe North Sea cold. As if in response, all the metal plug points on her body itch in unison. Never again will this body be plugged in to charge, to repair, to reset. She shuts the lids on the life support machines so as not to tempt her. The wind rages but she takes the opportunity to begin her daily tasks. Outside the front door to the tower a sign reads ‘ONLY STEP ON THE BOARD WALK, CHECK FOR CHICKS’ and she imagines someone shouting it in her face. It is a black place as they said it was. Everything is hard. The rock, the water, the wind. It hurts. But this is what she wants, to repent for a life led with too much good fortune. She walks from one end of the small island to the other. Puffins come and go, their beaks filled with sand eels. Silver scales catch the sun which furiously tries to push through the heavy cloud. Against the patchwork of lichen and heather they flash their red beaks to each other like morse code. She still feels sick from the journey. In normal circumstances she would have changed bodies long before the sickness kicked in. It would have simply been put on charge until the system calmed down, she had plenty of spares at home. Her stomach sends out a stabbing pain in response. She ponders what people must have done hundreds of years ago when the tower was built; they must have had some medicinal remedies otherwise the whole population would have been wiped out. After a week on the island, the chores are second nature. Today she counts the puffin burrows to monitor this year’s breeding pairs. The work is manual but not too taxing for a fairly new body of which she is glad she still has. The sick feeling remains and hums deep in her body. Before she gets back to the tower for the evening she doubles over and vomits into the wind. Orange lumps fly out over the black cliffs, illuminated against an angry sky. She had never known anyone to be sick, no one had, not since the turn of the century when people still had to endure the frail bodies they were born with. They were taught this stuff in school, how disease was rampant back then but it became irrelevant when technology and Mindscaping were invented. With the ability to move your mind freely from one body to the next, the need to cure disease vanished, modern medicinal products were literally never created. You just discarded the sick like a Primark jumper gone wrong in the wash. She remembered the first exotic body she was bought as a youngster. She had decided on an overnight whim to become a ballerina, so her parents had shipped a model in from Russia. It was exquisite, it's porcelain skin was almost see though and bent in ways her other bodies could never manage. Unfortunately, it's feet got mangled and was quickly donated to a family in another town, no point in fixing. A storm rolls in from the North Sea and the sky quickly changes colour. She knows the drill and quickly pulls the few items gathered outside into the tower and bolts the main door. The kettle wines against the howl outside. She finds her mind slipping in the dark, taking her across the water to Max and Alex and Nicky. She cannot remember how old they are, she can barely remember how old she is, but she imagines them at home, drinking expensive wine and eating cheese. Nicky has a svelte body which she only uses on such occasions. The wine goes too quickly though, and she will sneak off mid evening to change models whilst the first has it’s stomach pumped from the alcohol poisoning. The storm outside continues to rage, dark and unruly. Mindscaping meant no one had any repercussions to anything. Sometimes Alex would fight his brother and they’d end up needing new bodies three times a week, hurting her pocket but nothing more. It was a hollow life. Built on an ease that comes only through no hard work, no effort, no strife. They would stay young forever, never experience the pain of loss, of suffering, of heartache. She closes her eyes and sleep takes her, eyes glued together by salt. On day 22 she wakes and washes. Her skin is starting to visibly grey but her mind is clearing. She begins another day of counting burrows. A puffin couple closest to the front door of the tower have been named Victoria and Albert, yet she tries to not get attached. Last week she found a puffin chick dead outside it’s burrow and spent the entire day crafting a burial for him as the wind whipped at her face not allowing any tears. As she read the sermon to the sea, a family of puffins perched on the lighthouse wall in silent prayer. She walks back having found eight burrows empty when they weren't the day before and falls through the board walk that needs repairing. Her ankle looks wrong and she screams into the wind as pain moves up her leg. She crouches down and lets her body crumple into the acute feeling. Once, her and her friends had snuck into her father's study to try on his models. She slipped into one he had used when he was in the army a long time ago. It was like eating power. Everything moved so easily, it had so much inbuilt skill it scared her. Her ankle bites back in retort. Every day she cries. Everyday something dies. It is an emotional battle filled with more highs and lows than she’s cumulatively felt in her long existance. Every day she closes her eyes at night, exhausted by the mental effort of living this somewhat simple life. She begins to acknowledge that the island is black, but the kind of black that is deep and never ending and alive. On day 31 Victoria and Albert's chicks fledge. She watches them from the doorstep of the tower and cries loudly. Her pride for them fills the island. Across thousands of miles, across land and sea and everything in between, these birds find each other every year and will do for their entire lives. Every year they continue to fight for each other, no matter the pain. Her body is slower now as she bends with difficulty to check the burrows across the island. She knew this body had cancer. She had come to the logical end of the road with it and with the shallow life she’d lived until these sweet moments. Out to the deep depths of the North Sea a white sailing ship peaks through the distant horizon, bathed in what seems like warm light from above. A few seconds later the moment is gone. She smiles. After a time, she walks back to the tower and puts the kettle on to boil. She closes her eyes.


I hate my life. Everyday I come back to the cabin and I’m reminded of how everything went wrong. I look at all of the framed pictures of a life that I left behind, and I’m tempted to end it all. The face of my beautiful dead wife, Sarah, paints my walls like a fractured memory that still burns every time I see it. She went missing a year ago, and the feds called it off after a month. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was scared to continue on without her. She always loved taking strolls through the forests that surround our cabin, and since she’s been gone, every day I feel the urge to walk into the woods and not return. Every day I tell myself no, but today I felt as if something was pushing me into the forest. I fear for tomorrow. I don’t know what I was thinking, walking through the brush and tall grasses that litter the forest floor. I was still in my formal clothes from work, so my khakis started fraying at the leg and my loafers began to get caked in dirt and soil. My tie now had a large rip in the bottom after getting caught in a rose branch. Sarah would be so angry, seeing me this dirty. I had been walking for at least an hour. I don’t know what was pulling me to continue delving deeper into the wood, but something had a strong grip on my psyche. I felt that I wasn’t in control of my own body as I pushed on through the foliage. I stopped to take a deep breath. The smell of rain filled the air as dark grey storm clouds crept across the sky, tainting the bright magnificent blue with an ugly, depressing silver. I listened as the crack of thunder boomed loudly from a distance, which immediately followed with a sparse pattering of raindrops on my head. I knew the storm would only grow worse as the night grew on, and yet, I continued walking. What am I looking for, Sarah? I thought to myself. Is this you pushing me forward from beyond the grave? Are you my guardian angel, keeping me far away from our house so I don’t end my life? Do you simply wish to show me something? Something that will somehow give my life meaning and make me want to stay alive? You know I don’t believe in symbolism. You know that was always my least favorite part of English class. So why then? I spoke aloud to her. I said, “why am I still here, Sarah?” I knew I wouldn’t get an answer, but I still yet felt disappointed when she didn’t reply. I continued walking. My legs grew tired and lifeless, and I was beginning to itch in the back of my throat. I needed water. The rain was still scarcely dripping down from the sky at that point, so I wouldn’t have been able to find a substantially sized puddle anywhere. I listened for the sound of a rushing river, or perhaps I would see a deer rush toward a pond somewhere. I checked the leaves that dangled from the oak trees surrounding me to see if any of them would offer even a palmful of sustenance. The leaves crinkled to dust as I touched them. I continued walking. I lost track of time, but at this point the rain had completely stopped. The sun was still hidden behind large tufts of cumulonimbus. The wind blew harsh cold that had the strength of a fully grown man. It took my tie and my glasses with it as it passed. My stomach growled fiercely with every other step. My spine tingled and sent waves of goosebumps down my arms and legs. Maybe I could find some berries on a bush? I wouldn’t even know if they were poisonous or not. I wasn’t even sure if it would be dark soon, I left my watch at the cabin, and I’d be damned if I was going to try and find my way back there. I continued walking. The night sky eventually exposed itself, but the black and grey twirls of clouds remained, covering a majority of the stars that dotted the sky. The moon itself was hidden behind a cloud, leaving only a shred of light amongst the darkness. I found a log that I figured would be good enough to use as a pillow as I gathered a plethora of leaves to use as a shoddy makeshift blanket. I knew I wouldn’t be warm through the night, but at least I’d have something resembling a bed. I scraped my head against the log to somewhat make myself comfortable, which decidedly was a fool’s errand. I looked up at the night sky, the stars that were partially visible gave me enough hope to continue walking the next morning. I awoke the next morning with a stiff neck and back. With a few good twists I popped and cracked all the way down my spine and along my neck. Strangely, I awoke with no more itch in my throat and no more growl in my stomach. Unless I walked while I slept and somehow found a four course meal with water and wine, I knew that something strange had to have happened that night. “Sarah?” I said out loud. “Did you take care of me last night?” The limbs and the leaves of the trees rustled in the wind and the cumulonimbus clouds parted to reveal the sun. A single ray of light cast down from the sky and through the many branches onto a single spot on the ground in front of me. I made my way to the spot on the ground and looked up at the sky. “Sarah?” I asked again. “Do you want me over here?” The tree limbs rustled in the wind again. “Is something buried here? Do you want me to start digging?” The branches rustled. I knew it was her. I got on my hands and knees and clawed at the earth. I was usually a bit of a prude when it came to dirt underneath my fingernails, but the determination to dig was overwhelming. I dug and I dug and I dug until the tips of my fingers were numb and bleeding and it seemed like I would never leave fingerprints again. When the hole was seemingly deep enough, I grabbed a branch that I deemed large enough to use as a makeshift shovel and stabbed it into the ground. I worked diligently as I chipped and chiseled away at the soil that Sarah asked me to dig into. I was terrified, yet I was excited to see what I might find buried. My worst nightmares came true as I finally discovered what was underneath my feet. A pink, flowery dress, covered in old dried blood that wafted a pungent rotten smell into my nose. Then, beneath the dress laid a skull. It was only the top half, but there was an unmistakable hole that splintered into cracks throughout the right side. “Sarah...is this you? Are you buried here...?” The breeze rustled the branches. “Sarah...did someone do this to you...?” The branches rustled once more.


My family. A strange bunch they were. They all had the personality of the colour beige though they did have their small colourful times but they were only seen about once a year. I was lucky to experience it twice if they felt generous. But they spent most of their time being selfish and mean. I never found a liking to anything they did, they always irritated me in the slightest way possible. And no I'm not going to blame it on my short temper because they knew how short tempered I was and did everything they could to aggravate me. And succeeded every damn time! No matter what I tried I wouldn't have been able to stop their behaviour. They were superior to me! Because of them I’ve been short tempered since the age of 4 and would blow up if I found something remotely the slightest irritable.

My eldest brother took away my comfort teddy once and held it above his head and laughed when I couldn’t reach it no matter how hard I jumped. The worst part was that he got my other brothers to laugh and mock me. Gosh it sucks being the only girl in the house! I even tried asking one of the boys for help but they just kept making fun of how small I am, telling me to “Jump froggy” and i’d be lying if i said it didn’t get under my skin. I’ve always been the smallest of the six of us and if they were to comment on something to me it’d always be my height. I was adamant I’d be moved out by 15 because I couldn’t stand the boys. I didn’t go with my plan exactly. I moved at 16 with my best friend. Living with her was and still is so much better than living with my annoying brothers!

When it comes to family gatherings I’d always be sat by my second eldest brother who didn’t really get on with me as stable as the others did and that really displeased me more each time. This was because he’d always put something in my drink or put food on my chair to sit in when I got back from the loo causing the whole table to erupt in laughter but my mother who gave them an eye roll with a smile. She tried her best to get the boys to leave me alone but she didn’t try hard enough. They continued to do it even when we had guests over. At least they found it funny though right? The echoes of their laughter rang through the halls as I sat in the living room or bathroom just to get away from them. My father and I always had a rocky relationship. He had extremely high expectations of me and they grew as I got older. It wasn’t fair on me, because I had a lot of other things to do such as extra curricular clubs, cheer practice and writing my books. When I try to explain to him that I cannot spend hours doing schoolwork because I have other things I need to do he would just tell me to manage my time or just to cut out writing my books because they aren’t important. Whatever! My books are just as important to me as my cheer practice and grades and I won’t give them up for his satisfaction! My mother and I had an on and off relationship. One day she will be all nice to me then another day she will be agreeing with my father and brothers on how I need to buck up my ideas and focus on what's important. They make no sense and it really bothers me how they contradict themselves.

Though after being away from them for quite a few years I can say I’ve missed them irritating me a bit. Living with my best friend has been a bit bland. She wasn’t as adventurous as I was after we left school. I mean, yeah I was still in the same ways as I was when I was in school but I’ve lessened on them and I’ve gone out more and explored my surroundings, She on the other hand was quite boring. I kind of missed my brothers making fun of me for my height, my mother laughing at me when I walked into the doors, my father down my ear telling me how important my work is. I missed my home. Now that I look back on it, I have found joy in everything they did with me. Besides me being really short tempered of course. But they also had indirect lessons. My brothers taught me not to take any rubbish from anyone, my father taught me that working hard will always do me good and will open many doors for me in the future and my mother taught me that a maternal love will last forever even underneath all the arguments. I was ready to visit home and welcome them all back into my life after not having any form of communication with them for 9 years out of spite and frustration. I’m normally not one to hold a grudge against anyone but my family felt different. All the things they’ve done for me I have found an appreciation for because without them I wouldn’t be a strong woman who doesn’t listen to people's judgements and criticisms. Without them constantly patronising me from a child to the age of 16 I'd probably still be a weak little girl who takes everything to heart. Without my father constantly reminding me to constantly perfect my grades I probably would be one of those girls who just sponge off their fathers. Not anymore. I’ve become grateful for everything they’ve done though it still has the irritation factor. But I’m going to thank them and tell them that I appreciate everything they’ve done. A new found appreciation for my family that I had high doubts of developing.


Marianne stood in the center of the large elevator, heavily vibrating as it spend down. The blonde, former noblewoman wore a dress uniform. Casual for her standards, but more on the fancier side amongst the renegades who called the orbital base home. The elevator was designed with the intention of carrying squadrons of fully armored space marines, causing the large metal tube to feel empty with the single, normal human occupant. The sudden stop nearly knocked Marianne to the ground. The door slowly opened, and after adjusting herself, she passed through the door. The fallen noble wandered into the bar, the dark room filled with humans, astartes, mutants, and xenos. All of which the knight pilot would have happily slaughtered mere weeks ago. To her left was the bar proper, tended by a mechanical creature with spider-like legs and metal tendrils spawn from its back. These tendrils poured bottles of multi-colored drinks for a group of five space marines, still wearing their armor. They seemed to be celebrating something, a successful mission most likely. To her right was a stage, with a catwalk leading to a pole. A scantily-clad woman had three, pale arms and a multiple of black spikes across her body. Despite her mutations, the crowd of cultist and traitor guardsmen was loving her show. Marianne was even having trouble looking away, though she didn’t know if she was actually enjoying the dancer’s performance, or that she was just attracted to the sweet smelling musk emitting from her. Despite these distractions, Marianne’s goal was the door on the other end of the room. The door being blocked by the large, green reptilian. “What do you want?” The lizard hissed. The bodyguard was as tall as a space marine, and their armor resembled that of modified space marine power armor. “I’m here to see Zax.” Marianne answered with authority. “Zaxss is busssy, come back later.” “Wait a second Vivi.” A woman wearing a black and gold robe stepped in between the human and the lizard. She had light brown fur covering her body and a pair of curved black horns emerging from her head. Her face was covered in a golden silk face mask, with a single, blue eye in the center of it. “Mari’s with me.” The reptile’s eyes lit up as they stepped aside. “Of course. Zax will be back in a few minutesss, so make yourselvesss comfortable.” Marianne opened the door and entered. Before the furry woman could follow, the lizard placed a clawed hand on her shoulder. “Makes sssure your human behavesss.” “I always do.” She said. “By the way Vivi, did you sharpen your claws? They look like they can disembowel an ork.” “You alwaysss know how to make a girl blusssh Vera. Get in there.” The two found themselves inside of an office. An office designed for a space marine. The desk rose to Marianne’s chin, and the three leather chairs were gigantic. Vera climbed into one of the chairs, which was a struggle on it’s own, and sat down. Her hooved feet barely hung over the chair’s edge, and she could’ve fit two more Veras in the chair with her. “Glad I caught ya.” “I had it.” Marianne said defensively. “You had it.” Vera said mockingly. “Whatever. Just tell me what this Zax guy is like.” “Big.” “I got that.” Marianne angrily replied as she struggled into her chair. "Give me a personality." "Diplomatic, for a space marine. Zax acts as the middleman between mercenaries and employers for the sector, so he's used to talking with all sorts of people." "And what kind of people are we talking about?" "Chaos warbands, eldar corsairs, ork freebooters, rogue traders, the more tolerant members of the inquisition, we aren't picky." Marianne couldn't have hidden her shocked expression even if she tried. "Did you think we were some chaotic cult?" Vera asked, her mask hiding her sly smile. "You're a beastmen." "And you're a knight of the God-Emperor, what of it?" Marianne readied herself to argue about semantics, but her mind was blank. "Not all renegades and mutants are chaos worshippers." Vera smiled. “And those of us who are can still be businessmen.” The door slid open, and in walked a space marine. His armor was black, with dark green pauldrons. On these pauldrons was the symbol of a white dragon head hastily painted over with a red X. In his massive hand was a black helmet with a single hole in the brow. This hole was for the single boney horn on the marine's pale white head. He walked past the two, past the desk, and into the large chair, perfectly fitted for him. "Vera, Vera's friend." "Marianne." "Hello Marianne. I am Zax, your middle man for the immediate future. Your mutant friend has told me only good things about you, but I do wonder how you two met?" Marianne sighed. "It's... complicated." "We're sisters." Vera blurted out. Zax laughed, his deep voice echoing throughout the small office. “Knight, despite your sister’s lackadaisical attitude, she is feral beast on the field of battle.” Marianne did not respond, for she was well aware of Vera’s skills in combat. “She told me you are worst.” "I am an honorable knight." Marianne shot back, her voice filled with venom. "Than why are you seeking work with pirates?" “It’s… complicated.” She paused to think. “Let me guess. An overzealous inquisitor decided you were a heretic with little to no evidence.” "No." Marianne said under her breath, glancing towards her sister. "Let's just say that I'm not a traitor to the Imperium, officially." "Interesting." Zax grinned. "How about we make it official, and in a big way." "What do you have in mind." "I got three jobs for you. First, the Blood Pact is looking for knights to raid a forge world." Marianne turned to Vera. "You're on your own with that one." She said. "The Pact doesn't like me." "Ok, what else." "We got some drukari raiding a knight world for slaves, and you'll even get a cut of the slaves." "The dark eldar aren't a good choice for a newbie." Marianne sighed. "Last one." "The last job is actually from some other renegades. A system are asking for help in becoming independent from the Imperium. The Amaterasu System from what it says." "I don't know anything about the Amaterasu System actually." Vera quietly whispered. "I do." Marianne said. "It's the under the watch of the Dark Blades space marine chapter. I guess their going rogue." "Sounds fun, but what's the pay." Zax ruffled through his papers. "Those who assist in removing Imperial forces from the system will be recognized as citizens of of the Amaterasu System, and will have full permission to live and operate within the System, as well as full respirations for lost personnel, equipment, and resources." "We need a place to stay," Vera said, "but it's your call Mari." "A good way to declare to the galaxy that we don't bow to the Imperium. We'll do that one." "Good, good. Do you have need transport to the system?" Zax asked. "No need." Marianne said, standing up and leaving. "Thanks Zax." Vera said, following her sister. The warp jumped to the system took about three hours, and the two spent most of it in silence. Marianne and Vera sat in the cockpits of their respective knights. "Soooo." Vera hummed, her voice echoing across the knight's vox system. "Is your new electroscourge ready?" Marianne looked down to her knight's left arm, or where one would be. The tall, black and red mechanical suit didn't have a left arm, instead of three metal tendrils. "I'd rather have my claw." "Sorry about that." Vera said, raising her knight's blue and black arm, ending in a claw. "But, look on the bright side! Your knight is called Blazing Scourge, it has an electroscourge." "INCOMING MESSAGE." Beeped, interrupting Vera. "Play it." "Thank you for accepting our call for help." A staticy voice played. "I am Cya, personal serf to Chapter Master Hiro." The image on the feed was a hooded figure, the only visible part of her face was a pair of purple eyes that glowed in the dark. "What's the situation?" Marianne demanded. "During the formation of the Great Rift, the Amaterasu System was cut off from the Greater Imperium as well as Imperium Nihilus. Thankful, the system has been designed to be self-sufficient. However, due to our isolation, we did some actions that the eleclisarchy would declare heretical." "Like what?" Vera asked. "Accepting aid from xenos and granting equal rights to abhumans." Vera noticed that the serf's head was oddly shaped under the hood. Almost like she has horns. "What are we dealing what?" "A single fleet consisting of two battleships, five cruisers, and six squadrons of escorts. We can confirm that the fleet contains no astartes presence, but can confirm the presence of knights of House Raven as well as three Cadian regiments." "Feth." Vera swore. "And who are we fighting alongside of?" "Local PDF and mechanicus forces, the Knights of House Ronin, the Dark Blades chapter, alongside numerous mercenary forces. We currently hold the gas giant Tsukuyomi, and the orbiting moons of Kage, a knight world, the forge world Fojishiti, agri world Kin no Machi, the hive world of Yami no Machi, the fortress monastery Yuro no Yosai. The coordinates your ship is going to is for the fortress world of Kichi. It is currently in imperial hands, but we are currently attack the world right now. Any aid will be appreciated." "Yes mam." "Got it boss." "Arigatō." Cya bowed, before disappearing from the feed. "Ready to fight the Imperium?" Vera asked with a nervous smile. "Too late to turn back now." Marianne answered, her voice shaky. "WE ARE APPROACHING OUR DESTINATION." "We are going to die." Vera laughed. Marianne ignored her. "Let's do this." "ENTERING REAL SPACE." Marianne took a deep breath. "APPROACHING PLANET." Marianne's vision began to fade in and out. "PREPARE TO DROP." "My favorite part." Vera laughed. The floor beneath the feet of the two knights opened. The two knights, alongside a number of smaller armigers dropped from the ship. As they fell to the battlefield, the knights could see various forces charging a fort's wall. Marianne's sight continued to fade. "Battle calls." She whispered. A voice, not her own, but familiar, echoes through her mind. "Bring me blood, bring me skulls, bring me battle." When her sight returned, Marianne was standing in the center of a destroyed building. Her knight was soaked in blood, and laying in front of her was the bodies of multiple guardsmen, each and every one of them decapitated. "Great job Mari." Vera said, patting her sister's knight on the back with her claw. "They're falling back." "Th-th-that's great to hear." She mumbled. "Welcome to the life of a merc. It doesn't get any better." Vera said, half-jokingly. Marianne could not reply. All she could do is whisper to herself. "I am a honorable knight. I am a honorable knight. I am a honorable knight. I am-" "Hungry for battle! Bring me more!" A small grin creeped onto her face. "Blood for the Blood God." She said under her breath, her eyes narrowing on her sister. Her trance was broken by incoming missile fire. Her knight's void shield block most of the damage, but the ringing in her ears did drown out the voices. "I won't betray my sister. Not for the Emperor, and certainly not to you." "I do not care for where the blood flows, just that it flows." "I will make it flow. Oh I will make it flow." Marianne whispered as she barreled towards the retreating enemy, her face a mixture of rage and zen.


I didn’t think much of him the first time I passed him and gave him the leftovers of my egg and bacon sandwich. Five months later, I sat down next to him and pulled out a cigarette. "Want one?' I asked him. He nodded and took it from me. I took another and placed it in my lips while fumbling for the lighter I'd bummed from the convenience store. People walked past us, wrinkling their noses and staying a safe distance away. Last time I took a bath was last week in the park. It was getting colder now that winter was coming. “I got kicked out,” I said, pulling my hood up and rubbing my hands between my knees. He grunted in reply. “That so?” “He found out about my boyfriend. I left my diary out.” He chuckled and smoked a long one. “That fucker.” I started crying. The tears mingled with the dirt on my hands, streaking over the calluses like ugly brown worms. I no longer looked at myself in the mirror but today I had seen myself briefly in a donut shop window. My hair was matted and brown, and I had dark circles from months of bad sleep. Police uniforms haunted my nightmares when I slept under bridges that smelt of piss. Two nights ago a man had offered me $5 to suck his dick. Then he’d offered me $10 to let him suck mine. “Why’d the old man give you the boot?” the old man asked, between puffs of smoke. I wiped the snot from my face. ‘“Why? Because he thinks I sinned, that’s why. Because of his stupid fucking God.” “Ah,” the man said. “God is a cocksucker.” He laughed again. “Indeed he is. I’m sorry.” I laughed too now. “Why are you sorry?” “I fucked up,” he said. “I fucked up and created a whole bunch of contradictions and I fucked you guys all up because of my selfish desires.” He said that, ‘contradictions’, like he used the word every day and it surprised me enough I stopped crying. I looked sideways at him, sitting against the piss-smelling brick wall near the trash bins at the back of Lucky’s with me, and realized I’d never seen how blue his eyes were. Like while passing him walking home from high school I’d always noticed his straggly Einstein hair and dark, swarthy skin but he’d never been looking up. Now though that I was sitting level with him I could see his eyes under his black beanie and they were bright blue. “Son, let me tell you a story,” he said. “Once there was a star, and it began to grow. It grew and became more powerful and intelligent until it began to get lonely and bored. When it did it decided it would make more copies of stars like itself and so it did. But those copies were imperfect and therefore all flawed. They made stupid decisions and lived short, ephemeral lives. Over time that original star lost hope of true friendship with another star like itself and became apathetic. But it could never die, being the beginning of all, and doomed to live beyond all.” “So what did it do?” I asked. “It just sat and watched everything go by,” he said. “And it waited.” He turned and pressed something into my hand. Then he stood up and walked away. I opened my hand. In it was a calling card.


The man who lived down the street, just six houses from us always wore a disappointed look on his face, halloween trick or treating was never fun as he always used to make us run off w/o as much as a dumb raisin. The neighbourhood kids hated him for that very reason, and I was no exception. I wondered often, what could he possibly own that made him so arrogant, so proud, so much so that even socialising with kids was beneath him? As I grew up, it turned out that adults were no exception either. This once I recall, all the adults of the society were to gather around for a meeting to review the rules and regulations of the society, everyone but the man who went by the name of Mr Steadler was in attendance. Noticing his absence, a triplet of the committee members was sent to his house to inquire why couldn't make it to the meet. Being the socialising wizard he was, he wasted no time in belittling the very existence of the committee and the clinginess of the members to get to his house uninvited, invading his personal space, and not letting him be.I remember asking my mom about Mr Steadler and why he was always in such a bad mood, and why he never talked to anyone, adult or child. To my disappointment, my mother had no answer either. It turned out, nobody in the neighbourhood knew anything about Mr Steadler apart from his address, his limping walk, and his charming personality. Being as curious as I was, I made it my mission to unravel the mystery that was Mr Steadler. I began by noticing Mr Steadler's routine for a week. Everyday he used to leave his house at 9 A.M. and return at 11 P.M. He never broke this pattern. At most he deviated for an hour or so but that could have very easily been the traffic holding him up. I also noted that between him leaving the house in the morning and entering it in the night, he never had so much as a grin on his face. I began to wonder if this guy ever really had a good day. He looked like he was about 45, maybe 46 years old, which made this even a sadder mystery to solve, to track the daily routine of a 46 year old man who never experienced a single day of happiness? It was getting depressing, even for a 15 year old. But I wasn't ready to give up just yet, I concluded that if I want to get to the bottom of this, I need to follow Mr Steadler around to know more about him. And so, upon the brink of Sunrise one Monday morning, my journey to become local detective had begun.I woke up early, freshened up quickly and waited anxiously on my bike for Mr Steadler to make a move on with his day. My parents weren't being very supportive of my actions, but like all heroes I knew that if I were to make it, I had to let go of them one day or the other.Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mr Steadler came out, locked the door behind him and drove off to wherever he used to drive off to. I followed him, maintaining quite a distance from him. With my helmet on, I was pretty sure it would be difficult for him to recognise me from this distance. I followed him to a mansion located just outside the city. It took us about 4 hours to reach there. Mr Steadler stepped out of his car and went inside the mansion while I stayed behind and set myself up at a nice vantage point with my pair of binoculars to give me a good view of what's happening inside the mansion through its windows. For the next 3 hours what I saw can only be called comedy in its truest form. I saw him cleaning the mansion from top to bottom while a guard kept poking him with a stick, saw him dance for, I'm assuming, the resident kids, saw him getting yelled at by possibly the owner of the mansion while he was on his knees. This was all too funny to miss. But then he did a very peculiar thing just before he left, he went to the adjacent garden, stood there for about 5 minutes and did the most abnormal thing he could possibly do - He smiled. Once he was done making a fool of himself, he got in his car and went off. I assumed we're off to our home and so I got on my bike and followed him from the same distance as before. But I was wrong. He made a turn I didn't recognise. I kept following him for another 90 minutes until we reached a graveyard. This took a dark turn real quick for me. I thought maybe Mr Steadler had spot me and now to protect his image he would take care of me here in the graveyard and dispose off my body in one of the graves. All sorts of horrible thoughts were circling in my head now, how he could use a stick, a hammer, or a jack to knock him unconscious, maybe rape me before killing me whole and then leave my naked body in a hole to rot for eternity? I wanted to run away but then I noticed him getting out of the car, standing at the gate of the cemetery and start crying. He wasn't here to kill me, he was here to grieve. But for whom?As he went inside, I closed in the distance so as to come within earshot of what he was about to say. I finally understood the importance of gravestones at that very moment. He went near a grave which I couldn't make out clearly of whom it belonged to, but I didn't care, all I wanted to do was listen. And so I did. What I heard next brought tears to my eyes. "Hey momma, I'm back. It's been 2530 days since you left. I know I say it every time I come here but I just don't know how to begin talking to you without saying how much everything changed since you left. The mansion in which we used to live in was taken over by dad, he kicked us all out and started his own family, completely abandoning us. Talia fell in love with a guy with connections to the underworld and lost her life to a don who enslaved her for 3 years. When she could no longer live with herself, she cut herself in the middle of a night and those monsters, instead of covering up her body and performing a proper funeral, left her naked cut body to rot in the streets for days until someone found it because of its foul smell. It took some time to identify her but when the media did, it broke me. To see my sister go through that filled me with rage and left me feeling so powerless because there was nothing I could do against these people. After some time had passed since Talia, I met this girl Alice in whom I found comfort. I confided in her and she embraced me with open arms. We went out for a couple of weeks before finding out she was already married to the same don responsible for Talia's murder. Thanks to our similar facial features, it wasn't hard for him to figure out who I was. As soon as he found out, he had me abducted from a fair I was attending and had me in front of a gun's barrel. He gave me two options, either die on the spot or live another day as one of his servants. I don't know why I chose the latter for the former would mean dying once but the latter would be to die everyday. Every single day he makes me clean his massive mansion with a small tooth brush. Everyday I fail to finish even a single floor for which he punishes me by making me stand in water filled with Piranhas. I have lost most of both my feet because of this, his wife, Alice yells at me horrible words just because I'm part Jewish, and keeps reminding me that me and my kind deserved the holocaust and what a whore my sister Talia was. It hurts more to know this is what she thinks of me now that we're over. To humiliate me further, the don would often fuck one of his sex slaves or his wife at times in front of me by tying my cock to a rope hung around a sensitive lever which would unleash the hounds on me should I get hard looking at them have a go at it. Once or twice an incident happened and I still have the scars all over my body. My life has gotten so sad that I'm afraid of making any friends whatsoever, I have to be rude to people, even kids all the time because I know that one little out for my emotions would mean a total breakdown for me, where I'd cry like a baby. Everyday before I leave that horrible mansion, I go over to their garden and smile that at least you guys are no longer here or you'd have it much worse than me. Heh, it's kind of ironic isn't it? Your death making me so sad while at the same time being a blessing. God, if there exists one, does work in mysterious ways, perhaps. I, anyway came here to tell you mom that, I'll be joining you soon. I want you to heat up whatever's leftover from last night because tomorrow I'm coming to you and Talia."Tomorrow he was going to his dead mother and sister? What did that mean? They're dead, how can he -Before I could finish processing that thought, I heard a cracker go off behind me. It was odd for a firecracker to go off at a cemetery. I sneaked a peek behind the gravestone I was hiding behind and saw Mr Steadler's skull all blown into several little pink pieces. The sound I heard wasn't of a firecracker... It was a gunshot.The gunshot had moved me, I didn't know what to do, all I knew was I had to get out of here otherwise it would be I who'd be in trouble. I made a run for my bike and cycled home as fast as I could. It was the longest journey I had ever embarked, from the cemetery to my place. All the events of the day kept going on repeat in my head. I reached home and went straight for a shower. I felt dirty, disgusted, and sad. I couldn't help but breakdown while in the shower. After a while it was difficult to tell how much of the liquid was actually water and how much were my tears. It's been 5 years since that one horrific night, nobody but me knows the tragic life that Mr. Steadler lead and now it's my burden to live out the rest of my days with that knowledge.


The man walked through the streets and thought about his life. All his life it had been a struggle. He had anxiety, struggled to find a job and keep it, had only had sex a little, and learned how to drive a car late. He did manage to make it, but barely. His parents telling him that he was a failure didn't help either. And although he did have happy times, sometimes it seemed to him that he was struggling to exist. He worked at an ordinary job living an ordinary life. As he walked along the road in the hot summer day he wondered about everything. There has to be more to life, he would tell himself sometimes. There has to be a meaning. He could not and would not be an Atheist. He didn't believe that the world and the Universe were that hopeless. He believed in something, but he didn't know what. None of the spiritualities of the world made since to him, so he believed n something else. There were times when the depression had kicked in, but it didn't last. This time though; this time felt like the end. The next day, he was walking on the road as cars drove by in both directions, The depression had come and it was not going to go away this time. He didn't care about life anymore. To him it seemed like am endless struggle. Nee had reached his end. The he saw something,. He turned to his left behind him. There was a man walking in his direction. It was an older man who wore a brown cloak. He stopped and waited as the man got closer to him. When the man had gotten pretty close, he stopped and looked up at him. Is jaw dropped as he was looking at the old man's face. He had white hair, a white beard, and three brown eyes. “Everything will be okay,” said the old man. “This is temporary and it has allowed yo to see things in a new way.” The other man was shocked and could not speak for a moment. Who was he talking to? Was he talking to God? The real God? “I...I...How is that?” he asked the figure. The old man's eyes glowed a bright blueish white light now. “Most people never think about these things. They are so caught up about daily life that they never stop and think about what is out there,” said the man. He reached over and touched the younger man's soldier, and the younger man saw a vision. He saw the atom, how the electrons moved around the nucleus because preset patterns., then gluons, how they were charged and held the physical world together. Then it was as if his vision zoomed out. He saw space. He saw the stars and their planets, and many different alien races. Hen he saw the galaxies. Everything had preset patterns and order. Life was across the Universe. And the one true God watched over all. For the first time in a while, a smile formed across his face.


10/23         The ship travel is rough with the seas angry fits and the siren's calls that keep me up at night. I've been sick much. But we shall make landfall within the next few days and then they'll leave me to do my work. Most excited. Miss my wife and children a little but honestly it is nice to be away and on an adventure. 10/27         First night on the beach. Built tent, fire, and cooked a fine meal as I watched the ship take to the sea again. Dark now and night animals have begun to sing. Looking forward to sleeping as the night lives around me. 10/31         It’s been an adjustment to be the sole human on an island full of exotic beasts. It's been humid and raining most of the day, a surprisingly nice relief from the tormenting sun. I made many notes and took many photos to document the various flora and fauna that grows here. At night I swear I hear voices and music but it's most likely either wishful thinking or carried from a distance on the Northeast wind. I'll be moving on from the beach tomorrow to head into the forest. 11/04         The forest provides much cover from the unpleasant weather, but it breeds many creepy crawler’s and makes me wish for the warm, dry sun cover of the beach. I haven't found a single undocumented animal yet, but I have faith that I will. It's amazing how a typically unsocial creature such as I is longing to listen to useless chatter or have a pointless polite conversation with a stranger. I thought last night I smelled spicy cooked meat and the smoke from a fire that was not my own... then it was gone. I'll dream of that meat while I finish my canned beans and curl up to sleep. 11/10         I found it! I found a spider that, after researching all my notes and books that I’ve brought with me, I cannot confirm has been discovered yet. I studied it in its natural habitat for days, took notes and photos, before I tapped the spider in formaldehyde to preserve it for future study. Can't wait to get back to civilization to see if this can be verified or not. Tonight, I dine on pork and beans with glee. 11/15         There's something in the darkness. I can hear it while I lay in my sleeping bag and try not to let the sounds make fear bloom in my heart. 11/19

I've moved deeper into the forest on my trek to the opposite side of the island. I believe I found what looks like remains of a treehouse or some sort of ancient shelter. This is disappointing to think someone else may have visited this place before, but I found no positive identifiers to who was here. I documented the evidence for further study and moved on. Tonight, I am making a small fire and camping overnight. But I'll be on the move again tomorrow at first light. 11/22         I fell into the river today. Think my ankle is fractured at least so I've bound it with a brace from my field kit and taken some pain relief. But my biggest issue is that I've lost my pack that had most of my food in it. So, for tonight, I'll dine on dried beef sticks and a single package of crackers. Hopefully, I can hunt or forage food. Maybe I’ll embrace the nature of man and live like a wild beast myself. 12/01         Starving is a real feeling these days. I am unable to make it as far through the woods as I had been because of my ankle. It's ugly, hot, and swollen. Perhaps, coming in here without help was a poor decision on my part. Running low on pretty much everything, including faith. 12/03         So hungry. Tired. and... sad. I may die here.... If that happens and someone finds this journal tell my wife and kids, I love them and wish them well in life. 12/04         I..........want to die and be done with this suffering. My head is dizzy. My time is gone. I'm going to lay down and let the darkness take me. ??/??         I'm in a prison of wood and rope but they've fed me, bathed me, and saved me for some reason. I'm not sure how long I’ve been here or where I even am. If I peek through the only window out of this place, I see shadows around a fire. They feed me through a slot and never speak when I ask my questions. Perhaps they mean to kill me or maybe they mean to keep me as I'd kept the poor spider. A novelty. An experiment. ??/??         There's a beautiful woman who saved me today. They'd dragged me out of the cage to cook me, if their fire was any indication, but she met my eyes and smiled. Her dark eyes were accented by the black line tattoos on her cheeks and her lush lips were pinkened from the berries she was eating. She sat with a huge man with similar features, and she wore crown made of flowers and thistles. When one of the beastly men went to hit me with a club, she stood and spoke a single word, quietly, before leaning down to whisper into the head honcho's ear. He then barked an order, and I was dragged back into this cage. Maybe 1/1 now? Who knows, anymore.         They've moved me into a hut with the beautiful woman. She is patient with me since I don't understand her language but forceful enough for me to understand that I am hers to do with what she pleases... not that I'm complaining about most of that. 2/5               I watched them from the woods, hidden with the rest of the tribe, as they searched for my pack, tent, and clothes. I could have called out that I was here, and I was alive... but Ryvinna rubbed herself against me and I had zero desire to return to my life off this island. With the silence they’d been teaching me, we all snuck away from the search party and back to the safety of our village. 2/15         I married my new wife, Ryvinna, this afternoon by the fire surrounded by my new tribe. Her father officiated. I sometimes miss the life I'd left behind but it's hard to when I look at Ryvinna.  12/09         It's been a few years since I've written in this journal. Ryvinna is currently laboring for all to see as she brings our fourth prince or princess into the tribe. My father-in-law has passed away and now Ryvinna and I are the chiefs of the tribe. Maybe I should feel guilty for leaving my former wife and kids behind to stay here with Ryvinna... but I don't. According to the papers, I was pronounced dead, and they got a windfall from the insurance. My former wife re-married a senator and had another two kids. They’re fine as far as I can tell from here. And I get to spend my days studying the wildlife, ruling the tribe with a gorgeous wife who never turns me down and continues to give me beautiful babies, and live free of rules and law that are not of my own making. It's good to be king.


"Well I'm drunk. The multiples of you and the shovel confirm it." I staggered a few steps and then asked in a bemused tone, "and why the hell is this very flat lawn so extremely uneven?" "It's the booze you need to stop." "Don't you knock booze, Mother at least it brings relief." That was obnoxious—and rather ironic considering the resulting hangover—but I was mourning and therefore allowed. "It can also makes people violent. That you know full well. You think you're the only one hurting?" "He tried to kill me, Mother!" "He's still your father." "So everyone keeps telling me," I replied sarcastically. "He's always been there for you ..." "Yeah and so is the Captain, for only $14.99 he helps me forget, but you want too much. How can I forgive that man?" "He's your father," she stated matter-of-factly like there could be no other logical alternative. I didn't agree. "I have no father." "He took care of you. He raised you, clothed you and fed you. There was a roof over your head because of him. Many fathers don't even bother after they've zipped up their pants." "And he also never taught me how to throw a ball or ride a bike. The only thing I can throw is a fit, Mother. Ever seen me on a bike? No? That's because I never learnt to ride. The one thing I could do well was to run in a straight line. Imagine that! Running away was the only thing I was good at." "You were running to the finish line, a goal." "Yes and the goal was to get away from my daddy." "You're being dramatic." The force behind the words was made meaningless by her downcast eyes. "Dad was busy, I get it. He was busy providing for his family, but kids need more than just a warm meal." "It does make life easier," she replied with a smile. I didn't reciprocate, still there was truth in her words. A silence hung uncomfortably between us before mother continued, "I didn't teach you either. I worked as well ..." "No but you taught me how to feel, to love, to care. I'll never forget that." We digested the words awhile. 'These damned silences are prevalent tonight,' I thought. 'Must be something in the air, or my drink.' I checked the glass for some hidden revelation. "Do you think I am a good mother?" "The best," I confirmed and then cried. To hell with it, I sobbed. "You also fed me, clothed me and gave me a place to sleep, but you taught me how to be human. When he was indifferent you were the one who tried to understand your child." "Your father is a product of his time." "Don't defend him! Growing up in the sixties does not give him the right to act like a bastard." "No, it doesn't but it does make him human. We all have our faults." "Murderers have plenty don't they?" I retorted venomously. "He's not a murderer." "Not convicted anyway but I could've been a murder victim. Now I'm only a victim of assault but If I hadn't stopped him I would've been dead. Why is it that an attempt at murder isn't seen as bad as murder itself, huh? If I hadn't put my finger in his eye I wouldn't be here now. How could that be better than actually killing someone? 'That's okay,' the court seems to say. 'You're still breathing aren't you? There's no real harm in only attempting to kill someone.' Never mind that someone actually tried to take your life! And there's the real rub, he's not even being punished. I'm the victim but got charged with assault by my own father!" "I know I'm sorry. Maybe had we gone to the police sooner ..." "And whose fault is that?" I cut her off. "All of you, my aunts, uncles, all my elders and even my mother," I pointed at her, "told me: 'he's your father. You can't do that.'" There was another pause. I needed the words to set in. "And then the wounds healed. It all became hearsay, and his brother! They both lied. Your husband lied to save his own skin. His brother wasn't even there but suddenly I was the ungrateful son, the layabout who assaulted his oh-so-saintly father. That supposed Christian lied through his teeth and praised his Lord with that same forked tongue." I squarely looked at my mother as I flung the accusations, but she didn't meet my gaze. "I'll never forget how he looked at me. The malice edged in his eyes that day at the police station. He would've killed me that day. That self-righteous martyr would've gladly ended me because I, a child, dared to pick on his brother. Why would you marry into that?" "He's my husband. I love him ..." "And I'm your son. You carried me, raised me and your husband tried to kill me just because I told him he's acting like a child. How's that justifiable mother? How?" I wanted to know. "Yes I disrespected him but I didn't do it for a laugh. He was drinking himself to death. Hurting you in the process. How are you still willing to put up with that?" "He'll change. He promised." "They always do, Mother. But you said it yourself he's a product of his time, a man, a real one supposedly. A man which was born right. A man who never shows his feelings and therefore doesn't understand how to resolve conflict without his fists. Yes things will be better for a while but you think he'll stay that way? Let's see what conventional wisdom has to say about this: you can't teach an old dog new tricks, right?" I asked. "Or what about the horse and water? You think he's going to drink? No Mother he won't change." "Everyone has issues with their parents," she defended. "What would you know of daddy issues? Your father was wonderful." "He wasn't perfect." "At least he could show love and had more than one feeling. Chronic grumpiness isn't fun to put up with!" She cried. My mother was close to breaking point, but she made a final sally. "He's my husband! Life changed him and me, all of us. Do you think we wanted this to happen? Do you think your father dreamed of folding his fingers around your throat?" "It was his knee, Mother." I corrected her disdainfully. "Fingers or knee, he didn't intend to kill you." "He also wasn't planning on stopping. Ever been strangled? Ever realized you're about to die?" I added forcefully. "No mother, intent is not important. He tried to kill me and you helped him to get away with it!" I was right but was it worth? My mother's knees struck the ground. I'd picked at the scabs and the foul puss, the truth, the resentment and hurt came pouring out. I'd hurt my mother. The truth hurts but seeing your mother sobbing on the floor doesn't make it easy and it certainly isn't pretty. It was painful. My heart ached and I wanted to embrace her but my stubborn head told me: 'you're the victim, not yet.' Instead I teetered to fill my glass trying hard to ignore the one woman I unequivocally loved. My indignation didn't last. It never could with my mother. Finally I told my logical self to shut up and I poured her a drink. It was a silly peace offering but she accepted it all the same. The true mark of a mother, a woman: to accept the tools in their lives unconditionally, even to their own detriment. She didn't drink but poured the rum little by little from the glass. A right waste but what did I care? I had a hole to dig. "What are you doing?" she asked after a while. "I thought you'd recognize a hole Mother, you live in one." "That's very mean." It was and I regretted it instantly. "I know," I said remorsefully, "that's why I'm here, to bury the meanness." "So why the hole?" she asked. Mother was always good at picking up on my regret. "That's where you put corpses right?" "You're going to bury your father?" she wanted to know with eyes wide. "No, I have no father. I'm digging the hole for our relationship." "Bit dramatic wouldn't you say?" She chuckled. "Still mind burying a few of his Hawaiian shirts while you're at it?" "Ha, ha! It's cathartic and I already have his precious records to dump inside." "Good, but it's also a bit much wouldn't you say? Why don't you just ignore him like a normal resentful adult?" "I'm trying to heal Mother, and besides that's the plan until I join him in hell." "Why can't you just forgive him?" "Let's ask dad to kneel on your throat and let's see how forgiving you'll be afterwards." There was no reply. "No Mother, our relationship is like this hole, empty. I'm done." "And what about me?" she demanded. "I'm in the middle. I hurt as well! I'm tired, so tired. I just want everything to go back to the way it was." Mother fell to the ground—it was becoming a habit now. I dropped the bottle and helped her up. I never was heartless enough to simply let her be in agony. She's my mother. I held her tight. She was right wasn't she? I didn't think of her. She too needed to deal with his. The betrayal of her husband and the subsequent hate of her son. My moist eyes noticed the heart she had edged in the ground. The one she made with the droplets of rum. "Ever asked why he did that?" she wanted to know as she wiped her tear-stained eyes. "Every damn day, Mother. And yes life wasn't easy for him either. That's why he drank and that's why he didn't like it when I told him he's acting like a child, because it was the truth." "And now you're drinking." "Like father like son, eh?" "That's not funny." "We have to laugh mother. What else am I supposed to do?" "We can try to understand." "I've done that! What have I been saying? I know why he did it. I know about his childhood, his perpetually pissed father. I know about work and how it depressed him to see others promoted above him. I know he grew up believing a man is all that and everything else needs to just shut or suffer a beating." "You're still his son," she reaffirmed tenaciously. "Why do you think I'm drinking? That's what I want to forget." "It's too late for that now, but this could've been avoided. Why did you lose your temper?" she persisted. "Because I was protecting you." The words were laced with emphasis. "The one person I truly love." There was no further exchange but the mood was heavy and needed alleviating. "Dad was helpful though. He was searching for my temper with me on the floor. 'Have, you, found, it, yet?' he seemed to say as he kept pushing his knee onto my throat." She laughed. "Only you could joke about this." "I'm trying to get over it. The jokes help." "You never really connected with him did you?" "About what, racism and how good the Cowboys will be this year? Yes, Mother I'm different, I'm like you. Is it so strange that your son turned out to be like his greatest role model? That I looked at my mother who always cared, even if it hurt, and then compared her to my Neanderthal of a father and found him wanting. Which do you think I decided was more venerable? I'm you, Mother. I looked at the world and realized that's who I'd like to emulate not my emotionally stunted father who believes shouting at the TV is a profound way of expressing yourself." She hugged me but she wasn't done. The decent ones never give up. "What about God?" "What of him?" "He'd like you to forgive him." "Really? Have you been having coffee with him behind my back?" "Must you be so facetious?" "Mother I fully respect your choice to believe in God. I know it keeps you going, gives you a reason to get up in the morning but please don't use those Jedi tricks on me. 'This is the father you have to forgive.' I waved my hand in front of her face the same way Sir Alec Guinness had done. She didn't much care for it or understand. I wiped her tears before saying, "Mother please understand this wasn't some whim. I didn't just wake up and say, 'today I'm burying my father.' I'll always be thankful to him for raising me, but I'm done. All I ask is that you try to respect it. You don't even have to understand just respect it, please." She wavered, opened her mouth but then simply nodded. "Okay," she said before taking the shovel, "let's fill this hole." We stood in silence as we dropped the records in the hole—and a few on my dad's most unfashionable, Hawaiian shirts. Nothing else was said as a buried my relationship with my father. I know she'll try to reunite us again someday, but I won't.


TW: sexual violence, physical violence, gore       I sit at my kitchen table trying to pull myself together as my coffee sits in front me getting cold. My skin feels too tight, suffocating and restraining me. The blackness at the edge of my vision is returning. It’s happening again. That all too familiar pull into the darkness.

Not now. Not today.            My chair screeches on the tile as I push away from the table. I turn to the kitchen sink and stick my head under the faucet, trying to wash away the images that are beginning to form. The curve of a calf. The arching of a neck… I feel the twitch of my cock and my breath hitches as I let the unbidden images come. Unconsciously, I unhook my belt. I need the release. Right here, right now. It doesn’t matter that I made love to Kelly less than an hour ago. I freeze. Kelly.            How could I have forgotten?            Today is Kelly’s last day with me before she leaves. She deserves to have today be special. To have a proper send-off.            I take a deep breath. I can resist the temptation. Just one more day. For Kelly.            I grab my briefcase and peek my head into the living room. The television is on, and I see Kelly’s head resting on her shoulder. I can’t help myself. As quietly as I can, so as not to disturb her, I gently place a kiss on her cheek, taking in her sweet scent.            I smile to myself, resolve setting in to do right by her. *            That resolve immediately begins to dissipate once I’m out of the house, however.            I walk past my young assistant on the way to my office. Her long blonde hair is piled on top of her head, her neck exposed as she’s hunched over taking notes while on a call.            “Yes ma’am, this is the Springfield District Attorney’s office…mmhmm…yes, ma’am, we can certainly help you fill out that protection from stalking form.”            I enter my office, shutting the door firmly behind me. I knew it was a bad idea hiring Lauren, that she’d be too distracting for me, but my lust won out that day. I know she’s off limits, but a man can still look.

Kelly. Kelly is at home waiting for you.            Even though I’ve just arrived, I check the clock anyway and groan inwardly. Perhaps if I stay busy and focused enough, I can tamp down the demons inside.            “Gary?”            I jump, startled by the intrusion. “You’re supposed to knock, Lauren.”            “Sorry, sir, but don’t you have to get to court for that hearing?”

Shit.            “I have your file materials ready.”            I snatch the files out of her hands, managing to graze her breast as I do so. But it’s not enough to satiate the desire burning within me. I try to repress the images of her nubile body as I speed walk to the courthouse.            I arrive just in time to get my file materials situated and rise as the judge enters the courtroom. He goes through the standard rigmarole before the sentencing hearing can begin.            A heavyset woman in an ill-fitting pantsuit and short, thinning hair approaches the podium to present her victim statement to the court. I know I must have met with her, but she doesn’t have the kind of face or figure a man like me remembers. Then she opens her mouth. God, with the crying already.            As she reads her letter, I look over to the defendant. He’s clean cut, with shortly cropped blonde hair, a square jawline, and broad shoulders. Younger than the woman at the podium and immensely more attractive. Even though it was my job—and I was damn good at it—I still felt bad about asking for the harshest sentence for a violent sexual assault against a woman like that . I look back to the podium at the blubbering mess sitting before us. Pathetic. She should consider herself lucky that a guy like him fucked her.            But I have to keep up appearances. I wipe all expression from my face and listen stoically to the rest of the victim statements before rising to present my argument. *            “Gary, brother! I can’t believe you got 30 to life on that guy!” The investigator slaps me on the back as he joins me at the crosswalk. God, I hated this guy.            “Rothman,” I say trying to sound chipper, “you know my track record. I always get my man. I haven’t lost a case yet.”            “Speaking of that track record of yours,” he stops and pulls out a file. “We got a new investigation going, and this lady needs your help filling out the restraining forms against her kid’s boyfriend. Think you can help her out?”            I feel the excitement bubbling underneath the surface. “Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem at all, Rothman, my man.” *            To kill time before my final meeting, I open up the new file the investigator gave me and am delighted. Inside are the details of an attack by an 18-year-old of his 16-year-old girlfriend.            I scour the reports, taking in the delicious details. Please let there be pictures. I turn the page and there she is. Each picture taken at the hospital is a closeup of each scratch, each bruise, each injury inflicted upon her during the incident. The split lip…a large purple bruise covering the underside of her breast… I feel the excitement growing inside of me. The need to overpower and snuff out the light behind her eyes…            My intercom buzzes, startling me out of my reverie.            “Gary?”            “Yes, Lauren?”            “Your 4 o’clock has just arrived.”            I sigh. “Okay, send her in.”            I pinch the bridge of my nose. That feeling of being trapped in my skin has returned, like an itch you can’t scratch. One more meeting. I’ve nearly made it.            My heart skips a beat when she enters.            “P—please have a seat, Ms.—?” I fumble with the stack of filing on my desk, but I can’t think clearly enough to even know what I’m looking for.            “Just call me Tammy,” she exhales as she collapses in the seat.            “Please, tell me what brings you in.” But I already know. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need help.            As she starts her spiel, I lean back and take her in. Her long brown hair is unkempt and brushed to one side in a feeble attempt to hide the left side of her face. But even through the strands of hair, I can see that her eye is swollen shut and there’s a cut across her cheek.            “—and then, he grabbed me by the throat. See?”            I snap back to attention as she unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse to show me the purple bruises blooming across her neck. She leans forward, giving me a better view. I can nearly see the thumbprint on one.            I shift in my seat. The darkness that has been at the edge of my vision crowds in further. I imagine myself on top of Tammy, straddling her, my hands around her pretty little neck. Because that pretty little neck is mine to squeeze the life out of. Her eyes bulging, the blood vessels popping, as I keep squeezing the breath out of her…            “So, do you think there’s anything you can do to help?” she looks at me expectantly.            “Yes, yes, of course,” but my breath sounds ragged, even to my ears. “In fact, here’s my business card, with my personal number on it. Please feel free to call me should you feel you’re in danger.”            She clutches my card to her breast like a lifeline.            “Oh, thank you Mr.—”            “Gary, please call me Gary.”            “Thank you, Gary. You don’t know what this means.”            I escort her out of my office and breathe a sigh of relief. I can finally go home. *            The anticipation of seeing Kelly is almost too much. I rush to the living room, frantically peeling my clothes off as I go. She’s still on the couch, waiting for me, her perfume filling the air, and I take her in my arms.            I first met Kelly a few months ago relating to stalking and assault charges against her ex-boyfriend. It was lust at first sight, at least on my part. But I knew I had to take things slow, bide my time, earn her trust. My patience paid off though. A few days ago, she called me over after her ex had broken the restraining order. I saw my opportunity and rushed over. She was in tears when she opened the door and threw herself into my arms.            Needless to say, one thing led to another. Before I knew it, we were on the couch, my hands wrapped around her delicate neck, her skin turning blue. Once she stopped moving, I was able to satisfy my own needs. Then I brought her home where we’ve been enjoying each other’s company since.            But the time has come for our love affair to end.            We make love one last time, and I gently wrap her in the blanket her ex threw out in his garbage yesterday. There’s already an investigation into her disappearance, but the discovery of her body and his blanket will guarantee his conviction.            Because I always get my man.


Let me start off this by saying: I love crows, but it hasn’t always been that way. When my wife and I first moved to a rural area I was amazed how much the birds ruined the beautiful relaxing atmosphere of the countryside with their squawking. They would splash all the water from our little finch bath, scare away other birds, dig through the garbage if we left the lid off, and were always kicking things out of our compost bin. They were pests. After watching a video online a few years ago of a lady petting and hand feeding a couple crows I fell down a rabbit hole of Corvid videos. Did you know some can even mimic? Not to the extent parrots can or anything, but it's freaky how smart they are. So after doing a little research I went out and got a bag of whole peanuts, like they sell for squirrels. I work from home, so I set an alarm every day to go out and throw a few peanuts where I would see them hang out. It took a little longer than I expected for them to get it, but once they realized the pattern, they’d be here and waiting just before my alarm went off. Instead of being annoyed at how loud and destructive they were, I began to watch and enjoy them. I began to recognize some of our “frequent fliers” and it seemed every year there would be more birds than the last. It was an adventure and I loved getting to know them and building my relationship with the birds. After about two years we would find “gifts” from a pair of the birds at the feeders at relatively regular intervals. Most of them before were small and shiny things, bottle caps, rocks, pieces of metal and foil. We haven't had very many gifts, but every time we got one I would get a rush of excitement. It felt like we had our own little barter system, me and the crows. The last few weeks we had received something different. It was a small piece of flat oval plastic with a chipped green color on one side. I happily put it with the other trinkets on the shelf next to my computer. The next one was a belly button ring with a bright blue gemstone in it, my first piece of jewelry that wasn’t an earring. I carefully placed it next to the piece of plastic. The next gift from the birds was a few pieces of bone. They were small, long, and from what I assumed to be a tail of something they must have scavenged. When I showed it to my wife, she said it didn’t look like tail bones, “tails look like vertebrae I think,” she said. We began to google bones of different critters we have around here, raccoons, opossums, deer. They were dainty, but not like bird bones. I kept it on the shelf next to the rest of the gifts. Curiosity faded as life went on, until I received a second green piece of plastic and showed that to my wife too. Her face went a little pale as she looked at my most recent offerings. “Those are nails,” she said pointing to the plastic. “Acrylic ones you get from the salon.” She wiped the dirt off one and was horrified to see a natural fingernail stuck to one side. Picking up the second, newest nail, we saw about half a nail on the flip side. “So they stole somebody's fake nails? They just swooped down and took somebody’s nails?” I asked quietly, but looking at the belly ring and the small bones I already knew the answer. We called the police and filed a report. At first it felt crazy explaining, no, we didn’t just happen upon these creepy things, yes, birds have been bringing them to us. I showed them the other small things in my collection and some photos on my phone of the birds nearby while I was feeding them. They took macabre trinkets and thanked us, saying they’d be in touch if they needed any more information, or if we should get any more gifts from the birds. Like I said, we live in a rural area and don’t have a lot of neighbors. We have trees and farms and wild animals. Did our “murder” find one of their own? I’m not sure how far the birds fly each day, but it keeps me up at night to think they may also be feeding from where they found these things.


My dearest Liora. I hope this letter finds you in good health and prosperity, though I have no way of knowing if this will reach you. But as my heart aches, I pray that my efforts are not in vain. The last I saw you, you were running out of your coming out party in tears. And while I wanted to chase after you, I was held back by the snickers of the room. Forgive me for my cowardice. If I had known it would be the last time I saw you, I would have ran into the night and begged you to stay with me, and if you still chose to run, I would have been right there by your side.

I went to your house the following week, but your parents said you never returned. It was then that I knew we wouldn’t meet again. Still, I packed my horse, and rode from town to town, asking if anyone had seen you, and followed your trail up until the Black Bear Saloon. Under normal circumstances I would never enter such an establishment, and knowing you had, has brought me much despair. Even worse, after giving the bartender your description and receiving nothing but a cold stare, I was approached by a wiry man who claimed to know you. He said he was a coachman of a friend of yours, and you had been staying at their manor for the better part of three months. I demanded he bring me to you at once, but instead he let out the most unnerving noise—something I’m hesitant to call a laugh, but I have no other word for it. It sent chills down my spine. He refused, and instead offered to deliver a letter to you, which I am currently writing. I’m unsure if I should trust him, but I have no other leads, and this might be the only way to reach you.

I have no idea how you know this wretched man, or what you have become entwined in, but my dear, I promise I will rescue you. Should this reach you, I will be staying at the Rosemary inn on the edge of town. I beg of you to meet me there. Please, my dove, fly back to me. Forever yours, Doyle Doyle— Forgive me, I know my absence has been alarming to you, and I hate to think of you in pain. You were my dearest companion for most of my life, and to know you went through such trouble to find me is heartbreaking, though I am deeply touched by your efforts. The coachman, Sloan, even said you tried following him to see where he was delivering your letter. You were always clever—a trait I deeply admire you for—but you learn fast not to try tricking him. I’ve seen quite a lot in my time away from home, but none are as puzzling as that man. It would do you well to treat him with dignity and respect.

I will not meet you at the Rosemary. There’s no rescue necessary, no danger to save me from, and I will not be returning to my parents house. There is no life for me there.

I have decided to elope, and by the time you read this I will already be on the Pacific, ready to start a new life. Believe me when I say running out of my debutante was possibly the first good decision I ever made. If I had stayed I would never have come to this small town. I would have never met Amani and fallen in love with her. Can you believe it, Doyle? I’m in love. I never thought it was possible. I will try my best to explain these past months, though so much has happened I am unsure if it will be intelligible. Even if I manage I’m sure you won't believe me. The first month was a blur, a hazy mess of liquor and traveling, which I do not recall most of. My first clear memory is of entering the Black Bear. I flirted with the men, and danced along with the women, indulging in the freedom that exists out of high society. I ate and drank like I did many times before, and ended the night sitting alone talking to the bartender. I asked if he knew anywhere to stay, and he said there was an inn on the edge of town that always had a spare room.

“But I’d be careful.” He said to me in a hushed tone. “If you’re travelin’ across town, it's best you do after the sun comes up. It’s dangerous to walk the streets before sunrise.”

I laughed and said I wasn’t afraid of the dark, and besides the streetlamps were enough. He shook his head, saying I didn’t understand, and that I should stay at the bar for the rest of the night. I once again refused, saying I appreciated his concern, but that I could handle myself. He sighed and stared out the window for a while before returning his gaze to me.

“Be careful. I’d hurry.” I left the bar, not because of his warnings, but out of a new sense of discomfort. In my arrogance I thought he was senile, but looking back I should have heeded his warning. Not that it matters now, but it began a series of unwise decisions I am lucky to have survived. I strolled along the cobblestone path, following the bartender’s directions, and taking in the scenery. The town was beautiful under the moonlight, the lanterns creating a warm glow on the empty streets. I was enchanted by it, and stood letting the summer breeze cool down my booze warmed body. I turned my gaze to a side street, where suddenly there was something on the ground in the distance where there wasn’t before. Curious, I walked towards it, and as I got closer I realized it was someone laying in the road. I screamed, and felt a chasm open in my stomach as I saw the blood on the pavement, the man clutching at his neck where the blood was spewing from. He looked at me, and I saw the last bit of recognition in his eyes before they fell shut. In my horror I stood there, paralyzed, watching the blood travel between the cracks in the cobblestone. I hear far away footsteps, and look up to see a wolf walking towards me. It snaps me out of my daze, and I step backwards, turning and running back the way I came. I could hear the wolf's footsteps speed up behind me, getting louder and louder, until something jumped on my back, making me crash into the ground. My front side scraped the ground, hands and cheek burning as the stone cut into my skin. I tried getting up, but I felt something holding me down. I expected it to be the wolf, to feel its teeth rip into me at any moment, but instead I felt a hand grabbing me by my hair. It pulled me up, exposing my neck, brushing its teeth along my vein. My mind went blank, until all that was left was pure fear. An unexpected surge of power coursed through me, and I used all my strength to roll myself over, kicking the person off of me. And that was the first time I saw her. She was standing over me, glimmering in the moonlight, the blood on her face trickling down the front of her dress. Her eyes were wild, her hunger apparent in her snarl as she crawled back over to me. I managed to get myself back on my feet, running once more to the inn, hoping someone could help. I looked back and saw her getting ready to lunge again, so I made a sharp turn down an alleyway, barely escaping her attack. Of course the victory was only temporary, as she slammed me against a wall. I pushed her away, leaned down, grabbed a bottle, and broke it over her head, but it made no difference. All I felt was a force grabbing my hand and pushing me against the wall, once more pinning me under her weight. For a moment she gazed into my eyes. I could feel the blood pouring through my veins with the rise and fall of my chest, but as our bodies were pressed together I could not feel anything inside of her. There was no panic running through her, no heartbeat. She breathed as though she didn’t need to.

She pushed my head back towards the wall and ripped the top of my dress, exposing my neck, then biting me. My body felt weak, all the blood pooling out of my neck. My vision blurred, and all I could feel was her tongue lapping up everything she was stealing out of me. The more she drank, the weaker I felt, and the stronger her grip on me became. Suddenly I felt her jaw release me. She cursed under her breath, and let go, dropping me to the floor. The last thing I saw before passing out was the first rays of the sunrise passing over the buildings around us.

I woke up in an infirmary surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was told by the doctor that I was given a blood transfusion, and that survival rates were low, but not unheard of. Despite this, I recovered quickly, and by the end of the day was allowed to be escorted to the inn where I would stay until I could afford a place of my own. When I arrived I was greeted by the bartender from the Black Bear. I apologized for ignoring his warnings. He informed me that everyone thought there was a killer on the loose, and that I was his latest victim. I told him, “I’m sorry, I don't know what he looks like, I can’t remember what happened.” He looked at me like he knew I was lying, and he pressed a rosary into my hands.

“Your sickness is not over. Do not walk at night again.”

He was right, the worst was yet to come. Two weeks went by with me feeling fine. I got a job mending clothes, and started setting up a small routine for myself. I would have breakfast at the inn, go to work, banter with the ladies, then have dinner, and return to my room at night. I kept the rosary on me at all times, just in case, until one day I left it on the counter at work. By the time I returned to my room, I was vomiting, blood spurting out of my mouth at every heave. It would stop for a moment, and I would breathe, before it started up again, my body giving out beneath me. Until suddenly I heard a tapping at the window.

I looked up and saw her again. Hovering in the air, her dreaded hair swayed in the wind. It was all the way down to her thighs. Her skin was dark, reflecting the moonlight off her high cheekbones. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She tapped the window again. “May I come in?” I stared at her, and moved to open the window, then threw up again. I shook my head no. “You’re dying. I can help you.” I grabbed the stoker from the unlit fireplace, and carefully opened the window, keeping my weapon in front of me at all times. I waited for her to enter.

“May I come in?” She repeats. I swallow. “Yes.” She ducked her head under the window frame, and entered the room, her bare feet finally making contact with the floor.

“You can put that down. I’m not here to harm you.” “I apologize, but you can understand how I find that hard to believe.” I raise my weapon to her throat. She laughs. “You’re dying and you’re threatening the only person that can help.” My stomach dropped, and I fell once more to my knees, the blood leaking from my throat again. “I can save you. All you have to do is let me.” I stared in her eyes, asking her to explain. “I will bite you again, then you’ll bite me. The transformation will be complete.” My eyes widen as I understood what she meant.

“No.” “It’s the only option you have. That rosary won’t help forever.” My vision blurs, and the room spins around me. I curled up on myself, feeling the world collapse around me. She put her hand under my chin, and lifted my head to hers. “Let me help you. Please.” I felt my heartbeat getting weaker. “Okay.” She lunges towards my neck and sucks the rest of my blood out of my body, then reveals hers and forces my teeth into her flesh. The taste of the blood was revolting, but the more I drank, the sweeter it became. I felt my body replenishing, and my new life under the moonlight began. I hope you can understand why I can no longer meet you. I will leave Sloan with a large sum of money for you, we have no use for it anymore. I hope it makes up for all the trouble I caused. Do not worry for me, my dear. —Liora