A little story by me. Enjoy.  *Dave took another weary step forward, lamenting the fact that one the soles of his boots would need to be repaired with duct tape as it slipped off once again. He had just run out and was lamenting the fact that he would probably have to beg for loose change to buy a new roll. His clothes, though mostly kept clean, were tattered with wear and hung loosely to his body. As he glanced up into the overcast sky once more, a small raindrop splattered onto his face.* “Great..”, *Dave mumbles to himself,* “I just hope it doesn’t storm too hard again.. I dunno if my little shelter is gonna hold up. I need to hurry..” *He clutched the brown paper sack he had received from the care center even tighter to his chest, hoping the flimsy material could hold up against the oncoming storm. He was glad there were at least a few good people in this world., and he was excited for the first good meal in a while. He had lost much, but he was determined to never give up, and he was determined to get it all back no matter what.* *Life had not been easy for Dave since he had been lain off from his paycheck to paycheck factory job of 10 years. After liquidating all assets, his former boss and CEO had gone M.I.A. and he had never received the severance package he was promised. There was little work to be had in the small town he had lived in for most of his life, so he took his chances and moved on into the big city with little more than his determination and a pocket full of dreams. His naivety cost him dearly.* *By the time Dave had reached his rickety little homemade shelter, the storm had picked up quite nicely. He was relieved to see it was holding up well. It was a little hovel forged from scavenged wood, plastic, sheet metal, duct tape and bunjie cords from the dump nearby. Despite everything, he was quite proud of his work. He had placed it in the far back corner of a condemned vacant lot, luckily out of sight from the streets. He occasionally had to shoo away some other unfortunate tramp from the streets, but he was determined to protect the last thing he owned. He knew he would have to leave eventually, but for now this was home. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea how soon this time was to come.* *Unbeknownst to Dave, six police officers were stalking him as their prey, hot on his trail. One of the group had seen him trudge into the lot the previous day, and had decided to inspect it when Dave was not around.* *When the officer took sight of the little hovel, he sneered and spat on the ground in disgust. As far as he was concerned, Dave was no better than this pile of junk and garbage he was beholding. In his mind Dave was probably just another drunk or druggie, a problem lost in the system that he needed to correct. He thought about just destroying this hovel right here and there, but he knew that if he did he would have less evidence to take that bum in.* *He decided to go inform the other officers of his discovery, a cruel plan forming in his mind as he thought of every charge he could hit that bum with when he finally caught him. After all, who would care about a bum? As far as the officer was concerned, he was doing that piece of trash a favor by locking him up. The officers determined they would strike the next night after more observation of Dave, and then “justice” would be delivered.* *As Dave opened up the little makeshift door to his proud little hovel, the young pit bull he had rescued from the streets came bounding out in its excitement. He had found it on the verge of starving to death a few weeks ago in a back alley. It had been covered in battle scars and had been badly beaten. He figured it had been a failed fighting dog, and though he knew he could barely take of himself, he was determined to save this young pups life.* *At first he had been very wary of this pit bull, but after he had treated her wounds and nursed her back to a healthy weight, he soon found she was nothing but a bundle of love and affection. He chuckled as he noted that she was a failed fight dog indeed. He had grown very attached to her, given her the name Hope, and was overjoyed as he knew he would never be alone again, at least not for a while.* “Hey there girl!!”, *Dave exclaimed happily as Hope bounded up to him*, “There’s a sweet girl. I’ve got some good food, yes I do. You hungry girl? I-“ *Dave was interrupted as Hope suddenly whipped around and began to uncharacteristically growl and then bark. Surprised, Dave turned around himself to see six uniform clad officers bolting towards him, guns drawn.* “Freeze! Get on the ground!”, *They exclaimed, pointing the weapons directly at his head,* “Get on the fucking ground now!!” *In his surprise, Dave took a couple of steps back.* “He’s gonna run! Get him!!”, *an officer shouted. They charged him, and as 4 of them took him to the ground, Hope sprang into action. She ferociously barked and was about to take an officer into her jaws, but then Dave heard a sound that made his blood run cold. A gun fired. A single yelp, then a thudding of flesh.* “Hope!!”, *He yelled,* “You bastards!! Why did you do that? She was just trying to protect me! What have I even done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?” *As Dave shouted, he thrashed a little bit in his protest. The police officers would have none of this disrespect. They pulled out their batons and beat him until he no longer resisted. As they pulled up a now stupefied and bloodied Dave, they proceeded to read him his rights and read him his list of charges.* *Trespassing, assault on an officer, attempting to flee from an officer, animal cruelty, etc., etc. Dave knew he was innocent and tried to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears. He was placed in the back of the squad car and he thought that was the end of it and proceeded to weep. When he noticed the car wasn’t moving, he looked out of the window on noticed the officers destroying and trashing his proud hovel, and also trashing any semblance of personal property he may have had.* *His backpack, his sleeping mat, his battered cell phone, his clothing, his supplies, his food.. all of everything he had managed to desperately scrape from the bottom of the barrel, gone. Dave numbly watched on as any scrap of hope or emotion slowly left his usually optimistic self. He watched as the officers high fived each other while exclaiming they had “gotten another one”, and as the last dregs of any humanity left him, he laughed. It was more of a dry, hoarse croak of scorn and lamentation. If this was justice, if this was right, then from that point on he was determined to never try to be a part of it again.* *Dave had never been much of drinker, but decided that as soon as he got out the first thing he would do is find a bottle somewhere. He would steal it if he had to, and now his only plan was to seek that sweet oblivion. After all, there was no longer any justice, no longer any Hope, and no longer any reason for him to try to live. For the first time since he had become homeless, he now truly was lost in the system. He was just another bum now, and his sorrow was drowned out by the celebration of “Justice” the officers proclaimed before him. Once again, he laughed… and cried.


           This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, but fate had other plans for the bride and groom.            The weeks that led up to their wedding day were spectacular. Beth had been fitted with a beautiful silk and lace wedding gown, strapless and elegant, while her five bridesmaids were dressed in chiffon gowns with V-shaped necklines and a slit up the left leg.

Graham was fitted with an Armani stretch-wool tuxedo, basic black, with a black silk bowtie. His groomsmen wore similar black tuxedos but with bowties to match the dresses of the bridesmaids.            A caterer had been hired to provide a three-course meal to the 350 guests that had responded to the RSVP. A magnificent three-tier cake with banana filling had been prepared, and a popular DJ had been hired for the reception.            All that was left to do, was to say, “I do,” when prompted to do so. A harpist strummed on the strings of the harp, creating a wonderful and calming sound for all of those in attendance. Instead of the traditional, “Bridal March,” Beth and Graham had decided on the song, “Here and Now” by Luther Vandross that was performed beautifully by a young man that they had grown up with.            Everything about the day was going splendidly. Graham stood at the front of the church in anticipation as Beth slowly made her way up the aisle. His breathing felt constricted once he witnessed her beauty. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time.            Beth too was feeling some anxiety. A tear began to form in the corner of her eye as she spotted Graham standing at the end of the aisle. Her walk seemed to take an eternity and her legs began to feel heavy as if she were walking through mud.            When the two of them finally joined at the altar, Beth’s father had lifted her veil and kissed her on the cheek before taking his seat. The couple then turned to face the priest who was about to marry them.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “We come together today to witness the union of Graham and Beth in Holy matrimony.”

When the priest reached the part of the ceremony when he asks those in attendance if there were any objections to the marriage, something unexpected happened.            Loud explosions could be heard outside of the church. Sirens sounded soon after. The ceremony had come to an abrupt stop as the doors to the church flew open and several armed men entered, blocking the exit. Many people crouched low in the pews, while the priest left the altar and approached the gunmen alerting them to the fact that they were in a place of worship. A dark-haired man with a long black beard stepped forward and fired three shots into the chest of the priest. He fell to the floor with a pool of blood forming around his dying body.            Everybody in the church gasped at the sight and began screaming in terror. Graham quickly grabbed Beth by the hand and pulled her down to the ground in front of the pews. They inched their way toward the rear of the altar where the doorway to the sacristy was.            They successfully entered the priest’s private quarters and made their way toward the rear exit when gunfire erupted in the church. Shouts of protest and shrieking agony followed. Beth thought of her parents and tried to turn back, but Graham held her tight and insisted that there was nothing they could do to help. They made it to the exit and escaped to the rear parking lot.            They could see fires burning all around the area including two police cars. The officers laid motionless on the ground beside them. Storefront windows had been smashed in and were also ablaze. Graham’s former military training had kicked in and his first course of action was survival until he could assess the situation.            They headed down a back alley away from the destruction and entered an apartment building that overlooked the downtown core. Adrenaline now raced through his veins as they took the elevator to the top floor then climbed a staircase to the roof.            At the south end of the building, they could see billowing smoke over a four-block radius. The terrorists had cordoned off the area. They seemed organized and well-armed. There was no way that Graham could handle this situation on his own and he knew it. He needed to get in touch with a few of his military buddies.            He did not want to risk his conversation being overheard on his cellphone, so Graham asked to use the landline of one of the building’s residents. The elderly lady reluctantly agreed. She decided that a couple dressed as they were could not possibly be terrorists.

“Harry? It’s Graham. Yes, it is good to hear your voice too. Listen, I need a favor. All hell is breaking loose downtown and I need you to round up some of the old platoon. Stay off the cellphones if you can or keep it coded, understood? Good. Meet me at 20:00 hours at Sharky’s. Be safe.”

At 8:00 pm, Graham and Beth arrived at a small shack on the outskirts of the city. It was owned by one of Graham’s platoon leaders, Sergeant, Gus “Sharky” Sullivan. He was a little unorthodox, but also one of the toughest men that Graham had ever met.            Sharky answered the door and invited them in, scanning the perimeter for anything unusual before closing the door behind them. Inside was a group of four other men and a woman. Graham made the introductions.

“Beth, you already met Sergeant Sullivan. On his left is Corporal, Harry Watson, that is Corporal, Emma Jackson, Gunnery Sergeant, Brock Kellerman, Private, Joseph Lakehead (Fish Head to his friends), and last, but not least, Lieutenant William Baker. Everyone, this is my fiancée, Beth. As you can see, our wedding was supposed to be today, but it was interrupted by a group of terrorists. That is why I called you all here today.”            Graham filled the platoon in on the details that he knew so far. They worked on various strategies to overtake the terrorists. Many of the scenarios could develop into a lot of collateral damage, however. There was one plan that could work, and they wasted no time getting started.            Brock still had a storage unit filled with military-grade weapons and full-body armor. That was to be their first stop. They needed to be prepared for anything. With their combined skills, they might stand a chance in defeating this enemy.            Lieutenant Baker, the communications specialist, and interpreter tapped into the radio frequency that the terrorists were using. It was not long before he discovered that they were an Islamic group out of Afghanistan, and they were targeting Christian-based places of worship and schools. The man in charge seemed to be an Al-Qaeda member by the name of Ayman.            Corporal Jackson made her way to the top of a building in the downtown district with a Mk-12 sniper rifle and an M-107 .50 caliber long-range rifle. She calibrated and focused, making sure that everything was set properly. From where she laid, she could take out any given target within 7,000 yards.            Graham’s specialty was cyber operations. Using drones, he could quietly scan the perimeter day or night to identify targets and guide his team to safe locations. The drones were equipped with refractive technology that made them virtually invisible from the ground.            Gunnery Sergeant Kellerman placed C-4 explosives in designated areas around the perimeter in case the terrorists chose to expand their assault.            Sergeant Sullivan was hunkered down in a café just outside of the fight zone waiting for his opportunity to start the assault.            Private Lakehead was an aquatic assault specialist. He could spend days in the water if he needed to. Fish Head, wearing a dark-colored wetsuit and diving mask equipped with night vision and hands-free communications, would slip silently into the pond in the middle of town. A rebreather is also attached for emergency submersions. On his feet are Chuck Taylor Maritime shoes which allow him to make a quick exit from the water without having to change from flippers to boots.            Corporal Watson’s specialty is in electronic warfare. His job is to knock out the electronic devices and communications in the area before the team moved in. He set up a device to let off an electromagnetic pulse just strong enough to affect the four-block perimeter.            Graham instructed Beth to get out of town and warn the military about what was happening. She “borrowed” a bicycle that was leaning up against a storefront and pedaled as quickly as she could toward the city limits.            When everyone was in position, Sharky gave the order to Harry to set off the EMP. The pulse knocked out all power within four blocks as planned. All enemy communications were down and with the streetlights off, the terrorists were left deaf and blind. It was time to move in.            With stealth-like movements, the team crept through the streets like ghosts, silently eliminating their targets using night vision goggles and a Strider SMF folding knife to sever their throats. Fish Head fired at targets who neared the pond using a waterproof 9 mm handgun with a suppressor attachment.            Beth had reached a police department in the next town and told them about what was happening. They immediately contacted the military who dispatched their anti-terrorist team.            One-by-one the enemy had fallen. This group of vets had done what seemed like the impossible. The last of the terrorists had been eliminated. The team met back at Sharky’s house to celebrate the victory and Beth was there waiting. Graham, still dressed in his rented tuxedo, promised Beth that they would have their wedding once all of this was cleared up.            Beth was grateful that they were still both alive and that they would still marry one day soon, but she wept for their family and friends who had perished during the attack. It was unlikely that anyone survived the ordeal.            By the break of dawn, the military had begun to arrive, but by then it was too late.


“Yes, Mary, I’m in front of her house now. God, who let the yard get like that? What happened to the swing on the porch?” I said into the phone. “You know what? Maybe if you were around when she was alive, you’d have been able to see the yard was a mess. Maybe you would have seen how run down the house has become. Jesus, Heather, what did you expect?” My sister replied through hissed teeth. I could almost hear the capillaries in her neck popping through the shitty reception. “Okay, whatever. Can you just tell me what I’m here for?” “If you were at the reading of her will, you’d know. But mom told me to be very clear and concise with you. She left something in a blue box in her closet. Next to grandma’s fur coat.” “Who gets that coat, by the way? Always loved it. Would be so precious to wear, you know?” “It doesn’t matter. You were only left one thing, and one thing only. That. Blue. Box. Find it and get the fuck out. None of the family even wants you there, but mom said she insisted.” “Fine, I get it, God damn. Bye” I said as I hung up. Marry can be such a bitch, ‘NONE OF THE FAMILY WANTS YOU THERE’ I said out loud in a mocking voice. We used to be so close, her and me. God, when’s the last time we even talked? 5 years? Maybe 6? I lit a cigarette and rolled down the car window. When’s the last time I was home? Probably the last time I saw mom in person. 15 years almost today, just a week short. But I’m not counting. I throw the cigarette out without taking a single puff. What a waste. I walk up to the porch. It used to be painted white, but now it seems a mix of rustic wood and white flakes. The porch swing was hanging off of one side, its left chain length pulled out from the top. It looked pathetic, as if hanging on what was left of its purpose. It used to be a good, sturdy swing. When I was younger, I could jump on and off it without so much as a creak. The storm door was wide open, its spring long ghost gone. I remember when it broke, that was a horrible storm. I can still see mom holding one of those 72 hour candles. It was so funny to see her slender fingers wrapped around that humongous hunk of wax. We used so little of the wax by the time the lights came back on, it was then a 71 hour candle. We never seemed to use it again after that. The front door was unlocked. Not that the dead bolt would have held anything, that door catch is so worn I barely had to push on the handle before it gave way. The hinges groaned open and the sun behind me peeked into the house with me. My silhouette casted against the ground and half way up the wall. My eyes adjusted to the light and I glanced at some family photos. Nothing has changed in the home since I left. It was odd walking through the home knowing mom was dead. I never really found this place inviting, but even still, I got goosebumps thinking of it. I walk through the entryway, closing the door behind me. There was enough light coming through the windows that I didn’t need to turn the lights on. I can remember when mom used to get mad about us leaving the lights on in unoccupied rooms. That practice sure carried over, as even today, I will make sure the light is off. I walk through the Kitchen and into the living room. Every piece of plastic covered furniture was exactly where I last saw it. Mom was always so stuck in her ways. Once she found something that worked, it stayed like that until it broke. There’s that gaudy beaded lamp. I can see that lamp so clearly in my head when I close my eyes to go to bed. I don’t know why, but that lamp burned a hole in my retina. It was that day I told mom about… my girlfriend. That I liked girls. The echoes of that night still bounce around the walls of that room. That was the last night I was home. 15 years ago, almost. Minus a week. Today. But I’m not counting. Jesus, I was 17 years old, mom. Why did you kick a 17 year old out? How could you have kicked your own daughter, ME? How could you have kicked me out? Being in this room pisses me off. I’m getting my shit and never returning. I hurry over to the stairs to ascend them. I instinctively skip the 5th step, because it creeks. I don't want to wake up- A dead woman? My dead mom? Was I still scared of making noises at night? Sneaking out with whoever I was destined to spend the rest of my life with that week? I push past the cobwebs, both mental and physical. There are a lot of cobwebs up here, holy shit. I turn on the light in the hall. Her door stood at the end, right in the middle of my room and Mary's. This door was always off limits when we were kids. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been behind this door, with permission of course. Inside mom’s room, there was the bed, night stand, her dresser and a small desk where she did her makeup in the morning. I can still smell her Aquanet clinging to the air. She was probably the sole cause for 10 percent of the ozone being depleted. She always had such perfect hair, of course. How could she face the world without her best face forward? There’s the closet. An accordion style door with a delicate little clasp. I push the clasp up and the door opens itself slightly. It honestly made me jump a little. I still have this childish anxiety that I’m not supposed to be here. Pushing some Avon boxes aside, I can see into the back of the closet. Hung up on a solid wood hanger, that I’ll add probably cost more than my first car, was my grandmother’s fox fur coat. It has been neglected for far too long, as the moths have found refuge in its folds. It was full of holes and ragged. I push the coat aside delicately for fear it would disintegrate. Behind the coat was the blue box I was foretold. What could mom possibly have inside it that she would go out of her way to write it in her will? I tucked it under my arm and backed out of the closet. I’m not opening this here, too heavy. I walk out of the room and into the hall. The dim light was flickering slightly. Almost by muscle memory, I push the dimmer up and down just right to keep it steady. I walk forward and my hand brushes against my childhood room’s door handle. This is already a pretty heavy day, might as well peek into my old room. I push the deep brown door open and feel the hanging mirror sway. I flipped the lights on and drank in the room's scenery. My God, nothing has changed. It’s exactly how I left it, 15 years ago, a week from today. I’m not counting. The pink bedspread, the band posters, my little desk with graded homework from high school, are still all there. It was almost unbelievable how much it felt like I went back in time. It took my breath away and made me grieve for my nostalgia. My head was spinning and I sat down. Forgetting the box, it crashed onto the floor from under my arm. The lid of the box flipped off and the only thing in the box was an old photo and a letter. The photo was of me and mom. I was maybe 7 years old. I was wearing a Dora the explorer bike helmet and had a wide smile full of missing teeth. Mom was cheek to cheek with me, smiling warmly as the sun swept her perfectly formed hair. I could see the remnants of a purple something around my lips. It was summer, and we looked so happy and carefree. I picked up the letter and read it. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx *Dear Heater,* *I know that where we are today, in our relationship and as I write this to you, is not a good place. Those years ago, I know. I know what I did. I am so very sorry. You were my daughter. You were a piece of me and I acted in anger. I was confused and wrongfully felt betrayed by you. If I could go back to that day, to any day before that, I would hug you. And hold on to you. And beg you. And grasp and pray and oh God Heather. Please forgive me. I love you so, so much. I know what I said was unforgivable. But please Baby Heath, my sweet, strong and courageous daughter. Forgive me.* *If you are reading this, it means I have passed away. I’m sure that is good news to you. I don’t blame you.* *Just know, if I could go back and take back everything I said. I would. In a heartbeat Heath, I would.* *Love mommy. <3* Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx My hands shook and at some point, the page had gotten wet. I was crying and sobbing. Without control, I was grasping the paper so tightly that it wrinkled. I picture that this silent room was waiting for me. As if a bitter hug from beyond the grave, I could feel myself in that picture. A warm motherly embrace. Oh God, mommy. 15 years. A week from today. You were counting, weren’t you? I was too.


The air bursts with the bright colors of the most beautiful sunset, as birds scattered, bending and twisting through the air, singing as they slice the red poppies among the holes dug by the force of explosives made by men who don’t understand what it’s like to watch the man next to you break under the force of a concussion, jacketed by that color of sunset, those cruel birds ripping and tearing through a man that hours ago you were sharing a meal with. The quiet orchaestra of a calm night broken, crushed under the weight of 10 pound shells that make the air scream and the earth shudder as both men and soil are flung as equals, both broken and dead. We sit in dug-outs, able to eat and yet starved, not of food but of the sun, of air that hasn’t been through the lungs more than once. Some sit nearest the corners, some shaking, others rocking, lost in their minds, though they’ve not yet been lost to shellfire. Even among those still under control, we shiver, our hands tense and squeeze. Though we may have the air of calm, we feel lost ourselves. We used to tell stories of peace-time, of what we’d done and planned to do. No more. Those stories hurt, poisoned the heart, and broke the mind. We knew they were true, and yet how? How could these stories be true? How could any of it be true, surrounded by this hellscape? Those stories we can believe, even the painful ones, the bad times, seem so light-hearted and docile compared to what we do now. We are no longer men. We are monsters, killers, and yet, in our minds, no more than a kilometer away, there is a more terrible evil than ourselves, but they must remain faceless. We do not dare make them human, or we will be more terrible than they have become. Have we all gone mad? Surely asking such a question is a reminder that we are not. Surely since we ask these things of ourselves it must imply we are not too far gone. The frightening visage of the uniformed man across from me reminds me I am still yet human, as his shaken gaze peers at me behind his gas mask, the soft vent of a breath through filters being all the signs that the man is still alive. Perhaps he thinks the same of me. We dare not make eye contact with one another, as maybe, maybe it will awaken something within the other man and he should want to attack me, or perhaps I would to him. My train of thought is broken as I see it, softly at first. The slow, creeping grasp of gas. In our states of mind, it seems almost alive, reaching and hunting us with its whispering tendrils. I hear the man across from me, I hear his breath begin to quake, and my own along with his. What if our masks fail us? What if we die, sputtering and starved of breath, retching our own blood and lungs as it tears our bodies apart? I must think no more, we must stand. The man across from me follows suit, as we grab our rifles and prepare for the assault. Part of us wish for this to be our chance to strike out at an enemy that torments us, sending harrowing mortar fire followed by gases that seek out the living to seize in front of their comrades. Part of us wish for this battle to end this agony. I do not know anymore which side I fall in. I try my best to push aside this thought as the blare of raid whistles are heard in the distance. My hands lie still. The man that was across from me steadies as well. The time has come to end our madness. They are here.


Death has one job, to claim the souls and take away lives of those who have met their end, it has never made a mistake, for when those mangled claws reach for a man, it is undoubtedly their end. Sisyphus the ancient king of Corinth, who managed to trick Death, did so only due to the human emotions that death held, but since then they have been ruthlessly cast aside... Right? The family had been cruising through space leisurely, living the life in a starship. The starship slowly made it's way to a small, lush blue planet. In the cabin sat a middle-aged couple and a young child. Sounds of a child's eager laughter filled the cabin. The man turned around and gazed lovingly at his son as he frolicked and played in the cabin. His wife was comfortably laid back, her feet up and a cocktail in hand. A sudden jolt sent the beautiful cosmoplitan crashing to the ground, the shattered glass seemingly divining an imminent disaster. A stray asteroid had embedded it into the side of the starship, the man having had a lapse in concentration while looking at his dear son. The man's body had been banged harshly against the controls when the asteroid had collided and was terrifyingly mangled. The starship was flaming, cruising at a terrifying angle. The man, looked behind him and met the worrying gazes of his wife and son. He gritted his teeth and roared. He was heavily injured, yet the starship was still a distance from the safety of the planet. His body shut down, no man would be able to live with such horrific injuries-yet his will would not falter, seemingly steering the ship with nothing but his willpower, he held on. "I can't die yet-not until I land" he roared, his mind filled with one thought-To ensure his family's safety. The reaching claws of Death froze, its fingers twitching in astonishment, a hint of horror surfacing in it's deep grey eyes. The simply man would not die. One final tug and the starship safely landed, the cabin shaking as the bottom of the spaceship harshly collided against the lush green grass. As the man closed his eyes, he smiled. His arms fell limply to his side, the last fibres of life seeping out of his body. Death's hand shivered, it reared its fearsome head and gazed at the man. The body of the man was small and broken, with his wife and child tearing over it. Yet in the illustrious eyes of Death, it was high and mighty like a god. The man who would not die-not until he made sure his family was safe. A smile formed on the terrifying visage of Death, it's mangled claw retreated, he bowed deeply in respect and quietly left. The man shook and awoke with a start, staring at his wife and child in shock, and as he hugged them, he gazed over the shoulder of his wife, at the empty cabin where Death stood just a few moments ago.


It was cold and sharp, and it took her breath as she entered the room. Winds created from potent magic that rushed over her no different than the winds themself. Wind magic eluded Hellena, it was so close to light in terms of technique and ability and yet a wholly different beast. The cutting winds that had just rushed over her were nothing more than the practice of Edwin, probably the best in their year at wind magic. It wasn't a matter of pure power or talent either; he was very skilled at the technique involved, evident from the intensity of something he called practice. Walking further into the room she saw half the class ready for the rounds of sparring. Some like Edwin practising swings of his sword, others stretching, and others still chatting or generally strewn about the room. Hellena personally took these moments entirely for herself, she went and sat on the floor next to the full length windows just breathing as she lazily twirled and refracted the midday sunlight through her hand, like a coin through her knuckles. Sunlight and moonlight had always recharged and relaxed her; it was as though she was less a user of light magic and more its vessel. It always felt so complicated to explain to other magic users, seemingly not a feature of interacting with their magics source. Hellena wasn't too sure about that though, more she leaned on the side of it being a resonance one had with magic, a resonance that most people never held, one reserved for those of high skill or talent. The only thing that led her to this conclusion was that Edwin would refuse to come inside until the last possible minute whenever heavy winds were deemed hazardous. She had seen him once right before, or rather during one of these wind storms. He seemed somewhere in between resigned and meditative, maybe content was the right word. Either way she was pretty sure he felt then as she did now, how she was permitted to feel most days and nights of good weather. A far more frequent occurrence than his perhaps required harsh winds. Her sunlit reprieve from the day's classes so far ended swiftly and with no notice as their instructor entered the room and blacked out the windows without even uttering a spell.

“Today spar’s will be conducted to simulate night.” He announced, much to the class's dismay. Not only did this make it harder to fight, it also made it harder to observe. What was the point of watching spars that you could barely see? It just didn’t make sense in a room like this where only one match could go on at a time. “Yes, you will have to pay closer inspection, and yes it will be difficult on both sides of the class, however it is important you know how to fight and how to observe in the darkness.” He explained as the students not in seats, such as herself, made their way over. “We are also going to start off easy, Hellena you're up first and your opponent is…” He let his words draw out as he scanned the sheet in front of him, “Edwin, both of you to the front.” He said with a clap. Hellena course corrected away from the desks and towards the mat. She unsheathed her sword, a blade of impeccably carved crystal as to best refract her light magic in a fight. Her sword skills were not great but her magic was incredible and it had been enough to win every fight she’s had in the year and half she’s been at the academy. Merely holding her sword ran light through its facets edges creating a ghostly glow around her sword alone in the dark; illuminating not even her hand, for no real magic was in it, just the knowledge that it was wielded by a light mage.

Edwin, on the other hand, had his sword sheathed, in what was more work than it would have been to forgo the sheath as he had yet to put his sword away when the darkness settled, and had all but immediately been called to fight. It felt far too hard to understand both as someone who was not particularly good at sword combat alone, (maybe there was some importance to the sporting nature of it she did not understand.) but also as someone who had made her way through many a fight through trickery. Mighty shows of power were easy. A stoic and cold face, that was easy. Wielding a crystalline glass sword as though it were a pen and she a poet, second nature. All together it depicted her as an overpowered monster, not the chosen by light heroine many tried to make her out to be, all together, and put simply her greatest weapon was not her magic but the fear she could instil. She knew that. She counted on the expressions and actions of her opponent to know what was working and how to hold her deceit.

Her greatest strength nullified and her opponent sending her with his very first action in their bout. She was glad no one could see the tension on her face. “Begin!” The Instructor exclaimed. Her breath was stolen before she had realised what had happened. She felt the wind rage past her as though it had no intention of hitting her but rather splitting the second before.

Edwin had used the moment he had brandished his sword, the motion and the power latent in that motion served to bolster his power. He had sent gale forces at her in the fraction of a moment his sword had touched the air he turned into said wind. There was a beauty in it she hadn’t felt in someone else's magic before. Footsteps brought her back to the fight as she set the light in her sword. Liquid light, a core of pure light flowing like the river over the joins and corners of its glass shell as if they were the rocks that made up the rapids. “Fuck.” She heard as Edwin jumped back from his closer position. She raced towards him, sword across her body ready to strike. It was different to all the other fights she had been in, she wanted this moment to last, this was not a chore of a class she could win with one spell, undermining the point of sword play. Why did she care all of a sudden? Why did she want to feel the rush in the power of his magic again? Why was her heart racing in a way she had never felt before? Their swords clashed with an awful sound of steel grinding on crystal yet it somehow sounded like music to her, and she could have sworn the same about him. In the brief moment her light illuminated his face she saw a smile she hadn’t in spars of his she had cared to watch before. Was she smiling during this too? Was this the first time a fight was fun? Was it supposed to be like this all the time, because if it was she could see the joy others found in a fight, in one like this. She stepped back to get the momentum to swing again. With her step his wind pushed her further back and it was like she was breathing his magic and it made her feel light headed like he had removed the oxygen in the wind he threw at her. He came at her. She moved the light in her sword to refract right into his eyes. He flinched away shielding his eyes with his non dominant arm. A back and forth she had yet to experience, one she had only just realised she had longed for. With every advance one of them made the other quickly pushed back. With every burst of his wind she felt she had less and less breathable air and it felt amazing. It felt like how others had described drunkenness. Her heart was racing with every second, every moment of the spar. She was sure she was smiling and she didn’t even care she had no clue how to end this. She felt his magic race all around her in a rapid spiral swell. Her head rolled with it, it relished in the pure power she was so delighted to feel in his winds. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel anything like this again, anything this beautiful again. Then all of a sudden the darkness of the room became blackness. … Bright lights practically assaulted her vision as she blinked back into reality. “What happened?” She groggily asked, holding her hands to her eyes to stop the light's harshness. “You don’t remember?” Erica asked her. Wait Erica, why was she here she didn’t take this class? “You’re not-” She started. “You collapsed during your sparring class, Hellena, remember?” She prodded. “No, I was, it was, no.” Hellena stumbled over her words trying to figure out what had happened between what she remembered last and now. “I was sparring Edwin, it was…” She trailed off as she sat up properly from the bed she was laying in.

“Come on.” Her friend held out her hand. She took it and they walked off together, Hellena still squinting a little bit. Stepping outside and into the light felt more healing than any rest ever would. She was enjoying the perfectness of the light of the sunset and Erica explained to her all of the reactions, theories and speculation as to what caused her collapse. Some people going as far to believe that she was some kind of inverse vampire, allergic to darkness as they are sunlight. It was sweet and good, the best she could have asked for in the moment. But then she felt what she could only name as power. Her breath caught and her heart raced and she found him in the distance before she even recognised what this was. It was Edwin's magic. It still felt glorious even when not in a fight, yet she had no clue what caused this reaction. She was too far away for his magic to affect the air and yet she felt it right before it stole her breath and her heart racing when he was too far to be a threat.

It was as though merely the thought of him left her lightheaded, let alone the damage his magic could do to her. That his magic was actively committing against her. Yet she couldn’t help but long for the next time he would steal her breath.


I took in a deep breath. The air was cool and crisp, burning my lungs. This was exactly what I had sought, and it was exactly why I had come this far. Each step I took caused my legs to ache with weariness, but I had a smile on my face nonetheless. Why wouldn't I, when I would soon reach the summit? I had spent the past three days climbing so that I could enjoy the journey, but that didn't stop me from looking forward to my arrival at the top. The path was rocky and the plant life was sparse, making it more and more difficult to make my way up, but I kept myself upbeat by considering it training while I scaled the uneven terrain. The climb felt like it went on forever, but when I realized that there was no higher peak to reach, I felt oddly disappointed that there wasn't more to traverse. However, the view around me was beautiful. The rising sun shone between two other mountain peaks, casting a warm glow over me that had previously been blocked by the mountain itself. After having spent so long next to such vast cliffs, the sky suddenly opening up above me caused me to let out an audible gasp. It was beautiful, and I immediately took a seat on a nearby outcrop so as to better enjoy the view. My sword weight heavy on my waist, and in a moment of annoyance, I decided to stick it into the rock next to me to relieve myself of the burden. It was plenty sharp enough to pierce the solid stone, and I needed not worry about its wear due to its enchanted nature. As I looked around, I couldn't help but suck in a deep breath of frigid air at the breathtaking view. My fur protected my skin from the chill, but the same couldn't be said of my lungs. Nonetheless, it invigorated me, filling me with a calm sort of relief that only someone who's just accomplished a great thing could feel. However, the scene was broken up by a single figure that was impossible to notice. As I looked it over, it noticed me in return, and rose from its previous resting place. I drew in another gasp of air as the titan rose to her full height, overshadowing all the mountains around us, mine included. She was miles away, yet still made it over to me in only a few strides. The light gray wolfess looked down on me with interested amber eyes, a subtle smile highlighting the rest of her face. However, despite her curiosity, I was the first to speak. "You're blocking the view." It wasn't exactly the most respectful thing to say, even to the most unpredictable race of all. Were she to wish it, the titan could easily crush me flat with a single finger. However, in the tranquil state I was in, I couldn't help but understand that she wasn't so cruel as to do so. "I'm a view of my own, am I not?" "...That I can't deny. Is there a reason you're taking an interest in someone like me?" "You seem like quite the interesting person. Few people climb this mountain, you know, and fewer still alone. Do you have any particular reason for doing so?" "I wanted to be able to tell myself that I did. It was a fun climb." "But surely this wasn't the best mountain to visit if you wanted to climb?" That was true. The two mountains that surrounded the sun before the titan had cast her shadow over me were both taller than this one, and probably afforded a better view, too. However, one couldn't deny that the view of the valley was best seen from right where I sat. "Perhaps. However, I'm here now, and I'm glad I've done so. Is that such a strange thing?" "Not at all. What's your name, swordsman?" "Zen. Yours?" "Natasha." "Well, thank you for taking an interest in me, Natasha. I'm glad I was worthy of your attention." "Must you be so stiff?" "I find that it's better to be polite to those that are taller than the mountain you've just spent three days climbing." At this, she chuckled slightly. After that, she spun around, sitting down next to the mountain, returning my view of the rest of the valley. "Thank you." "You were right." "About what?" "It's a wonderful view." "Didn't you already know that?" "You'll find that things lose their wonder when they become commonplace. A titan would have no difficulty seeing for hundreds of miles, so it's not that special for them to do so." "What makes things so special right now?" At this, Natasha flashed me a lopsided grin. "Because I get to share it with you." I was rather... stunned at this response. Not knowing what to say, I returned my eyes to the rising sun and the trees of the valley below it. We sat like this for several hours, not talking any more. When that time was done, I silently rose from my seat and returned my sword to its sheath. My legs had rested enough, so it was now time to begin the return descent. "Where do you plan to go from here, Zen?" "Oh, probably... that peak over there." Saying that, I pointed to the next mountain, on the opposite side of the peak from Natasha. "I could carry you over, if you'd like." "...Thank you for the offer, but I'd rather do it myself." "Is there a reason for that?" "That... hm. I suppose it's hard to explain. I suppose I want the satisfaction of getting their under my own power, and the knowledge that I've earned every view that I see. If I were carried everywhere I go, I wouldn't feel any joy from being there. Does that make sense to you?" "I don't think I understand, but I'll take your word for it. There are few places I can't go, after all." "I suppose so. You've chosen quite a good resting place, though." "Right?"  As I made my way back down the mountain, Natasha and I continued to make small talk. It helped spice up the trip, although there were a few times when I had to remain silent to focus on a particularly unsteady path. She promised to catch me were I to ever fall, but I'd rather not go through that experience at all. However, there was one point where I was stuck, left unsure how to continue. The two mountains were separated by a canyon, a rapid river raging below. I could see that there were wooden posts hammered into the rock on either side, but they were quite rotten, and nothing connected them. "I imagine that there was a rope bridge there at one point, but it's long gone." A slight frown crept onto my face. If there were nothing here, I could've moved sideways along the gorge until I found a bridge, but it's not common for two bridges to be hung over the same divide. It would be quite a long trek to completely circumvent this gap, and there's no guarantee I'd be able to do so, even if I had a month's time. "I could always carry you across." I opened my mouth to protest, but Natasha cut me off before I could. "Don't say that you want to cross it under your own power or anything. If there were a ferry, you'd have taken it, and if there were still a bridge, you would have eagerly taken such a shortcut." "...Yes, you're right." As I said that, Natasha extended her hand downwards, placing it slightly below the gap. I was grateful that she didn't simply reach down and grab me. Steady as I may seem, few people can remain calm when a giantess is reaching towards them. When I stepped onto her hand, she cupped it slightly to prevent me from falling off as she moved it... not sideways across the gorge, but upwards, towards her nose. I didn't fear that she would eat me, as sustenance is no concern for titans like her, but that didn't make me any less cross. I said that I wanted to traverse this mountain range under my own power, and I meant it! As she brought me closer to her face, however, I couldn't help but close my eyes. Secure as I was in my self-assurance of safety, that didn't stop my instincts from taking over. However, instead of any sort of pain or otherwise, I felt... something touch my nose. When I reopened my eyes, I saw her massive, black nose touching my own, her amber eyes staring down at me mischievously. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." I nodded silently, not trusting myself to speak. After flashing me another lopsided grin, she returned me back to the canyon, where she carefully deposited me on the other side of the divide. Her tail swished gleefully from side to side, but it didn't betray much emotion that the face hadn't already revealed. "Th- thank you." "Any time."  The following climb took a few more days, simply because of its length. I had no problems with that, as my rations would hold out for plenty of time. I expected Natasha to grow bored with my rather monotonous routine, but she seemed rather... happy to simply remain, having sporadic conversations about the most trivial of things. "You know, it's been wonderful talking to you, Zen. I just wanted you to know that." "I can say the same for you. I've heard that titans are often uncaring of those that are smaller, but... you seem nothing like the stories." "It's true that we don't often connect with tinies like you. There are no lack of people corrupted by their greed, expecting their companionship with a titan to mean that they can use them for their own gain. Most titans grow tired of being a corrupting influence on anyone they befriend, so they simply remain distant, observing but not interfering." "Well, I'm thankful that you've reached out." "As am I. For a titan with few wants and no needs, it's good to immerse myself in someone else's life. Even so, I'm glad you've managed to remain true to your principles. "A swordsman is nothing without his beliefs."  With all the work that I put in, it was no wonder that the next peak I arrived at was just as breathtaking as the last. However, with it, came the sad inevitability that I would have to depart. I could see a tinge of sadness on Natasha's face, and I knew that the exact same thing could be seen on mine. "Must you go? There are many other mountains around the valley..." "I know, but I cannot remain so long here. These mountains were along the way, but my route remains the same. I will continue onwards to the sea, and to lands beyond." "I see. In that case, I wish you well on your travels, Zen." "I wish the same to you, Natasha." I admit, I felt quite lonely those few days I descended back on the other side of the mountain. It was actually somewhat unbearable, knowing that Natasha could reach me in but a minute, but I remained steadfast. I had already said goodbye, and I feared that if I were to drag her along with me, I would become the kind of person that she so disliked creating. Hopefully, the sadness of departure will fade with time, being replaced by the happy memories of the times we shared.  Even two weeks later, as I walked through the port city of the southern sea, I couldn't help but feel my mind wander. I tried to snap myself out of it, but I was stuck between noticing the many gazes on me and my sword, or thinking about the titan of the valley. In the end, I pulled my mind away from such distractions, instead focusing on the ships of the opposite side. The southern sea was a hotbed of both trade and travel, so there was no shortage of ships ready to depart by the end of the day. It was child's play to find one willing to take on a swordsman such as myself, especially since I was an added protection against the pirates that so often traversed these waters. When the ship cast off, I found calm once more by staring not at the port slowly disappearing behind the horizon, but at the waters below. The rhythmic rippling in the gentle breeze slowly lapped against the side of the hull, I felt myself relax muscles that I didn't realize had been tense. I gazed at the water's surface, feeling my concentration dissipate, instead replaced by an existential peace... ...Which was immediately shattered as I noticed a massive amber eye, staring up at me from beneath the water's surface. A few seconds later, the water's surface broke as a massive head rose above the sea, looming over the ship. The waves caused by the titan's emergence rocked the ship wildly, causing everyone to grab onto the nearest handhold even while panicking at the sudden appearance of such a titan. Considering that their lungs are around the same size as the ship I'm currently standing on, it's not abnormal for them to be able to spend several days underwater at a time. Even so, nobody could expect the appearance of such a creature, certainly not me. After all, even while the ship bucked wildly, I couldn't help but focus instead on Natasha's face, grinning back at me. Just as it seemed that the vessel would capsize, she grabbed it from below, lifting the entire thing clean out of the water and up to her face. A few of the weaker-willed passengers screamed and backed away across the deck, but I paid them no mind. I had a rueful grin on my face, and I couldn't help but start the conversation, just as I had the first time we'd met. "You just couldn't let me go, huh?" The vessel's crew and the other passengers stared at me like I was crazy. However, the only thing I cared about was the massive wolf's lopsided grin. "As if I'd say goodbye to the most interesting person I've met in years, just like that." I nodded, understanding her motive. I imagine that it can be quite lonely in that valley, and a change of scenery always brings about a fresh perspective. For someone unfamiliar with travel, it can be normal to cling to that which you're familiar with when in an unfamiliar setting, and for her, I suppose the only thing that's familiar would be... me.  Clearly, this would be quite the interesting journey for the both of us.


I’ve been following Jim Davies for a while now and let me tell you, this guy is by far the biggest headache I’ve ever had. A real, genuine, nice human being. Probably the nicest person on the planet. I just can’t seem to break him. Everyone has a weakness and it usually doesn’t take long to find it. Some people broadcast them and some people hide them away in tiny locked compartments of their souls, but I always find the key. Not with Jim though. I started out small. I would set up a mild inconvenience somewhere in his day to feel out his temper. Red lights, bad weather, the wrong meal at restaurants, etc. Mild stuff, but it adds up over time. It didn’t add up for Jim. Sometimes he wouldn’t even notice what I’d done because he would get distracted all on his own helping some poor old lady cross the street, or rescuing a kitten from a tree. Seriously. This guy rescued a fucking cat in a tree. You may be wondering, does it get any more cliché than that? You’re in luck. It most certainly does. Jim is the pastor at the United church in his perfect suburban paradise. He met his wife, Ruth, in high school and they have a daughter. Want to venture a guess on the name? Mary. Yep. A pastor with a daughter named after the ever so revered virgin herself. How original. Throughout little Mary’s life I’ve started increasing her attitude and disobedience levels. Jim has never even raised his voice. He came home to find Ruth in bed with another man and said they could “work it out, provided that’s what she wanted to do”. He even rides a bicycle to the call centre for the suicide helpline he volunteers with to help save the planet. His church operates a makeshift homeless shelter in the basement, that he furnished and stocks on his own dime. He doesn’t accept donations from the congregation because “God wants you to keep your money”, as if he’d really know. I got Ruth to take Mary and leave him. Cleaned out his bank account on her way out of town too. When I saw him wipe away a single tear and whisper, “good for her” I knew I had to do something drastic. Jim’s neighbourhood isn’t on a fault line. It’s never seen a tornado. Mother Nature has left this particular cookie cutter piece of American bliss alone. Until last night. I’m completely and utterly at my wit’s end. Every home in the area was destroyed. The people who survived have been flooding the big man upstairs with prayers, but not Jim. He just calmly surveilled the wreckage of his former life and salvaged the few surviving items. He even took the jacket off his back to give to the now orphaned Timmy Rogers from down the road. What a piece of work. I’ve already gotten requests from several members of his congregation in regards to making a deal to simplify their lives. Naturally I accepted, but I just know it won’t be the same when I finally collect their souls. The purity in his would have been a delicious deviation from my usual meals of corruption, and I’m sure his screams when he descended to Hell would have been the first true music I’ve heard since God kicked me out of Heaven.


There are two kinds of people: drunks, and survivors of drunks. I am a survivor of drunks. I've never liked alcohol, not the taste and not the feeling. Makes me guilty. It's like poisoning your body with something that deliberately makes you feel gross, and purposefully causes you physical damage. I'll probably never drink again after tonight. My friend decided to drag me out, even after I expressed my disinterest in drinking. She'd said "But you need to get out, you never go anywhere or do anything anymore." She's right. She didn't have me convinced until her reasoning shifted to a slight whine and she squeaked out "I miss you." Bingo. I was sold. What's one night; one drink? Maybe it'll be fun, I'd thought. I never thought to ask who the DD would be, I just knew it wasn't me. We got all dolled up, she picked me up, and we headed to the bar. And by "all dolled up" I mean I brushed my hair and wore something other than sweatpants. The night was sort of fun, but I wasn't really there. I sat at the bar on one of the tall stools that, though well into my 20's, I still felt too young to be sitting on. My mind was anywhere but in that bar. My mind was back home in bed with my penguin sheets and baby blue fuzzy blanket, watching The Office for the 6th time. I was approached by three different guys, but they all gave up as soon as they could tell I was in no way interested in leaving the bar with them. I guess sometimes your mind being elsewhere is as great a people repellent as it is a coping mechanism. I don't drink much, so after one drink of some brightly colored alcohol I was sufficiently tipsy. I didn't want to drink more so I ordered some fries and mentally checked out for the night. No more fun for me. I zoned out and stared at the T.V hanging above the bar. No football; not in season I guess. I wouldn't know, that's not my style. There was some infomercial for a big ole vacuum cleaner. The kind that's on wheels and is shaped like a barrel. It had a handy retractable tube that came out of the side, and the top opened to be cleaned out. Cool vacuum, but I wasn't quite sold. They'd have to try harder to make me think it was worth the two payments of $99.99. "Come on!" I was suddenly being dragged off the barstool by my friends and the next thing I knew I was in the passenger's seat of a car that smelled like wet dog, garbage, and pot. Fun. Once I was able to focus in on what was happening, I realized that my friend had made friends. With two guys. "Oh, no. I don't- I'm not-" I started scrambling for any excuse to leave. I grabbed at the door handle but it was too dark to see and by the time my hand found it, we had started moving. "Relax, we're just gonna hang out." My friend tried to comfort me from the back seat. I sighed and slumped down in the seat. Nobody even remembered to put their seatbelts on. When we realized that, it was already too late. I still remember Mr. Brightside playing on the radio before being jolted backwards and then sideways, glass shattering all around me. And suddenly we were tipping over in slow motion. I was upside down. Bits of glass got caught in my hair, and I imagined it all sparkly under the streetlights. Time started moving again. I wiggled my toes and hands and made sure I could move. I don't remember crawling out through the broken window onto the street, but I did. I crawled away from the car as bystanders stopped and ran over to help, a few of them pulling out their phones to call 911. I tried to get to my feet but someone told me to stay down, and sat there with me until the ambulance arrived. Me surviving was a total miracle. There's no reason I should be alive. I was the only one who survived the impact out of both cars in the collision. There are three kinds of people: drunks, survivors of drunks, and drunks that can't even survive themselves.


A nanny job for the biggest name in the comic book industry. When I saw the want ad, I jumped at the chance. It shocked me to find out Drew Kirby had a child at all. Nobody talked about it, I saw no pictures, and heard absolutely nothing about there even being a woman in his life. Perpetually single, many people assumed he was gay. Of course, if you looked at his comics, you'd notice his fixation with female anatomy. Maybe he was bi? I'm a modern girl, so I made no judgments. Everything, the movies, the comics, the TV shows, have been amazing , especially Squirrel Woman and Vanessa Vixx. Notorious for his aloofness, the man lived in a gated mansion surrounded by tall brick ivy enveloped walls that gave no hints about the building's ownership, save one little bug eyed sculpture of Benny the Rat above the speaker box. I had to talk to a camera before I could even get inside the wrought iron barrier. Mr. Kirby's abode resembled the Lucasfilm Ranch, turreted white Victorian with a gnarled old tree out front. Again, no hint about what lay inside, except maybe the rather cliche fountain of Atlas holding up the world. For a rich man, the place had a light staff. Mr. Kirby himself answered the door, dressed in casual but expensive clothing. Although in his thirties, he looked much older, his face craggy, bags under the eyes, still handsome though. Hawk-like features, dark glittering eyes, stylish black hair...As an artist, not very well built, but he'd been known to take daily morning jogs.

I wondered, was he single? I introduced myself, and he let me in. Only then did I see trappings of the Kerpow Comics universe, statues of the spandex clad action woman with the bushy tail, feathery Owl Woman, Jack Rager with his trademark sledgehammer, displays of action figures, movie costumes, masks, framed celebrity photos... "Is this my new nanny?" asked an elfin voice. I turned and saw a diminutive figure draped in a large hat, veil and long flowing dress. Even the hands had been concealed in opera gloves. "This is my daughter Amanda. Due to her skin condition and light sensitivity, we always have to keep her covered up, so you're not going to be able to look at her. Hope this won't be a problem for you." Kids with problems like that just pulled on my heart strings. "Oh no, sir. I've read about things like this. I understand completely." I knelt in front of her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Oh you poor thing!" The girl flinched. "Please no touching," the man blurted.

"The nerve endings..." "I'm very sorry, sir. I would never-" "It's fine." Kirby's expression seemed to indicate he may have overstated things. "And please, call me Drew." I straightened. "Is there...anything else I need to know?" "She's very active. ADDHD. Try to keep up with her." "Oh," I breathed. "Looks like I got my work cut out for me...what happened to her mother, if you don't mind me asking? I've never heard anything-" "Long story. I'd rather not go into it." He left it at that. It wouldn't do me any good, financially, to pry, so I let it go, hoping maybe sometime I'd run into the woman, or find out in the course of conversation. Mr. Kirby outlined what he wanted me to do, and teach. I'd cook for the child, clean, teach school subjects, answer any questions she'd asked, no matter how random, personal or unimportant they seemed. Again, no touching. Every day I was to leave her alone in her bedroom for about an hour so she could take off her coverings and rest. He instructed me to knock before entering, wait for her to open the door, never open it myself. I was to go to the guest room at eight P.M. and stay there, I would call him on the cel if I wanted to go out or visit the kitchen. I could order delivery if I wanted, he'd bring it to the room for me. Weird instructions, but I just chalked it up to eccentric genius and a developmentally challenged daughter, doing whatever he said to do. He was , at least, prepared to give me paychecks bigger than any I'd ever received before. I felt sorry for the kid. She didn't seem to know anything...about anything.  A lot of her questions didn't make sense, so detached from the world she'd become. I had to explain why it's unsafe to drink poison, why you couldn't fly from the roof if you wore a cape, and a lot of other basic things.

I cooked lunches for her, but never dinner. Amanda wasn't just in that room for an hour, she was gone for the rest of the day, I assume because she was tired. After a couple times of being stood up like this, I gave up and went to my room. My employer never complained, in fact, I got room service. Drew apparently knew how to cook. Although he spent most his time in his home office making calls, or in the art studio, he'd bring meals to my room, and not bad ones either. I complimented him profusely, but he only looked embarrassed. I never got any signals from him being interested in me, but I didn't have to order or go out once. Not only that, he gave me a laptop to keep me busy during my down time. I started with the intention of teaching the child according to the formula of course departments, math, science, English and so forth, but I soon figured out that, according to her limited attention span, I had better chances of making a lesson stick if I sort of worked the lessons around Amanda's natural inquisitiveness, answering her questions in return for some math challenges, getting her a diary where I could see her English proficiency and suggest improvements, and so forth. I tried to get to know her better, but certain lines of questioning met resistance, such as how old she was, when her birthday was, or how her family life was going. "Everybody has a mother..." I told her about mine, hoping to get her to open up. "What's yours like?" I thought I saw a smile behind the veil. "Oh, she's nice. Awfully busy, though." "Does she...work?" Amanda nodded. "She's with the police department." Although it disappointed me to know Drew wasn't single, I still felt excited to know something about the mother. "Police officers do have a lot of work...how come she doesn't come here?" "She does. You just haven't seen her." "Does she...show up around eight?" "Yeah." "Why can't I see her?" "I'm not supposed to tell you." "I won't tell anyone. I promise." She sighed. "Daddy doesn't like it. He says the house will become a freak show and people won't leave us alone." "I won't let that happen, Amanda.

I like you.

Why does he think your mother is a freak? She works for the police department, right? She can't be that weird. " I wondered if the mother did something bad and got on the news. "Is she...in jail?" "No. Not anymore." "Oh. I'm sorry. You should let your mother know that it's okay. I don't judge." "Even if she's Vanessa Vixx?" I smirked. " Especially if she's Vanessa Vixx.  She is my favorite cartoon character." "Good.

She's my favorite mom. " I suppressed a giggle. Vanessa was a police officer, and a did vaguely recall a comic book in which the character got framed for a crime and had to fight her way out of a jail. "Now Amanda, we both know that cartoons are just make believe. In real life, police don't drive around with badgers in their cars." "Mommy does."  She sounded disappointed that I didn't believe her. I told her a story about a friend of mine that lost her mother due to a divorce, and how irresponsible the mother had been. "Wow!" the child actually seemed amazed by my story. "I'm glad my mommy's not like that! My mommy loves me!" At this point, I wasn't sure what to believe, didn't know if the kid's mother was actually in the police department, or if that was all part of her imagination. "I'm sure she does...you know, people have all kinds of jobs.  Sometimes people lose their jobs because of different things, and don't have money, or even a home. And that's okay. It's not their fault...did your mother lose her job?" "No. I just told you, she's a police officer with the ATPD." I groaned. "I've never seen an Animal Town Police officer in real life." "I can ask daddy if he'll let you see her. I'm sure he will, since you're such a big fan." I continued punching holes in her story. "How does your daddy... see Vanessa?" "She crossed over." "How?" "I dunno." That's about all I got from her about the subject. I gave up and taught her math (the kid excessively right brained), some history and social studies. That evening, I walked her to her room for her nightly alone time, as usual, but once she stepped inside, I noticed she hadn't closed the door all the way. I don't think she knew she'd made the mistake. Holding my breath and standing perfectly still as to not be noticed, I peered through the crack. My jaw dropped at what I saw. Amanda's outfit turned out to be an elaborate disguise. This whole time, the child had been wearing a mask under that veil, and when she pulled it away, I saw the unnaturally bright, colorful visage of a Saturday morning cartoon character. Button nose, baby doe eyes, candy apple red lips, large mouse-like ears. The hair I'd seen had also been a wig. Her `real hair' apparently was animated, red and pigtailed. I guess I must have gasped or something, for the girl suddenly turned to face me. I yelped, forced myself to look calm and friendly. "I'm sorry. I..." "It's okay. You would have found out sooner or later." "I have so many questions. How are you real? Where did you come from?" She looked bashful.

"My daddy loves my mommy very much." I stared. "What?" "My mom really is Vanessa Vixx. And daddy..." Her skin darkened, took on a more realistic Caucasian hue. Somehow she could concentrate and make herself non-animated. "How?" Amanda shrugged. "I'm very special. A stork delivered me to the house." I furrowed my brow, not believing a word I was hearing, or what I saw.

"Your...dad...and a lady from a comic book...they had you?" The girl nodded vigorously. "Don't tell, okay?"


As he battled the waves, the wind roared loud and hard, only his 17 years at sea was keeping the boat afloat. The main sail was ripped from the deck, and he had no power from engine. He made make shifts underwater sails at either side of the boat that he lifted to steer. The white of the sea was blinding, rich with hopelessness. He tied himself to the deck, staring at pure fear. He screams at the top of his voice, “come ahead you won’t take me easy”. Gripping onto the steering wheel, white knuckles and grit teeth. As huge wave crashed into the front of the boat, rising it up so high he is dangling from the wheel. But still he refuses to let go, only his will power, and the love for a challenge was keeping him going. As quick as the boat raised up, it came crashing down the other side like a roller coaster. Slowly his boat was filling up with a watery death, he holds the wheel with his knee, grasping at the water pump, he cranks away. As he looked ahead, he could see a very faint grey outline, he knew it could not be water as it was not moving. He laughed with the roar of a lion; the storm had been taken him to land. Only time would tell if he could make It, he had no clue where he was, but he knew his chance of survival would increase with sold rock under him. This only spurred him on, cranking the pump faster his eyes only showing the very narrowing of gaps and the salt water stuck his face. The silhouette of the land grow in darkness and size as he gets closer. The boat stops with a massive crash, he is throwing from the wheel. he knew he is a rock, he had very limited time, his mind was saying can I swim the rest, how far to shore, will he need supplies from the boat, where was he. He could he the boat ripping her self apart, no time to think, he starts to untie himself. The knots are tight after the sudden pull from the throw. His fingers were sore from cold and water, his knife was out of reach. He rushed back to the wheel as he could hear the air rushing out the boat, quickly he starts to cut. As he turns around the whole front of the boat was just under water. He keeps cutting as fast as he can, the water is up to his ankles at this point. The fear was settling in, like a cloak of death. His heart was pounding and his wide open, his brain was firing neurons making it hard to focus. As he is pulled under, the water seemed clam, as it pulled him under more. He could not feel the cold, he was running on pure adrenalin, as he cut in to the last of the rope. He finally cuts him self free, as he looks up at the dazzling light of the surface, he pulls the cord to his life jacket. The rush to the surface only allowed him to wake up to how bad his situation was. The storm was still in full force, but now with his eyes lower, he could not see anything. Just water beating him from all around him. Only to be struck with the same rock that sunk him from behind on the head. His head was ringing, he was starting to fall asleep, his head was shutting down. Slowly he gave into demise. After an unspecified time, he could hear water crashing into the shores, his head was still in pain. The sharp rocks sliced into is hardened flesh. he did not want to make any sudden moves right away; he had no clue what was broken. He slowly checked himself out, apart from a few cuts and his painful headache, he was fine, lucky escape he felt. As je pulled himself onto the rocks, he could see he was in a cave, the sea was still in full force, with no chance of swimming out, he decided to give himself a bit of time to sort himself out a bit. His head wound, was worrying him, he could feel blood, but had no clue what was going on back there. He rips his sleeve off his shirt and wraps it around his head. He squints his face as the pain increases while he does it. He looked behind him into the darkness of the cave, he did not know where it went, but he had very little options. The current of the water would likely kill him if he went out the way he went in. He took out his flip lighter and sparked it, it took a few try’s but it soon sparked to life. The cave had some depth, his small light source barely pierced into the darkness. His footing was not the best and he crouched into the walls of the cave, with one had over his head and one on the ground. He pushed on until he comes to the wall at the back of the cave, no other light, no wind from anywhere but behind, he knew it was a dead end but there might be an underwater passage. He felt this was a bigger risk that trying to go out the front. He was really stuck in a rock and a hard place. He makes his way back to the front of the cave and sits down looking out into the sea. A miracle is what he needed. No escape, no supplies, and an unknowing injure to his head. “Checkmate” he says, accepting his fate, he smiled looking out the cruel mistress of the sea. He felt no regrets and enjoyed his last view of life.


Something was wrong. Fatally wrong. He couldn’t grasp the reason for his anxiousness. As Clive stepped onto the platform at precisely 06:05 and 35 seconds waiting for his early morning commuter train, something was wrong, he thought. Something was not right. In those moments in his life, his mind concentrated on an image of Newton’s cradle, it was idle, motionless, the big brass orbs, dangling from the brass cradle, all were stationary, passive and still, but there was a sense of anticipation, the orbs were oscillating in anticipation of movement, one of the outside orbs to the left or right would start the motion, and then the orb would send all the others into a monotonous; endless click – clacking. When will one of them initiate the law of the conservation of energy, the transfer of energy, the two-way domino effect? Clive knew. He grinned with the image of Newton’s cradle in the front of his mind. He could count time, the seconds, by the rhythmic striking of each brass orb in Newton’s cradle. The kiss of the cold metal against cold metal. Click – Clack. Energy converted into time, that’s what made Clive special. Clive knew how to slow down time, to make it stop. “Don’t YOU mess up, now! Stay cool, stay calm!” Said the voice in his head. It was his imaginary friend he had been told. Clive knew different. Mr. Black stepped onto the platform at 06:06 and 10 seconds, in his commuter uniform, his pressed suit was covered with an elegant cashmere and wool full-length overcoat, and camel coloured scarf elegantly arranged on both sides of the coat covering the lapels. His umbrella hung on his angled arm, held in position like a soldier on parade. “Morning, Clive.” Greeted Mr. Black. “Not so cold this morning.” Then the hushed whisper, as he passed by Clive, to take up his normal position on the platform. “What time will she come?” “Don’t say anything, nothing, you idiot!” The voice said gruffly in his head. Mr. Gray bundled onto the platform at 06:07 and 5 seconds, as ever fumbling nervously with his numerous pockets, more than likely, trying to check on the whereabouts of his wallet, keys, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything for the day’s commute, he opened and checked his slim briefcase to locate his phone and book for the umpteenth time. “Morning, Clive.” Mr. Gray said to Clive. “Bit chilly today!” Then the whisper from behind his raised hand hiding his mouth, his lips. “What time will she come?” “You say a word, your life won’t be worth living.” The voice inside his head hissed. Mr. Brown arrived slightly late at 06:08 and 30 seconds, he continued to peer in concern at his watch, but brightened as he recognized Clive. “Morning, Clive.” Mr. Brown said to Clive. “Fine morning.” Then the whisper and furtive look for a fraction of a second, before he said, “What time will she come?” The voice in his head made a cough, sounding like a grunt. It was a warning signal, not to reply. Mrs. Mauve and Mrs. Green stepped onto the platform together in deep conversation, talking behind animated hands. As they passed Clive, they both whispered, without turning their heads. “What time will she come?” They said in unison, and then walked to their waiting positions on the platform. “Don’t….” Warned the voice in Clive’s head. Finally, Miss Pink arrived at 06:09 and 20 seconds. She strode confidently onto the platform like a catwalk model, she knew everybody on the platform had waited for her entrance this morning, for all the waiting passengers, it was the thrill of the day she imagined. She walked with the same purpose as a model, a gladiator of hearts and minds, she imagined she was walking a straight line, walking directly, purposely towards Clive, and on cue, her timing was stage perfect, she winked flirtingly at Clive, the wink that meant, anytime, I’m your license to promiscuity buddy, a longing stare to the recipient of her wantonness; an unsaid message - take me! “Shut the f..k up – you dare, you just dare!” Said the angry slightly nervous voice in his head. As Miss. Pink passed Clive, she whispered like everybody else. “What time will she come?” He followed her path looking enviously at her long shapely legs, her tight backside. Everybody was in their normal position. They all started looking downline for sight of the commuter train to the right. The tunnel entrance to the left was a dark black hole, like a large muzzle of a gun, a void, an impenetrable blackness, it was different to the darkness of the early winter morning, where the light pollution and illuminated glare, diffused the blackness, and played tricks with eyes. Then the stranger arrived. He wore dark glasses, and a long black trench coat styled raincoat. He looked around the platform and recognized Clive, he bowed his head and strode up to Clive. There was intent in his voice when he said. “Mr. Caldwell, I need a few words with you, do you mind if we talk?” “Don’t tell him anything – understand. Not a word!” Screamed the voice. “It’s an important matter Mr. Caldwell, it’s about your wife….” The stranger in the long trench coat didn’t finish the sentence. “Be careful now…” said the voice with a menacing tone. Instantly, the golden orbs started to move in Newton’s Cradle, click - clack, click - clack. The energy, and counter energy started to dance. Both the cradle and balls were shuddering, jerking in an erratic crazed movement. “What time will she come?” Said the stranger. He didn’t whisper it like the others, but as the voiced question appeared in the hushed morning air, the stranger smiled a knowing smile. Clive thought he noticed a smirk. “Keep that mouth shut, keep it shut!” The voice in Clive’s head was getting more than angry, it was becoming uncontrollable, insane! CLICK – CLACK; CLICK – CLACK the golden orbs had really started to move now, they were moving back and forth with the velocity of a funfair ride, Clive had forgotten the name of the ride. His brow started to sweat, his palms started to feel clammy, he felt nauseous. BANG! The explosion came from the black tunnel entrance, the impact, the latent energy of the explosion was made more catastrophic as it was ignited from inside the tunnel, and then the trapped energy blasted outwards with more force at its mouth, the entrance, a titanic release of deadly energy, huge pieces of masonry, metal flew like missiles through the dark morning air hissing with a deadly force, the sonic boom of the explosion deafened the dark morning skies. Clive had a slow-motion image of the chaotic debris decapitating some waiting passengers on the platform, their bodies smashed into pieces by the force of the explosion. Clive slowed the titanic forces in his mind to a still photograph type image – he made it STOP. Click – clack, click – clack the sound of Newton’s cradle returned from his peripheral hearing, as the sound of the explosive forces stopped at the same instant as the horrific images. “She won’t come now!” said the voice with evil mirth in Clive’s head. “She’s gone forever.” There was a sense of finality in the last words. ************************************************************  “They will be ready for you shortly Mr. Caldwell.” The nurse said chirpily. Clive was handcuffed to the wheelchair. Two burly attendants on each side of the wheels. The door opened suddenly, and Clive was wheeled into the meeting room. There was a committee of three men and two ladies waiting inside, all seated behind desks, files and papers, laptops in front of them, and on the side seated ready to take minutes, a transcriber of the meeting was a young administration lady, wearing a bright puce lady’s suit. Sitting separately in the corner of the room was a strange man with dark glasses. The attendants and the chirpy nurse stood at the side and behind Clive, seated in the wheelchair. “How are you today, Mr. Caldwell?” Said one of the women, a member of the committee. Before Clive could answer, the women started the introduction to the meeting. “The psychiatric team of Edmundston Mental Hospital, in attendance today, Dr, Schwartz, Dr. Sery, Dr. Braun, Dr. Zeleny, and myself the chairperson Dr. Malva presiding over case: 10476; Mr. Clive Caldwell.” Dr Malva paused. “Now, Mr. Caldwell, under the Mental Health act of 2018, we are required to conduct a regular status review of your condition. The committee has your records, and we have duly reviewed all the details, including your recent status of the last 6 months, and we find some improvements in your condition.” “We have some questions for you today. Do you feel in a frame of mind to answer?” Clive paused for some moments, before he answered calmly. “Yes, that’s OK.” “OK, looking at the records we find that your medication is stabilizing your previous traumas, there are no reported incidents of violent behaviour.” “Do you have visions, or when was the last time you had any distressing visions, Mr. Caldwell?” “I can’t remember, not for some time.” Clive quietly replied. “Good, and what about voices, do you hear any voices in your head nowadays?” “No Ma'am, and I don’t have any headaches either.” Clive added. “Very good, we the committee believe that you no longer pose a security risk, not whilst you are in this institution, and you are taking your prescribed daily medication. We have also agreed that based on a clean incident free record under the constant observation of this institution, that in 6 months, we can look at a release program. What do you say about that Mr. Caldwell?” “Great! - gettin' me time back again, - thank you Ma'am." Clive said with some hesitation. He looked to the corner of the room at the seated stranger. The seated stranger took off his dark glasses and peered directly at Clive. He had no eyes, instead where there should be eyes and eye sockets there were two black holes; they looked like tunnel entrances, with the scars and scorch marks of fire caused by a tremendous explosive blast were evident on and around the circumference of the black holes. The stranger’s expression didn’t change, his face was peering directly at Clive, and then he smirked, and mouthed silently. “What time will she come?” “Who is that?” Clive thought. “The past, and the future, YOU arsehole, don’t look at him, you idiot!” Said the voice in Clive’s head. “OK nurse, take Mr. Caldwell away, and we will see the next patient.” The attendants reversed the wheelchair out of the meeting room. Clive’s first thought, 5 minutes, and 12 seconds – meetings are getting shorter. Clive was grinning, a crooked smile which never disappeared off his face, but no one noticed his eyes, peering at nothing, there seemed to be something going on behind the masked appearance on his face, his pasted-on smile, his eyes; it was a charade for the continued monitoring and inspection of all at Edmundston. He wore the mask like a reveler at Mardi Gras, his unique disguise. Fake it, to make it. The voice in Clive’s head. “Told you we’d be out of here, just keep smiling sonny, just be patient with these arseholes for a little while longer! – who’s always looked after you, sonny Jim, always - right from the beginning of time!” CLICK – CLACK The sound of the orbs in Newton’s cradle continued counting time. Clive's time.


It is the year 2067. Many decades have passed since the gates of Azeroth opened for the days of Vanilla WoW. Little did the players of that time back in 2003 know that over 50 years later, the game they loved so much would still be going strong. Dozens of expansion packs later, the current level cap is now 340. Several new races - and classes - are in place. A new class of item, called 'Primordials' have been introduced. The geography of today's Azeroth would be mostly known to early 2000's players, with several sub-equatorial land masses now a part of the landscape (Gondwana, Pangaea and the Poles). As the early-day players grew older and became adults and eventually grandparents, WoW accounts and characters were passed down through generations of real-life families. It became commonplace for WoW 'heirlooms' to be passed down through online generations in the game that had been in existence for the past 50 years. These online items hold almost as much sentimental value as real-life heirlooms do for some. As it's players matured, so did the game. At one point, Blizzard introduced graveyards into the game - where players could pay tribute to family members & friends who had previously passed away. This is held with a high degree of sacredness & respect by the online WoW community - long gone are the days of guild raids on fallen players funerals. There is now an annual 'Rememberance Day' event in WoW where players gather at memorials to remember loved ones that have passed away. This is a free day in the WoW subscription so many inactive players come back just for this event. One of the most surprising things however, is that each realm now has an in-game president. Yes, that's right. Elections are held each year where players cast an in-game vote at Goldshire Inn to select the candidate of their choosing. Candidates must first be nominated by their guild to cast their name in the ballot. Each guild can only put forward 1 person. The president serves a maximum 2-year term after re-election. The role of this president, much like a real-life president, is to represent the interests of the players through being a direct point of contact to Blizzard. Each realm president gets 4 face-to-face meetings a year with Blizzard devs to discuss issues such as in-game experience, class balance, PVP enjoyment and server specific issues. It is expected that the presidents quit their real-life job to fully dedicate themselves to their in-game role; Blizzard makes up for this by reimbursing the presidents with a nominal salary in Bitcoin and providing an in-game Whitehouse with presidential attire. Stay tuned as I continue to report on the exciting new world of future-WoW.