Tess grasped the bale firmly and hoisted it onto the trailer as Toby cranked the ratchet strap. "Thirty nine." she panted, "That'll do paw?" Old Nel stretched until his back cracked before leaning against the wheel to wipe his brow. "Yep, I reckon that'll do. Go fetch me a water will ya Toby?" he groaned. Toby hopped down and ruffled his little sisters hair as he passed by, much to her annoyance. "Quit it." she mumbled. The harvest grew more bountiful with each year, and old Nel reckoned they might hit fifty bales next time. Tess latched the trailer flap and tested the straps. When she was satisfied they were taught enough, she took her place by her fathers side and cast her eyes skyward. "It's so beautiful, aint it paw?" she sighed. The red planet shone brightly in the night sky, like a firefly among the pale stars. "I don't know what yer fascination is with that place." said Nel. Toby watched through the farmhouse window as he filled a glass from the reclaimer. "I wonder what it's like. They say that there was water up there once, long ago." said Tess. Old Nel straightened up and placed his hand on Tess's shoulder. "Well, the only thing on that rock now is sand, and a view." he said. The farming life was a fine way to live, free from the commotion and hassle of the big cities. At least, that's how old Nel felt about it. For Tess, the call to adventure was ever present, a thirst she was desperate to quench. Thirteen was a difficult age for anybody, especially when you were stacking bales and milking cows. "Paw, when I grow up, I wanna fly in one of those rocket ships!" Tess exclaimed. Old Nel laughed. "Is that right?" "Yes paw. I'm gonna be the talk of the town, you'll see! The first astronaut in all of New Haven. I'll fly to the stars, and bring some o' that red rock back with me!" "Smart girl like you, I reckon you just might. I can see it now, your name in lights: Tess, finest astronaut in New Haven" Tess jumped at old Nel, and he caught her in his arms. "Now go on inside, maw'll just about be ready with dinner I reckon." said Nel. Tess glanced back up at the red planet a final time before charging for the farmhouse, passing Toby on the way. "You know, you're gonna have to tell her one day. Everyone knows you can't go there no more." said Toby. Old Nel took the water and finished it in one go. "Let her dream a little longer." he said, "It ain't doin harm for a little girl to dream." Toby crossed his arms and leaned with his father. "Your daddies granpaw was one of the last to leave, wasn't he paw?" he asked. "He sure was." "What happened to Earth anyhow?" asked Toby. Old Nel sighed. "Too much o' the wrong things.


It was dark outside the locked window of the small room. The curtains were drawn and a light layer of dust covered the wooden desk in the corner. A young girl was asleep in a rickety old bed. A beat up teddy bear gripped tightly in her small arms. She was mumbling in her sleep. Another girl in a different bed started to stir and wake up. A heavy rain started to hit the thin window. All the girls in town were kept here, in this house. The community had homes for children, where they lived away from their families. The home for girls and the home for boys lived on opposite sides of the community. The adults lived in a circle around the community center. All the buildings were the same apart from the center, there was a large fountain that the children play in on hot days. The children lived alone in a large building on the edge of town. With food delivered to them three times a day, like the rest of the community. Once they turn eighteen they would be given a house in the circle and a spouse that would be assigned to them by the Chief of the community. The girls shivered and clutched their stuffed animals closer to their chests for comfort, knowing what the day ahead would bring. When they were younger, the children had dreams of happiness and freedom, now they were plagued by nightmares of childhood. Something the adults in the community don't remember, because they had forgotten. No one remembered their childhoods. Only the Chief of the community had the valuable knowledge of what it was like to feel fear. The children had to learn that fear was bad, and that it was wrong, that they could recognize fear and know how to avoid it in everyday life. Everyone in the community has the knowledge of fear inside them somewhere, they all learned it from a young age. it just needs to be called forward to appear to the average adult. Children had tried to remind people of fear, but those rebels were never seen again. It is said that they were sent to a place called, The Sanctuary. To go through more training and enlightenment. The window rattled with the rain as the girls slept, prisoners in their minds for the time being. Facing their worst fears over and over again, until they knew not to be afraid. Some were afraid of being alone, some were afraid of the dark, a few were afraid of judgment, so every day they all had to face their fears. One at a time they would go into a room with an older child and act out a scenario where they would feel fear. They ate their meals in silence, not wanting to frighten each other with words or actions. On Sundays they dressed in their fancy community issued clothes and would go into town for a service called, Cherish. Where the entire community came together in the center and told stories of joy and there was music and dancing and fresh food and everyone cherished each other. The Chief of community, who only attended once a year, in June. June was the month of sun, where the entire community and the authorities, and the workers, all came together and had a feast for a whole week. All the children looked forward to June, because they could forget about fear, forget about all the days of suffering they learned about and learned how to push fears away. And every June, at least one brave child would stand up and give a speech of fear, and once they were done, the Chief would come and her security guards would drag the child, kicking and screaming, away to The Sanctuary . Then the Chief would say an apology and everyone would go back to normal. But the children knew the apology was empty, it was not real, it was not sincere, there was no sympathy or care in the words, it was just a mask to make sure no one stepped out of line and made sure no one made the people of the community feel afraid or sad or angry or frustrated. Only happiness was allowed. But the children wondered, if all you feel is happiness all the time, do you know what happiness is? Are you happy? The children felt happy every now and then, not all the time every day, but adults didn't know any other feeling, and if they did, they just assumed there was something wrong with them and applied for medication. The children were only allowed medication for sickness, like the common stomach flu or a fever. A young feeble girl lay awake in the corner of the cold, dark room, her name was Abigail. She clutched a plush cat to her chest, just like the other girls. But she knew she was different to the other girls, and with June and the festival of sun right around the corner, she was planning on making a speech about fear, she thought she would be the one to break the grain and free emotions back into the world, free fear and let it flow through the community. She was twelve years old and the smallest of all the girls in her age group. She didn't eat much and exercised only when mandatory. She played with dolls at free time just like the other kids, and wrote in her journal before bed like everyone else, but something deep down felt different. When she wasn't playing with dolls or participating in the activities, Abigail found herself staring across the dusty landscape at the home for boys, wondering what it would be like to live there, wondering if she'd be happier with boys. She had met boys a few times, usually at Cherish or the June festivals. They seemed to understand her, be her, but better, happier. And every time the sky was clear and she could see across town, Abigail would sit by the rusty window and think what life would be like if she were born a boy. That was her fear, that was what she faced in the small room with the older girl every day, fear of not being accepted by the community. And every night, just like the other children, she had dream after dream of people laughing at her, shunning her, just for wanting to be a boy, for wanting to be happy. She wondered if anyone else in the community felt the way she did. Felt afraid secretly, deep down inside them, a rooted fear that they didn't know what lurking, in the darkest corner of their mind. If they felt afraid everyday and just thought that was what happiness was. What if someone lived in fear or sadness and just assumed that was what being happy felt like? These were the things Abigail wondered at night, staring at the blank ceiling, waiting for the nightmares of fear, just like the other girls. And soon enough they swept over her like a wave pushing a surfer back to the beach. But the beach she arrived to was not a paradise like the ones in books, it was filled with people laughing at her, shunning her, just for wanting to be happy. The morning came slowly. Abigail was the first awake, as usual. She got out of bed and went to the window, the rain had stopped and the morning glow of sunlight greeted her as she opened the shaggy curtains. A layer of rain covered everything in sight, making it shine and sparkle. Across town she could make out the outline of a tall brick building identical to this one. He sighed and opened the window and took a seat on the damp sil. She looked down and saw people starting to go about their days. The worker people delivering breakfast and newspapers to front stoops of the modern houses. The homes for children were the oldest buildings in the community, and had a different style to them. No one questioned it, they had learned not to question anything from a young age. It was the first day of the sun festival. Abigail saw workers hanging up decorations in the square. She went back into the cold room and shut the window. A worker would be there soon to escort the children to the festival. The other girls were awake now, moving about, making their beds and getting into their nice clothes. Abigail went to her small, two drawer, dresser and took out a bundle of clothing labeled, Festival of sun, day 1; Abigail. Everyone had the same outfits but in different sizes, so each clothing delivery had to be labeled with the persons name and for what purpose they were to wear the clothes. Abigail put on her blue shirt, green over shirt and a pink skirt and followed the other girls down to the food hall. They were chatting for once, picturing what it would be like to be happy for a whole week. Abigail sat with the other twelve year olds at their assigned table. Abigail did not speak, she was afraid of being judged for her words of choice. A worker came eventually and the children got into single file lines to walk to the square. There was music playing, voices singing of joy and love. People milling about freely, and fresh food, imported from the community supply chain! This was a special treat for everyone. Usually the ingredients were imported and the workers had to cook the meals. The girls broke their lines and started to walk about, taking in the outside world. Abigail stayed off to the side, preparing her speech about fear. A boy came over to her and smiled, "I'm Hugo." He said. "Abigail." She replied simply. "You know, I've always wondered what it would be like in the girls home. Can you describe it?" Hugo asked, taking a bite of a meat dish he had on a plate. "It's dark and cold, almost like the prison on the outskirts of the community. We have doll houses and assigned stuffed animals to play with at free time." Abigail shuttered just thinking about it. "Fascinating." Hugo said. "Not really. It's all I've ever known, it's normal." Abigail shrugged. "Do you ever wonder," Hugo took a deep breath and continued, "What if there are people outside the community? People unlike us, who have access to all emotions." "I've never really thought about that." Abigail admitted. "I just want to be happy. Real happiness, not like the adults here, they don't know what joy is." "What makes you think that?" Hugo asked. "They don't have anything to compare it with. They don't no sadness or anger, or fear. So they just assume whatever emotion they feel the most is happiness." "Wow. That's never crossed my mind before." Hugo looked up at the sky, as if contemplating existence. "That's why I'm making a speech this year." Abigail admitted. She held out a folded piece of paper with her speech written on it. "I've never met anyone who wanted to go to the sanctuary." Hugo's eyes grew wide. "I don't want to. I'm standing up for whats right. I'm bringing emotions back to people." Abigail explained. "You're brave." Hugo said quietly. "Don't be silly. Brave doesn't exist. Surely they teach that at the boys home." Abigail scoffed. "Yeah, they do. I just don't believe them." Hugo shrugged. "I've read books about it late at night. Bravery is exactly what you're doing." "What else is bravery?" Abigail asked curiously. "Doing things or saying things that scare you. Like, for example, not being happy with being a prisoner in your body and trying to break free." Abigail thought for a second. "I'm doing that." She muttered to the boy. "I'm breaking free and wanting to become a boy, a boy that has emotions and feelings and real happiness." The boy looked at her with a worried look. "You are brave. But, not every story had a happy ending." He advised. Abigail opened her mouth to reply, but a bell sounded, signifying it was time to feast. Everyone sat on long rows of pick nick tables laden with food and drink. Abigail took a deep breath and stood on her seat. "Hello." She said loudly. Everyone turned and looked up at her. "My name is Abigail. I want to tell you all," She unfolded the piece of paper and read out, "Happiness is not what you think it is. Sadness is not what you think it is. Fear is real, and you all need to be able to feel!" She heard footsteps and was tackled down within seconds by guards. They knocked her out and carried her away to a truck to go to The Sanctuary. Hours later she woke up in a cell, her hands were tide and her left ankle was chained to the bars of the wall. There was nothing in the room apart from her. "Help!" She called out. No one answered. She felt afraid like she had never felt it before. It was so much worse than her practice, she felt helpless and weak, like nothing could be done. "You know more than you're supposed to Abigail." A rough voice spoke from somewhere in the room, but she couldn't pinpoint it. "Who are you?" She asked the darkness. Gripping the bars of the cell tightly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The voice advised. "Do what?" Abigail looked behind her. "You are brave young one." The voice sighed. "So I have to do this." Abigail was puzzled for a second, then a bolt of electricity ran through the cell and into her hands, through her body, and switched off her brain. Her body hit the stone floor, twitching for a few seconds until she fell still. This was the Sanctuary. A death trap for those who break the rules of the community. For rebels.


A friend of a little girl’s her older sister rode her bicycle over to their house. They were playing in an apple tree, climbing from branch to branch, higher and higher in the apple tree, talking and laughing together. The little girl was too short to climb the tree. Her big sister picked an apple and tossed it down. “Here’s an apple you can eat.” But the apple was green. The little girl felt hurt that her sister would tease her like that. And she felt sad and lonely that she couldn’t play with her big sister, two years older, and the friend of her sister, who was two more years older.            Then her older sister and her friend climbed down out of the apple tree, and the little girl felt happy and hopeful that maybe she could play with them. But they made plans to go back to the friend’s house. The little girl begged to come because she wanted to play with her big sister and her sister’s friend. “Sure,” said the friend, deviously, “if you can keep up with us.”            The friend hopped on her bike and rode just fast enough for the big sister to run and walk beside her. But the little girl’s legs were short, and being two years younger, she could not keep up with her big sister and the big sister’s friend, who was riding the bicycle.            “Wait for me!” the little girl cried. She was all out of breath from running.            “I told you that you would have to keep up with us,” replied the big sister’s friend. “Besides, we’ve got to get away from the boogeymen. You’d better run faster too, or the boogeymen will get you!”            The little girl didn’t know what a boogeyman was, but when she looked behind her, to her horror, she saw two men in green uniforms with guns at their sides. She had seen men like that go by her house before and hadn’t been afraid. But these two men were ‘boogeymen’ and they were out to get her, and they were walking faster than she could run.            The big sister and her friend were out of sight, because they had turned on to the street where the friend lived. The little girl was all alone now and she was sobbing as she tried to run as fast as her little legs could go. “I just have to make it to that friend’s house before those boogeymen get me!” she said to herself. So, she kept going when it felt like she couldn’t run another step and finally made it to the big sister’s friend’s house without the boogeymen getting her.            The mom of the big sister’s friend, saw that the little girl was tired and had been crying. She invited the little girl into the house, sat her at the dining room table, got her a nice cool glass of water, and asked her why she was crying.            The little girl sniffled while she drank some water. She was feeling embarrassed that she had been crying, but she had been so scared…. So the little girl told the mom why she had been crying.            “Your little girl came over to our house to play with my big sister. I wanted to play too, but they climbed up the apple tree, and I can’t reach the branches yet. They threw down an apple for me to eat, but it was green. When they finally came down the apple tree they decided to come here to play. I begged to come along. They told me no. I begged some more and finally your little girl said I could come, but that I would have to keep up with her riding. The sun is really hot out and I ran as fast as I could to keep up, but every time your little girl saw that I was catching up, she rode a little faster. The white road is hot and dusty. My feet hurt, and I couldn’t breathe very well. My big sister can run faster than me, and I got behinder and behinder. Then your little girl told me that the boogeymen were going to get to me if I couldn’t run any faster. When I looked behind me I saw two men in green clothes and they had guns. And I was scared that they would get me cause I couldn’t run any faster.” The little girl started crying again. She was so tired and afraid. “All I want is to play with my big sister and your little girl.”            The mom called her little girl and scolded her for being so mean. “You are grounded for two days. You may not leave this house to go play with your friends. You will go to your room right now, young lady!”

The mom scolded the big sister, too. “You know better than to tease your little sister about being gotten by boogeymen when you know full well that there is no such thing. You go into the living room and find yourself a seat until my husband comes home from work, and he can take you both home. No reading books, either.”            That night I could hardly eat any supper. I was thirsty and asked for seconds on a glass of lemonade. And I was unusually quiet.            “What’s wrong?” Mom asked me.            The I started crying. “Mommy, what is a boogeyman?”            “Why there is no such thing as a boogeyman. Who told you there were boogeymen?”            “Becky and her friend, Pam, said that there were boogeymen behind me and that they were going to get me if I couldn’t run any faster. And I saw two men behind me and they had guns, and I was so scared. I tried to run faster, but Pam rode her bicycle even faster and I couldn’t keep up with them, and I finally couldn’t even see them anymore. And I was all alone, and I was so scared!”            “Come here,” said Mom. She set me on her lap giving me a comforting hug. Dad said, “Go to your room right now, young lady.” He went to get the paddle to give Becky a spanking. Becky cried crocodile tears. She knew if she cried hard enough she would stop getting spanked. But Becky wasn’t at all sorry for what had happened. Sharon always wanted to play with her and Pam, and she was such a nuisance. And after Dad told her she was grounded for two days, Becky thought to herself, “Pam is grounded for two days too, so we can’t play together anyways. And giving that green apple to Sharon and running ahead of her and teasing her about the boogeymen was so much fun—I’d do it again in a heartbeat!”


Summer is going to be over in just a few days, and I am glad. Most kids on the block are upset about school returning, but I'm not school is like my Paradise to me. I get to learn, I get to be around people and most of all I'm not home. I rush home after playing outside all day my friends. Street light came on and the sun began to go down, I knew then I better hit the road running. Sally, my friend Ashley hollered where you going so fast? Not even turning around I hollered I got to go can't be late, and off I want. Not even realizing it but we had ended up on the other side of town. It was going to take a miracle for me to be home before Mom, and I wasn't sure you would happen. I ran as fast as I could hardly looking for cars, I actually had jump on one cars hood I didn't even see it. Man driving slammed on his break and blew his horn yelled out hey kid what are you going. Turning around quickly I glanced at him and said I'm sorry, and then I ran as fast as I could the rest of the way home. Thankfully as I reached front porch mom had turned onto a road. I couldnt see her, but I can hear the old Volkswagen.  I hurry in and  started my homework, as I prayed she wouldn't had noticed. The front door slam wide open banging into the wall and knocking the picture down. Sally, Sally May where the heck are you?? Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I yelled back in here mother, in here doing my homework like I'm supposed to everyday . Door slams shuts and mom comes wobbling in. Well mother I can see your drunk again, so I suppose I have to cook dinner tonight. What do you mean by that little girl, you don't think I do nothing for you? Is that where you going around telling everybody? Her face started turning red and a tear fell down from her eye. Sally you better not be going around spreading rumors about me, because if it gets back to your father he will never come home. Mom, dad has been gone for 5 years now I don't think he's coming back. After the words came out I felt horrible, but it was the truth and mom needed to hear it. She stared at me for a few with a few more tears falling and As Mom stumbled away, I sat there remembering the last time I saw my father. Him and Mom upstairs arguing, or like they like to call it adult conversation. I was downstairs watching cartoons getting ready for school, trying to do my hair making sure it's pretty because it was picture  day. Mom never bought them but I still want to look pretty for the year book. He came downstairs patted me on the head and said I have to go get a loaf of bread. As he walked out he told me he loved me and I told him I love him, something we did every time we left the house. A couple minutes later my bus pulled up, mom walked downstairs as I was going out the door. I stopped and turned to tell her I love her, but of course she just shook her head and said goodbye Sally. I close the door behind me a little hard and usual, trying to leave me feelings and emotions at the door. I walked onto the bus and sat next to my friend Ashley, I knew then I was going to be okay. School seem to fly by that day, and before I knew it the dismissal bell rang. I got my things and walked to my bus and daydreamed the whole way home. I was shocked when I got home and mom was there. She usually at her friends or down at the local bar. The house is a mess and Mom was sitting at the table crying. I asked what was wrong, but she just gleared at me. I went to my room to do homework. Once I was done I walked downstairs to see if there was anything for dinner. Of course not I should be used to it by now though, so I popped  two corn dogs in the microwave. After I eat I tried to clean up the house a little bit but I was just so tired. So I decided to take a shower and get ready for bed, that way, the last day of the week could get here. And hopefully the weekend will go just as fast. Ever since the day Dad left nothing has ever been the same. Mom stayed in her room for months. I was only 10 and Dad left but I had to wear real fast and take care of the whole entire house and Mom. Mom couldn't work cause she was so depressed, she couldn't even get out of bed. I often lay away at night wondering what had happened. Wondering when my dad was and if he thought about us too. Nobody knew that he had left, when someone ask me I always said, he went on business trip. I'm sure after awhile they didn't believe me and eventually they stopped asking. When I was 13 years old, I got me a job babysitting some kids in the neighborhood. That way I can be away from home  more, and make some money. I things got very hard once dad left. For the first couple years I was sad and and pray for him to come home. But as time went by, my sadness turned into anger. I was angry he left and angry he didn't take me. But instead he walked out on me and hasn't looked back. The day he left I not only lost one parent, I lost two. My mom became someone I didn't even recognize. Back in the day my mom was the most beautiful woman around. Her hair was always done and makeup on every time she walked out the house. Everyone knew her, especially by the red lipstick and red high heels she wore. Every guy wanted her and all the girls were jealous. Mom didn't even act like she knew or she just didn't care. I wish she was like that again. We went to the grocery store one day and usually mom sat in the car. But on this day mom felt better and wanted to go in, which made me very happy. After getting everything we needed, we headed over to the checkout line.  of course  there was only two open so the line was long. As I stood there I couldn't help but to hear the two ladies behind us. Judy look isn't that Miss Miller? I don't know Beth, it kind of looks like her. Beth, I can't believe the woman all the men wanted is now at the grocery store looking like that. She should be ashamed of herself come out public like that. You do know Judy that her husband left her, and she hasn't been the same since. I made a little cough clearing My throat, the way to make them realize that I can hear them. Suddenly my heart started breaking that I stood there staring at my mom. They were right mom had let herself go. Dad walking out had totally destroyed mom and I didn't even realize it. I was too self-centered and to worry about myself to think about what mom went through. I started remembering all the times but I was mean to Mom I felt horrible. On the ride home I didn't say  a word, I just sat there admiring the woman and I gave me life. Afte we got all the groceries in, I told mom to go upstairs and take a nice long hot bath. That I wanted to cook her dinner and for her to relax. Mom just looked shook your head and walked away, she really hasn't spoken much in last 5 years. I honestly can't even remember where her voice sounds like sometimes. After dinner we went inside on the porch just staring into the Forest that was in front of her house, both of us were quiet I think we just enjoyed the company. All the sudden a calmness came over me and I realized I was blaming the wrong person. Mom didn't walk out dad walked out and he walked out on us both. I did something I should have a long time ago, I grabbed my mom's hand she looked at me and started shaking I felt my heart sink deeper in my chest. Mom is going to be okay I love you. she grabbed me and hugged me as tight as she has in a long time and just cried, I believe we sat there crying for 2 hours. For the next three years it was just me and Mom. Mom went back to her old ways, and she was stunning once again. We hardly ever talk about dark cloud that was over us, the situation with my dad. I learned to put him out of my mind and not even think of him. It was easier that way to act like he didn't never exist, then to sit there wondering why he left. Mama she started dating another guy from one town over, and she was finally happy. I finally reached my last year of high school and I was so excited to start my new adventure and go look for colleges. Everything was great life was happy. Then one day when we were rehearsing for our graduation, a guy appeared out of nowhere. He was tall and thin. Headful gray hair and he looked really really rough. I've never seen him  before, and I wasn't sure why he was there. I see the principal talking to him and as he did he kept looking up at me. It made me wonder what they're talking about and then again I was too excited for graduation. I finished setting the stage and getting everything ready for the night. That is when the man and Mr Brock the principal walked over. Miss Miller yes Mr Brock how may I help you? I asked in  a kinda shy voice. Mr Brock took a deep breath in and said Sally this is your father, and he would like to be invited to the graduation. My mouth dropped wide open the fly could have landed in there. I was speechless and all I could do is stare. Miss Miller, Miss Miller, Miss Miller and a louder voice. I heard you Mr Brock but I, I...... I couldn't even finish my sentence I just ran out. I was angry yet happy, finally after eight long years my father was there. All I wanted to do was hug him, then I  suddenly thought of mom. What would this do to her to see my father after all this time. Would she be okay would you go back to her depressed days and let herself go again. And why was Dad there was he here just for today,  was he going to stay? So many questions rather than my head, but I did not want to think of them cuz tonight was my graduation and I wanted it to be wonderful. I didn't tell Mom that I had seen dad or that he wanted to come to the graduation. I didn't want to upset her and I really wanted her to come, because she has been there since day one. All through graduation I was nervous before I did not know if my dad would just show back up,. Or if he had walked away again. After graduation mom took me out to eat, just telling me how proud she was and that she was grateful to have me in her life. Then mom said Sally, what is wrong with you is there something you need to tell me? No Mom I'm fine I promise. Well I did not just become your mother yesterday I know when something bothering you. So when you're ready to talk I'm here to listen. We finished our dessert and we headed home. As you pull up into the driveway there was somebody sitting on her front porch. My heart sank and I grab mom's hand to make sure she was okay. She looked over at me, and give me a smile as she said darling I will be fine. As we walked to the porch dad stood up mom walked past him, as she got to the door she stopped for a moment and turned around, Mr Miller nice to see you did you bring the bread? I couldn't help but chuckle for after 8 years mom was worried about the bread. Dad got his head cuz he already knew, and as he walked away I yelled out hey Dad don't forget the bread next time.


There’s my star pupil! How’s everything princess?” A booming voice echoed as the elevator doors slid open. The resounding reverberation of the greeting increases in volume as it bounces off the marble walls and flooring of the compound. The small girl in a pink down jacket cups her ears as she steps out from the elevator into the pearl foyer, “Why do you always have to be so loud Mr. Mahoney?” An older man materializes in front of her looking visibly embarrassed “Ahh I'm so sorry Zuri, an old man like me forgets that little girls like you have sensitive ears” the man jested. “HEY who are you calling little, I may be 6 but I’ll still whoop your wrinkly old butt in practice” Zuri interjects defensively. “Well you'll have to prove that, are you sure you’re ready to take on the mighty Richter?” The man asked, pounding his chest. “I WAS BORN READY” said Zuri. “You were born yesterday,” Richter laughingly riposted. The sound of a cackling Zuri bounced off the walls and both parties howled with laughter for a short while before the man trailed off into silence, seemingly distracted by something. “What's a matter Mr. Mahoney?” “Oh… Nothing dear… let's hurry to your training now” Richter responded, grabbing the young girl's hand before both vanishing into an ethereal haze. The two then materialized, still hand and hand in the same position they departed but arrived somewhere entirely different. They stood at the center of a gargantuan amphitheater surrounded by ocean, rubble and vine coated the dilapidated stone benches that once housed an audience. The cawing of seagulls roosting in a nearby nest filled the open air. Zuri shivered as the chill of a sea breeze pushed up through the cracks of a collapsed wall and permeated her jacket. “BRRRR you can go ANYWHERE Mr. Mahoney, why do you always pick this busted old dump?” She asked quizzically. “HEY! I’ve trained countless disciples at this very spot, this is where your mother discovered her powers you know?” “ Plus it's quiet here, now let's see if you’ve been working on your form as much as you claim” Richter added before materializing a neon purple sphere of energy in his palm. “CATCH!” He then hurled the supercharged orb at the girl at point blank range. The orb connected with the ground and the spot where Zuri was once standing now reduced to a smoldering crater. Richter began to charge another orb in his palm but was interrupted by a femine voice above him, “COME ON Mr. Mahoney, I know you’re a dinosaur but that was embarrassingly slow, give me your A game!” Zuri appeared in the air directly above him with her fist cocked back. The small girl unleashed a sharp right jab towards the direction of her sparring partner. For a moment nothing happened and the air was still, but a split second later that once stagnant air was replaced by a torrent of hailstorm winds which became engulfed in flames setting the ground below her on fire. Just as quickly as Zuri, Richter fazed out of the way of the blast and joined the girl in freefall. “YOU PACK A BIG PUNCH FOR A SMALL GIRL… THE FLAMES ARE A NEW ADDITION AS WELL!” The two titans continued to fight it out at supersonic speed for hours. The sound of explosions could be heard for miles. The sun set and fatigue set in, Zuri stumbled and the vetran used the opening to finish this long drawn out battle. Richter broke the girl's footing and judo threw her to the ground. His fists charged with cosmic lightning came in at mach speed towards the girl's face. But before the finishing blow could connect his arm was stopped by an unseen force. Zuri’s eyes began glowing dark green and her skin began to glow red hot. Richter seemed shocked but before he could react his arm was blown out of its socket with a sickening pop and he was thrown 50 feet landing on the other side of the colosseum. Zuri began to hover up off the ground, eyes still glowing and skin still burning a deep red. “I submit” “I SUBMIT!” “ZURI!” Screamed Richter, slapping the ground with his intact arm. The demonic glow faded from the girl's features and her feet finally returned to the ground. After a long pause a quiet “D-Does that mean I win the match?” escaped the small girl's mouth. Still shaken the man responded, “Yes… Yes dear it does.” “Can we go again then, that was WAY fun?” Zuri asked excitedly. “Wh...What?... No… Zuri do you know how long we were sparing?” Richter asked as he put his shoulder back in its socket. “uuuuuuuuummm?” The girl thought for a moment before letting out a surprised gasp as she noticed that the warm morning sunlight had been replaced by a pale moonlight. “I GOTTA GET HOME!” Zuri exclaimed, “Mom and Dad are probably worried”. “Yes, let's not worry them too much” The old man added before grabbing Zuri and materializing them both on the patio in front of a three story mansion. “Run on home now” “Okay, Bye Mr. Mahoney I'll see you for training tomorrow right?” The girl asked as she ran up to her front door. The man did not reply. Richter sat alone in his study writing something in his notebook as he listened to the news broadcasting from his TV. “Today marks the 15th anniversary of the Collapse, an event forever recalled in infamy as ‘the day superabled turned their back on the people they swore to protect”. Today the president held a ceremony for all those lost in the devastating terror attack-” The screen quickly went black followed by the sound of shattering glass as Richter threw his whisky glass across the room. “AHHHHH BULLSHIT!” He screamed, his private study now enveloped in darkness as the light from the TV went out. The old man sat alone in the darkness, his dejection emptied themselves into a glenclairn glass as he poured himself another shot of whiskey. The sound of his self-loathing was interrupted by incessant tapping at his windowsill. Richter turned his head to see a crow pecking at the glass pane. “Rough day today Rick?” A deep foreboding voice reached out from behind him followed by the sick heavy stench of mildew and decay. “She's getting stronger,” Richter responded without turning around. “That’s a good thing right?” the voice asked, the weight of the room seemingly getting heavier with each syllable. “She picked up Pyrokinetics and… something else” Richter added, seemingly becoming more distraught the more he spoke. “Well, that's what you do right...You help the abled draw out their powers?.... I mean…That's what we're paying you for right?” The voice asked slowly, its words creeping into the old man's head, infesting his skull and violating his eardrums. Richter shook his head violently as if to clear the fog forming in his mind. “NO!” Richter screamed “NOT IF THE POWERS ARE NOT HER OWN!” “SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE HAS SHE'S NOT EVEN AWARE OF IT, SHE'S GOING TO LOSE CONTROL EDGAR WERE DONE I’M DONE I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS FACADE GO ON ANY LONGER!” The old man continued. A murder of crows formed in front of Richter creating the silhouette of a man as well as two piercing green eyes. “WE ARE DONE WHEN I SAY WE ARE DONE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!!” the shadowy figure screamed at an almost impossible volume. “No, Edgar, you don’t understand. That THING you brought back is not your daughter. Zuri died 15 years ago, as did so many other people that day. You were not the only person to lose a family member.” Richter’s voice settled and he adopted a gentler tone. “I’m your friend… you know that. I’m not like the humans on the news, I know Zuri was not responsible for the Collapse like everyone says. But you need to come to terms with reality and let her g-” Richter’s speech was cut short as he began gasping for air. “NOOO!” The shadow interjected “YOU NEED TO COME TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT REALITY CAN BE WHATEVER I WANT IT TO BE I AM A GOD AMONG MEN AND IF YOU CAN NOT UNDERSTAND THAT THEN YOU'LL DIE LIKE A HUMAN!!” The old man then collapsed to the floor knocking over the last of his Whiskey and the shadow reverted back into a muder of crows which broke through the window and escaped into the night sky. Richter Mahoney lay lifeless on the floor of his study once again accompanied by silence and darkness.


Evidence that the storm had not relented was made apparent to everyone as the warped wooded portal swung open, revealing a prospective customer set against heavy downpour. Though wet, the rich colors of the stranger's garments were encouraging to the barkeep, until he noticed the specific shape of the moistened leather encasement the man set on the counter. The entrant jostled his garbs in hopes of loosening the sogginess that engulfed them. The idea of overcharging a nobleman was reduced to the thought of providing free shelter, or worse, having regulars' funds siphoned elsewhere. Old Pete's thick arm hairs pricked upwards, either from this notion, or the piercing draft that the new occupant had brought inside as well. Pete sucked in through one nostril audibly before speaking. “Something I can get for ye?” He prepared to respond rudely to a number of possible statements this question could bring as the man lowered his soaking hat which in turn lowered his soaking dark mane. His eyes, as obscured as Pete and the rest of the regulars who filled the lower-lit dirtier corners of the room, fixed directly on Pete's, like some unknown serpent. He uncoiled, and responded: “A decanter of your finest wine, ale, spirit, or pleasurable house beverage, and the wherewithal to fill it again once empty.” The barkeep, startled by many aspects of this statement, was forced to reconsider his feelings towards the stranger as he reached for a container. He poured a foul-smelling viscous looking liquid as slowly as he could while grasping the areas of his mind that might contain an adequate thread of relevant interrogation to be used. This act was interrupted, and Pete startled again as the stranger announced, “No hurry, my good man.” Pete realized he would be situated closely to this man for an unforeseeable measure of time and decided to relax a little. The inevitable inquiry could continue at its natural pace. He set the drink in front of the man, who reached his hand past it and towards Pete. “The name's Roderick.” He said, maintaining his politeness and the position of his outstretched palm. Pete stared at the man's face, one of smooth and subtle complexion, then at his hand. His extremities betrayed no signs of past labor, no callouses or scars indicative of dangerous environment, yet the man seemed to hold no rank amongst the higher class. This last observation was denoted by, if nothing else, the man's friendly demeanor towards common folk. Pete decided “Roderick’s” manners may not be contagious and grasped his hand more than firmly in an attempt to illicit a flinch, to find a weakness, to break his so-far resolute composure. He returned Pete's gaze and stranglehold, unwaveringly. “Don't let the case fool you! I don't need these hands half as much as you might think, and I'm a hell of an arm wrestler.” Pete, concluding this was true from the amount of pain shooting up his arm, released, and introduced himself. “Name's Pete.” Though signs that unsolicited information would soon be procured were clear, Pete remained nestled in curiosity. He knew the advantages of patience, but the stranger's last comment was too cumbersome to wield silently. “What's the use of a lute if you can't play it?” A quandary addressed to Roderick, but more currently pertinent to Old Pete. At this, the man's eyes seemed to reflect a light that had previously been absent from the tavern. He looked at Pete, then his beast-skin on the bar as if he beheld its contents. After sizing both items up, the man seemed to have reached a verdict. “I believe I shall tell you.” A short pause, then “On one condition.” Pete finally felt he was in familiar territory again, receiving demands from an alcoholic. He began to unleash one of the many tools in his verbal arsenal he kept for this sort of occasion, but the stranger anticipated this and interjected immediately. “I wish simply to ask you a question, to which your answer will be hinged mine.” Pete relaxed again but remained unsettled. He never committed to anything he was unsure of, and he hadn't been as unsure of anything as he was of this man since as long as he could recall. Reservedly, he responded. “Ask your question, but I won't guarantee an answer. Be wary, I may only cast you out to the storm if you offend me, but many in this room have done worse to men who've done less.” The denizens in the dirtier corners stiffened proudly as the stranger perused them, but when he returned to Pete's leer it was obvious, he was unfazed. “I'm sure it is no new topic for the gentleman of this establishment, yourself included. I'm plainly curious-” His attention turned towards the door, as if expecting someone, then back to Pete with a small sigh of rejuvenation. “Curious if this town is devout. I mean to say, more personally, when last did you worship?” Pete contracted internally, as he had done several times since the stranger's arrival. The mounds of paranoia he encompassed radiated, and he even thought for a moment that “Roderick” had been sent by the state, to test him, his legitimacy, his loyalty. No, this was no man of the government. They were too organized to fling a man to the elements as this one had been. Roderick held close his mystery, but it was his, not some fallacy a puppet would cling to. No, this man was of a different ilk, his own agent. He was as beleaguered as anyone in the tavern, yet his battle raged on unlike many men who accepted defeat or failure. Having attended to this detail, Pete softened, in contrast to most of the men in the room who were newly enraged. This anger was not directed at the stranger, rather stemmed from him, and the grumbling hubbub awaited his next remark. “Lad, it has been longer than I care to remember, and for good reason. Most of the fellows have cause for their qualms with the gods, the ones who believe they exist. They voice their complaints loudly, the same complaints that have never been heard before.” The stranger breathed inwards, allowing the tension of the air into himself. “You asked your question and answered mine, am I right in assuming you wish to hear my story? It may cause you more disbelief than you are currently attached.” Pete had heard many a tall tale, and his wonder paired with the need to calm his compatriots tilted his head forward in a nod. “I was once rejoiced across the land, not only that I performed marvelously with any instrument I handled, but that I composed the greatest ballads and tributes any had ever heard. I traveled almost as much as the folk who came to see my performances. Renowned, I played in any of his majesty's courts you could name, but I wished still to be heard by the entire world. It was not fair I should horde myself for my king, and the wanderlust I experienced was great.” The expressions of elation Roderick had been exhibiting fizzled, barely noticed by Pete. “I set out for the mystic east, against the king's wishes of course. I dared not risk my entourage's lives, either by execution for illegality, or the veiled dangers that lay before me in foreign lands. As I traversed the rolling hills of his majesty's lands, they smoothed slowly. The lush overgrowth became undergrowth, the soils loose and particular. Soon, my road led directly into the Great Desert, for which I had been prepared, but which still frightened me more than anything I had faced before.” Here, Roderick took a large gulp, then another. He set his mug down harder than he had yet. “I wandered those sands for a time which I felt was immeasurable, always following the direction the sun would indicate. Eventually, my rations were as exhausted as myself, and I decided to rest by one of the handfuls of plants I had seen in this forsaken wasteland in hopes of catching a local inhabitant. The glimpse of shade the shrub provided was enough to cool me to sleep.” So far, Pete figured the man was exaggerating his fame, but the rest was then more liable to be truth, as an artist shunned by his country could easily have wandered into a desert to find a better audience. “When I awoke, I believed myself to be dreaming what seemed to be a man standing over me. As my vision cleared, his azure skin and tooth-colored horns that curled back and over his head assured me that this was in fact a dream. As such, I confronted the creature in hopes of obtaining foresight into my current predicament, being stranded in the desert without recourse. He snarled as I began to rise. “What business have you here, son of man, so far from anyone who might hear you scream?” Beyond the obvious threat being presented, I dismayed, as this meant I was still too far from any civilization. In my dreams, I do not relent. If the monsters of my subconscious wish me frightened, they will not succeed without a fight. “What business have you to ask me that, of what concern is my presence here to you?” I stared the beast directly in his eyes and noticed they were closer to that of a goat's, the strongly shaped slitted pupils seeing more of me than I of him. He cackled with what might have been amusement, revealing long cankerous fangs. “I could have devoured you as you slept, mortal. Knowing this, you now know you owe me your life. I wish to know who you are and why you come here to my realm, where the wise dare not enter.” Feeling quite weak, I assumed I wouldn't be able to fight the thing if he *did* decide to eat me, so I unsheathed my lyre and regaled him with my story.” Every man in the bar was focused on this preamble to the finale, and much more anxious than Pete to refute it. Anyone claiming to have encountered mythical beings was either lying through their teeth or deranged. “The horrific figure considered me, then said just this: “I would curse you, foolish one, for setting foot where you should not have. Now I see you have already been cursed, with your own ego. As your life is mine, I shall improve it, that you may lift your curse yourself. Pray, do not attempt to play your lyre again.” The creature tilted his head back in more maniacal laughter, and I felt my head swim as the world turned black. When I awoke, I found myself on the edge of the woods that converged with that terrible desert. Knowing not how I arrived there, I turned my back on those sands forever, grateful to be alive. I made my way to the nearest town, foraging what I could on my way to quell starvation. I did not feel different, yet I knew somehow I had changed since my ill-fated journey. Once I had settled in the town's inn and filled my gut, a man who recognized me over-excitedly requested one of my most memorable melodies. Never to disappoint my fans, I released my instrument and began to play. At once, every string on the damn lyre was torn apart. The wooden frame, made of the sturdiest oak, cracked down the spine and splintered into my tightly gripping palms. The terror than shone on my face and my lack of response to my admirer left him to slowly back away from my table, apologizing. This thing had been built for me by the finest craftsman in his majesty's service, and a very long time ago. I had possessed it almost as long as I had my fame and ability, and I realized it was not the lyre that was damned, but myself. The truth of the situation crashed down around me, and I crawled into the bottle I drank from, never to come out again.” Roderick downed his drink with determination, then motioned Pete towards the empty chalice. Pete filled it again, wondering which of the fellows in the room would assault the man verbally. To his surprise, none said anything. Perhaps they felt his story was like their own, only they didn't invent a blue horned monster to explain their misfortunes away. Minstrels were one of the few joys these men had left in their lives, and far be it from them to put down a man who was already as depressed as themselves. “Is that the lyre? The broken one?” asked Pete delicately, not wishing to further dampen the man's spirits, as his clothes were still damp enough. Roderick nodded, and unclasped the lid to reveal a lavishly ornamented lyre, fit for an angel, though its state in ruins as described. “Why do you lug that thing around then?” The man stared at it as a loving mother would her child. “As a reminder. It isn't just this thing, but all instruments. I can't handle a one of them, and if I do, they collapse, irreparably.” Pete struggled to believe this, as he had once struggled to continue believing in the gods when his family was taken from him. This skepticism had served him relatively well since, save the negation of faith Pete had in anything, but it seemed of little help at the current moment. “You don't believe me, I know not a one of you does.” admitted Roderick almost bashfully. “I can prove it if you'll let me, if any of you have an object of musicality at your disposal.” “What do you care if we believe you or not? Why bother reliving it if you say to us it is true?” Pete was trying to save the man the embarrassment of harassment that would follow his unsuccessful demonstration. “I have continued traveling these lands, to inspire the hearts of disbelievers. I know that there are unknown powers at work, but many refuse to recognize them. My hope is that when I have healed enough broken souls, I will be forgiven, and my reason to live restored. At least, I may provide a cautionary tale, that none may share a similar experience.” A man slowly emerged from one of the many shadows in the room, and approached Roderick with a tube fashioned of metal, riddled with specifically placed holes. All the focus of the room was on him now, every man clinging to this event, rolling over their pasts and wanting more than anything to believe. Every hope they had once denied, the dreams they had once had, sprang out of the ether and almost achieved tangibility in their minds. Bodies tense, none dared to move as Roderick slowly licked his lips and placed the flute to his mouth. As he exhaled, the glistening silver that dripped down and scalded his hands burned almost as much as the tears on Old Pete’s face.


Exodus Agent WK927 was insignificant. The thousands of creatures that passed by him every day would forget him almost instantaneously, almost as if he’d never been there in the first place. Nothing else was really to be expected on Æ92, one of the busiest transport planets in the galaxy. Millions of life forms flooded through the massive checkpoint buildings on the way to their next transport - whisked away from the dull bureaucracy of galactical immigration agencies. WK927 was one person well accustomed to the dull bureaucracy of galactical agencies as it was his current and indefinite occupation. WK927 was of an average height and build for a male human at age 28. Even if the individuals passing him noticed his dark brown hair and pale skin, they forgot he even existed by the time they walked through the archways leading to the Pads.

He was just like every other Exodus Agent in the countless checkpoint buildings across the planet, absolutely unnoticeable. Illuminated under giant fluorescent lights, the colossal checkpoint building gave the impression that it stretched endlessly in all directions. Thousands of creatures stood waiting to be processed, slowly trickling past Exodus Agents and through the large archways leading to the landing pads. Under the helmeted eyes of the marshals overlooking them from the walkways above. Always watched. As WK927 scanned and stamped data cards, creatures and faces blurred together until he was going through the routine mindlessly.

Occasionally, he could hear the roar of the engines from starships taking off from across the planet, heading even farther out into the reaches of space. The rumble would be then drowned out by the din of the awaiting individuals, and WK927 would drown out his self-pity with another stamp.

Rothelain. Scan. Stamp. Next. Mizur. Scan. Stamp. Next. Human. Scan. Stamp. Next. Znocheds. Scan. Stamp.

“Next.” The figure was wearing a flowing maroon coat going down to its knees with matching dark gloves. Its chrome blue helmet reflected WK927’s face back at him.

“WK927? Known as Double?” asked the figure. He frowned. WK927 had only been called that as a child, “How do you know that?” The figure didn’t answer. “I have a proposition for you, Double. I want to offer you a new occupation.” WK927 saw his own reflected eyes cloud with confusion. The figure removed its helmet, revealing a female human with black cropped hair. “I’m Elite,” seeing WK927’s confusion, she added, “It’s a nickname, similar to yours.” His brow furrowed, “Why did you come all the way to Æ92?” “My profession is...unique. Not at all like your current trade,” she said gesturing around her. He glanced at the group of life forms still waiting to be processed. No one seemed to notice that WK927 was talking to a traveler much longer than allowed. He was as unseen to the universe as always. He glanced back at this mysterious woman. “You traveled here, to one of the furthermost planets in the known universe to offer me a job?” She shrugged at his incredulous tone. “We do strange things in my line of work.” “What’s going on here?” demanded the marshal who was approaching them. WK927 could read her number on her breastplate: UO198.

The marshal must have been sent down from the walkways viewing the checkpoint building when Elite had started talking to him. Someone did notice. WK927 felt an odd rush of joy at the thought. The helmeted marshal turned to him. Through her silence, he knew that she was reading data that was being transmitted through her helmet. “WK927. Why haven’t you processed this passenger?” “I was offering him a job,” said Elite. UO198 laughed. “Don’t you know anything? No one picks their occupations. You only get reassigned or promoted. WK927 will always be an Exodus Agent, nothing more. That’s how it is.” “Maybe that should change.” Elite’s voice bristled with hostility.

Marshal UO198 straightened, “You aren’t showing up on any of our databases.” She sounded confused. Everyone showed up on the Galactic Republic’s databases. “Who are you?” demanded the marshal, a gloved hand drifting towards her rifle strapped to her back. “I guess you’ll never know,” said Elite.

A bullet shot through the air and UO198 fell to the ground.

WK927 leaped to his feet, staring at the revolver in Elite’s hand. It quickly disappeared into one of the many folds of her coat. Slipping her helmet back on, Elite strode back towards the crowd amid the growing cries of panic as the crowd of life forms seemed to detect that something was off. “Are you coming?” she cried. The marshals above on the walkways started shouting something unintelligible. WK927 stared at the dead marshal, then grabbed his helmet, racing after Elite. He cut a path through the horde of creatures, trying to catch up to her when the sounds of rifles firing and beings screaming filled the room. WK927 spared a glance over his shoulder to see the marshals firing randomly into the crowd, shooting beings with no care for their innocence. “Come on!” shouted Elite. WK927 was stuck in place, staring in horror at a young Mizur bleeding out onto the immaculate, stainless floor.

Elite grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd. They burst through a side archway just as the crowd of creatures dissolved into sheer panic, trampling one another in an attempt to get to safety. *** WK927 tugged on his helmet, hearing the usual hiss of air as it adjusted around his head. He struggled to keep up with Elite, boots splashing on the muddy ground, “Why would you do that?” “Do what?”

“Shoot that marshal? We’re both dead now!”

Elite glanced over her shoulder. “Only if they catch us.” WK927 was infuriated at her lack of concern but kept quiet. They were sprinting through narrow alleyways between even more equally enormous checkpoint buildings that were scattered across Æ92.

No other souls were to be seen, no one daring to risk the thick fumes in the air. Even with his dark gray helmet filtering out deadly air, WK927 still didn’t feel safe from the harmful chemicals polluting the atmosphere. He had never noticed how grimy and industrial his planet was, the sky tinted gray and dark blue from the nebulae fuel that powered the starships. WK927 hardly went outside to avoid the acidic smog and mud, a harsh contrast to the sterile, fluorescent interiors of the checkpoint buildings.

Elite and WK927 jogged under a suspended holorail track, holding their breaths instinctively as a Magnetrain rushed by, kicking up even more dust and corrosive oxides into the cloudy air. She had slowed down to a walking pace, but was still justifiably on edge, head darting around and glancing behind her.

WK927 walked alongside her, trying to slow down his heart rate, “You’re part of that group, aren’t you? Those anarchist traitors?” She smirked, “You catch on fast. We prefer the term Revolutionaries.” “No one prefers being defined as what they are.” “The Republic labeled us as traitors. They’re the genocidal bastards destroying planets that defy them. But of course, you would believe their propaganda,” shot back Elite. “Why are you offering me a job then?” demanded WK927, “What do I have to offer to your cause?” “Because you see the faults of the world you live in,” Even through the helmet, he could feel her eyes drilling into him. “Not many individuals do, and those that see its faults turn away because it’s safer.” WK927 stared back, “And just because of that, I’ll join you? Risk everything to-” “Well, you’re here aren’t you?” Elite started walking faster, moving towards the Pads that they could faintly see through the opaque sky. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m joining you,” muttered WK927 under his breath, mainly to convince himself. WK927 had seen the Pads as a child and remembered the sprawling layers of twisted metal that climbed thousands of feet into the sky, piled haphazardly. His neck had ached for days afterward from craning his head, staring at the ships taking off.

Even though he had never been off-planet, he had been told that the Pads could be seen from the outer atmosphere, and made Æ92 seem like it was made of giant metal disks. As they approached, Elite produced a pistol from one of the pockets of her coat. “Can you shoot?” WK927 accepted it, “Of course I can.” “Good. My ship is on one of the lower levels of the Pads, where the maintenance crews live. The bigger starships would have crushed it if I left it anywhere else.” The Pads was just as he remembered, looking even larger and towering as ever. Layers upon layers of metal held together with a combination of iron walkways and ladders, balancing precariously upon each other. The highest pads where the largest starships sat were shrouded in dust and fumes from the departing spacecrafts. Elite started to climb the anchored into the mud, WK927 right behind her. He tried to focus on the filth on her boots to distract himself. He didn’t think about how they were climbing miles into the sky on rusty metal ladders. He definitely didn’t think about what would happen if they were caught.

Their ascent became another routine, scaling countless ladders and platforms. His arms ached, but he kept going, his mind turning numb trying not to think about what would happen if a patrol of marshals caught them or if he fell off. Elite suddenly pulled him back, just as a patrol marched past. “Be careful. We’re one or two levels below my pod.” He nodded and started to climb. Halfway up the narrow ladder, WK927 heard shouts, and a stray bullet hit the bracket holding him to the wall. The entire ladder shuddered and WK927 clutched the metal bars tighter, holding on for his life.

He managed to clamber to the top and pull himself onto the platform without dying. Elite followed right behind him and started returning fire at the marshals. WK927 surveyed the multiple landing pads, spotting marshals scattered on walkways and adjacent platforms.

He took careful aim and fired his revolver, shooting several figures. They were in a strategically better position, able to see all of their opponents and take measured aim without rushing. Even with WK927’s limited shooting skills, he felt like it was too simple. Surprisingly, he felt not the slightest bit guilty as he killed the armored figures. “Is that all of them?” he asked, glancing at Elite.

Elite shrugged and turned to her pod which was sitting on the very platform they were on, “So I take that you’ve accepted my offer?”

He hadn’t considered her offer in fact, just following Elite because it seemed like the best option at the time. “I don’t have much of a choice, Elite. Æ92 isn’t a big planet. I’ll be dead in days.” “I wouldn’t doubt yourself too much. You’re resourceful, Double. You could survive here.”

“Don’t move,” commanded a voice. WK927 felt the tip of a rifle press to the back of his helmet.

Elite froze her pistol halfway in the air. WK927 was standing with his back to the ladder and a marshal must have climbed up and snuck behind him. “Drop your weapons. Both of you.” WK927 let his revolver fall from his hands. Elite slowly lowered her arm, and dropped her pistol to the ground. In the reflection of her helmet, WK927 could see himself, standing rigid, only one marshal behind him.

“Make a move and your friend is dead,” said the marshal, gesturing towards WK927.

WK927 didn’t trust in his helmet’s ability to protect him from a bullet at point-blank range. The helmets were useful for filtering out elements and fumes, not bullets. “Now,” started the marshal, “You’re both going t-” WK927 leaped into action suddenly, ducking forward and driving his elbow into the marshal. The rifle fired over his head, hitting a metal pipe and then ricocheting into the platform. WK927 spotted his revolver on the ground and picked it up, spinning on his heels, firing two shots into the marshal.

The man froze, his rifle hanging loosely in his hand. He took a few steps backward, clutching his stomach, and then fell backward over the edge of the pad. WK927 slowly stood from where he was crouched on the ground. Elite looked at him, then nodded in respect.

He clambered to the edge of the platform and glanced down. The platforms below them were cloaked in the usual acidic haze, but the only marshals to be seen were the ones they had shot while ascending the ladder.

“He must have fallen in between the platforms,” said Elite, standing beside him, staring into the abyss. Sure enough, they heard a crash similar to the sound of metal on armor. He waited for a rush of remorse to come flooding through him...but it never came. “Impressive.” said Elite, picking up her discarded pistol, “As I said, you can take care of yourself.” She approached him and he could tell that she was smiling. “So, last chance. You coming or no? You want the job, Double?” Elite extended a gloved hand. WK927 studied it for a second and then glanced around him. The giant Pads, the acid in the air of his home planet. The dead marshals on the platforms. Double took her hand and climbed aboard.

WK927 could be significant. Maybe Double was more than an unnoticeable number.


I had a dream a few nights ago that I can't stop thinking about, so I wrote it down. I just wanted to share it with people. I'm using a throwaway account because I don't want it on my main account. This is the second time I'm posting it, I deleted the first one for formatting issues. ~~~ The first thing I heard was the cabin door opening in the other room. On the table in front of me, a pink jar sat next to a photo, the faint smell of roses radiating from it. I looked closer at the picture. A young woman, no older than me, wearing sweatpants and t-shirt lay on her bed curled in the fetal position. Something was different about this photo, however; something unsettling. A second picture, an x-ray, it looked like, was overlaid on it. I could faintly see the woman’s skull in her head, her skeletal arms clutching the same jar that sat peacefully in front of me. Large pink splotches dotted the photograph, on her head, chest, and arms. I knew she was dead. Moreover, as I stared at the pink jar in front of me, I knew how it happened. I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around my chest. They squeezed tightly, but gently, and in that moment, I felt completely safe. Whoever this was, I loved them more than anything, I knew that much. “It came,” she observed, her voice smooth and calm. “Yeah, I just… I don’t know,” I replied. She moved next to me, keeping one hand on my shoulder, and I was able to see her for the first time. She was short, just above my eye level even as I was sitting. She was small, but not skinny, which only made the glasses on her face seem even larger. Her hair was wavy, dark brown on top, but transitioned smoothly to blonde by the time it stopped just short of her shoulders. I stopped and stared at her face. I didn’t recognize her; there was no name attached to the face, but it felt familiar. As familiar as the stars I could see twinkling faintly in her eyes, and the warm, hypnotic half smile she wore. I couldn’t feel it, but I was right, I loved her. A comfortable, powerful relationship with my best friend in the world. I suspected that’s why I was so content sharing the small cabin with her. “This is what you want, right?”, she asked. “I think so,” That was I lie. I knew that I wanted this, I had wanted it for years. But now, staring it in the face, it felt different. Not scary enough that I would turn away, but like I was standing on a diving board, waiting to jump. A chaotic non-homogenous mix of fear, excitement, and anticipation. More than any of these, however, I felt sad. It was finally over. The end of a story I hated but was sad to see end anyway. I felt a squeeze on my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing,” The words rang in my skull like a church bell. The were supportive and loving, not spiteful, despite what they entailed. I slowly stood up and walked over to the window, it’s framed filled by an enormous snow-covered mountain. It stood stoically; its blue-gray face highlighted against the pure white snow that filled the rest of the landscape. The sky was a brilliant and vibrant blue; the weather almost deceptively calm. Here I stood, staring the last page of my life in the face. The sadness kept building. I knew I had to do it, I knew I wanted to do it, I knew it was time. But I was sad and scared, the only emotions I had felt for years now stronger than ever. The woman I knew I loved walked over and stood next to me. “What if it doesn’t work?” I asked, my voice trembling. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She smiled. “Then tomorrow I’ll make a roast.” Then I woke up.


Sarah loved her friends and all the fun she had with them. Their latest fun activity was to race their bicycles as fast as they could down to the ice-cream truck in the park. Sadly Sarah couldn’t participate. She still used training wheels, you see. Her friends could go so much faster and didn’t have to stick to the paths so when Sarah caught up they had already got their ice-creams and she was always left behind trying to get one. Soon enough Sarah got fed up and begged her parents to teach her to ride but they were always too busy. She felt so lonely every time her friends rode off on their bicycles. She wanted to do that as well. Suddenly, Sarah had an idea. She grabbed her bike and dragged it into their garage and snuck into her father’s toolbox. She didn’t know what she was looking for and the pile of tools was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but she was determined. She spent her afternoon picking up tools and trying them on the bolts of her bike. Eventually, after several hours she found what she needed and got to work removing the training wheels. The bolts were on so tight she would’ve thought they were tightened by the Hulk himself. But after much pushing and pulling they came loose and a sigh of relief escaped Sarah’s mouth. The extra wheels were discarded on the floor as if they were broken toys. Sarah ran back into her house and yelled to her mother, who was busy typing on the computer, that she was going out with her friends. Her mother only grunted back a sound of acceptance and didn’t even turn to look at her daughter. Sarah grinned a mischievous grin and ran back to the garage, picked up her newly renovated bike and pushed it out onto the street. After a tiring walk to the dilapidated car park next to the park she paused. Her nerves were wrought but her determination prevailed as she pushed through it and got on her bike. She almost immediately fell over and bruised her arm. This was going to be much harder than she thought. Try after try, fall after fall, bruise after bruise, she almost gave up but eventually she managed to cycle a few metres. It wasn’t much but it was a step in the right direction for Sarah. So she hopped on her bicycle and tried again. This time she went a few more metres. The next go a few more. Until she was cycling anti-clockwise around the car park. This was a massive achievement for her and she was so proud of herself, but it wasn’t the end to her struggles. Next she had to tackle right hand turns. “This will be a cakewalk,” Sarah said to herself. However this was no ride in the park. As soon as she attempted to turn right she fell off and grazed her knee. She sat up as blood trickled from the wound, she wanted to cry but she knew there was no one there to comfort her and she didn’t want to be stopped so soon. Sarah stood up, picked up her bicycle, and jumped back on once again. A little bit of blood wasn’t going to stop her. Sarah peddled and peddled, trying a right turn again and again, her knee was stinging but her stubbornness to finish and motivation to learn kept her going. Soon enough, after many wobbles and falls, she finally got it. She was overjoyed! She could finally ride her bike with her friends. She felt like she had climbed Mount Everest. Nothing in the world could bring her down. She couldn’t wait to show her friends when they went to the park on Saturday. As the week came and went, it was agonisingly long for Sarah. She was so excited and almost told her friends multiple times, but she wanted to surprise them so much she managed to keep it a secret. Soon enough it was Saturday. She woke up early in the morning and got ready. They were supposed to meet at ten but she got there at nine so she could make sure she hadn’t lost her groove. After an hour of tentative waiting and looking at her watch as if it was going to jump off her wrist and run away, her friends arrived. They all rode up on their bikes and Sarah was there to meet them. It was quite a surprise for them as a week before there were pink little training wheels on Sarah’s bike and now there were none. She excitedly challenged them to race down to the ice-cream truck, and though surprised, agreed. As they raced down together as a group Sarah no longer felt alone and was happy to be able to race and play with her friends again.


The Valley has always existed outside of the normal world. When people come here, they come to stay. There are no passers-through, no tourists or hikers who wandered too far off the trail and are trying to find their way home. When people come here, they are not looking for home; they are looking for refuge. The Lord of the Valley calls them to him, through dreams and visions and a pulsating need to be anywhere but where they currently are. He teases them with tastes of mountain winds and gurgling creeks rushing over rocks. He persuades them with promises of abundance and mercy. “Come to me,” he says, “Come to me and taste freedom.” What that means to each person who arrives is different, but the price remains the same for all. For those of us born here, and yes, I do include myself in that, no matter how odd the circumstances, the price is significantly higher. While the adults who come and agree to the desired sacrifice are welcome to leave at any time, the children born to them are required to stay for life. We have been dedicated to the Lord’s service, and to attempt to leave it is Death. We are the price our parents pay to leave the world behind. There have been some over the years who did not believe that Death would follow them once they left, but every one of them has always been returned to the Valley’s center, sometimes in pieces, sometimes not. The ones who come back in pieces have the preferable fate. The ones who come back whole in body are nothing more than empty shells, their minds wiped clean by the Lord. Purification, he calls it. These purified husks are then taken to the edge of the Valley, right up to the base of the mountains that contain it, and tied to a tree for three days. If their body survives the exposure and the scavengers, they are released and allowed to live out their days in a house that appears just for them. If not, they are left to the elements until whatever bones that remain are bleached white as a warning to others. There have been many who tried to leave only to be brought back. Each generation has their rebels and fearless leaders who decide they want more from life than service to a Lord who will happily hunt them down and kill them for nothing more than a desire for choice. The instigators almost never make it back in pieces. Many survive the three days of being bound, and go on to live half-lives in service to the Great Lord. The Great Lord is a demanding task-master. He is not the Lord of the Valley, who requires a single price; he is the Great Lord, who requires absolute surrender. The Great Lord’s servants are kept separate from the rest of the Lord’s people, especially the children. Their hollow eyes and sunken cheeks are deemed too unnerving for youngsters to witness and gossip about. I’m of the opinion that this tradition is to prompt those who yearn for more to take the risk of flight, having not been exposed to the severity of the consequences first, but I digress. The day the first house in the Great Lord’s pen disappeared, a murmur swept through the Valley. Had a halfer managed to gain some semblance of self back and was removed? Had they done something to displease the Great Lord? If so, how was that possible? The Elders organized a procession to offer praise and worship to the Great Lord, including trumpets, flutes, violins, and the Lord’s chosen child-bearers. The procession circled the Valley’s perimeter three times, each time the praise growing louder and the worship more vigorous as the people’s minds became more connected with their Lord and master. Satisfied that this had appeased the Great Lord, the procession devolved into a feast of the senses once it returned to the Valley’s center. The children were sent home to practice their sacred duties, and the adults remained to celebrate their freedom in whichever way they deemed fit. The second day, once another house had vanished, the Elders could be heard speaking in whispers and shouts. A child was brought forward and sent to the Lord’s tent, a giant structure that guarded the single pass into the Valley, with instructions to plead for understanding of the infractions committed to ensure this brand of punishment did not get visited upon the Lord’s willing servants. The child did not return until the third house had vanished. His once bright eyes were now muted, and the shine in his cheeks had paled. The Elders rushed him to the Valley center to deliver the Lord’s message. Opening lips that seemed lifelessly blue, the child spoke with a resounding voice too deep for one his age: “The Fallen has returned. It is he who rips my children from me. He rends! He hates! He burns! Take heed, my children, for I must wage war against him that he does not steal into your homes and commit his acts of despair upon you!” A great murmur rose over the assembly, and the Elders quickly ushered the child into the confines of their circle and secreted themselves away for the remainder of the day. The following morning, the child was seen walking among the halfers, and it was understood the Great Lord had claimed him for his own purposes. Tensions rose as the days passed and more houses and halfers disappeared. Each day brought a new blight upon our cozy little Valley, robbing us of the contentment and peace we had so dearly bought. Who was this Fallen, who had the power to steal from the Lord’s Valley? We began to be suspicious of one another. Which of us was harboring this creature, giving him free rein to commit his acts of theft from the Great Lord? Which of us had allowed this monster inside? Once the halfers had all been taken, the houses on our side of the Valley began to disappear. Another child was sent to the Lord’s tent. This one also returned changed. His eyes were darkened to black, and his skin was flushed with grey. When he spoke, it sounded as though the river had grown a tongue and wished to commune with us: “Rejoice, my children, for I am returned! The Fallen has fallen once more, to be bound in the depths of the mountains for a hundred years to come!” A great cheer rose up from the crowd, and the child was hoisted on shoulders and passed around from one to another as we showered him with kisses and praises of worthiness. Having no halfers to send him to live among, the Elders approached me, the eldest of the Dedicated. My skin was grey and my eyes were dim, but I gladly accepted the child into my century-old home. I tried to re-teach him his letters and songs, but he could do no more than mumble for a bit before trailing off into silence and emptiness. Once it became fully apparent that there was no help to be given for the boy, I laid him down in my cot and smothered him with a pillow. It was a kinder Death than any of us deserved. Time passed, and our Lord began calling more people to the Valley. It was time to rebuild, he said. The Fallen had completed the cleansing, and it was time to restock the Valley with worshippers. Lord help us, I thought. The cycle begins again.


“What do you think he wants?” Philip asked his boss.. “I’m not sure”. Haywood responded as he put out his cigarette and stood up from the desk. “But he seems determined to get it”. Philip had been working at a halfway decent shoe store under Haywood for a few months now and every so often they would see a poorly dressed man come by and stare at a pair of shoes at the windowsill for almost a few minutes, but always refraining from buying them whenever they approached the man. They never knew why but Haywood had seemed to have enough of it when this same man did so again tonight. Haywood then walked across the hardwood floor of the shoe store and the poorly dressed man spotted him and began sheepishly walking away when Haywood opened the door and addressed him. “It’s not a crime to look at a pair of shoes you know”. The man then stopped and shoved his hands in his pocket and Haywood smiled “Why don’t you come in and see them for yourself?” The poorly dressed man then nodded “Actually I don’t think I could afford them. I’m afraid I have an awful habit of staring at them every time I come by this place”. Haywood nodded in return “I know, and every time you don’t buy them. Please come in so I can make you a decent offer at least”. The poorly dressed man was taken back by this shopkeeper's politeness and went inside with him as Philip continued to stick the shelves but didn’t linger far away not to hear them speak. The poorly dressed man then walked in a very odd fashion into the store and was greeted by the sight of entire shelves of leather shoes and boots that he gazed at for some time before Haywood coughed after shutting the door behind him with his good hand and spoke. “I believe the shoes you were looking at are over here Sir”. The poorly dressed man then turned his head. “What? Oh yes right.” He then walked over to the stand and Haywood took them off the display case at the windowsill and began his pitch. “Now these here are Brogans. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with them yourself. Made from standard tanned cowhide imported from out west and rubber imported from the colonies. But it was all assembled here in Blackwater.” Haywood had made similar pitches for many years now and knew when it was working on a customer. But still, the man tried to resist his charms and responded. “I like your pitch Sir but I’m afraid I can’t get them”. Haywood only offered a smile. “3 pounds?.. I admit it’s a little modest for a good pair of shoes but I’m willing to take a pound off for you Sir”. The man, however, refused “no sir it isn’t the price.. it’s just that.. it’s a bit difficult to tell if they’d fit.” Haywood then nodded. “On account of your leg then?” The man then turned his head “Yes that’s correct actually”. He responded. Haywood then sighed “Well why don’t you try them on Sir and see how they fit then?” The man then took the shoes and took off his left shoe before lifting his pant leg and taking the one from his false leg and as he put them on Haywood made some brief conversation. “If you don’t mind asking me Sir where did you serve at?” The man then began to tie the laces as he spoke. “I was in a few places myself. I spent quite some time at the “the Mole hill”. “I’m sure that was quite a time. I had a few friends serve there myself”. Haywood said in return. “I must have met them at some point.” The man said before his tone changed. “Before a Ticonderogan shell took my leg I was quite the football player when we were able to take furlough in the rear. I went from being a half-decent middle fielder to a bench warmer in half a second” Haywood then nodded “I bet you’ve gotten a lot better at Billards and cards then”. “Of course.” The man said, “We barely did anything else at the hospital, besides bitch about the food”. The man then finished putting on his shoes and walked awkwardly around the floor as Philips stared from afar. “They feel quite nice,” the man said with a smile. Haywood then smiled in return. “I’m glad they fit then. Maybe you’d like to walk out of here with them?” The man then nodded and Haywood packed up the box and paper with it the man took two pounds from his coat and handed it over. “Will that be all Sir?” Haywood then asked the man as he was on his way out. “Oh no thank you, it’s quite rare getting a pair of shoes that fit well these days, it’s even rarer to find a good deal as well”. The man then began walking towards the door when he then paused and turned to face Haywood as he stood at the desk. “Though if you don’t mind me asking Sir, how did you know I had a false leg?” Haywood then offered a nod. “A good shoe salesman can tell what type of shoes a man would want to wear from the sound of his footstep.” The man was then satisfied with the answer and departed. Haywood then slid the pounds into the register and Philips finally commented. “I thought the shoes at the display case were 4 pounds, Sir?” “They were,” Haywood said. “But if he men like him lost a leg for me I think it’s only right he should get a good pair of shoes at a cheap price in return”.


Thwack. Such a specific sound. Thwack. I mean, the comic books have it right. Thwack, right across the back of the hero as the villain stands over her. Sometimes I like to imagine that the world is like a blanket. Covering everything in warmth and safety. And in the blanket, there are wrinkles and swirls like galaxies and stars. When it’s just dark enough, I like to imagine visiting each one of them. Exploring the universe all right under my blanket. If I cough too much, sometimes I see the colors and those stars too. The Nurse says it’s… consumption and it makes me cough. And tired. Which is why I love my blanket universe. Whenever I’m tired, I get to dream and go to all these fantastical amazing beautiful worlds. But when I am awake. All alone. Late at night. And the worlds I’ve visited don’t want me to be there anymore, or if Darla says I shouldn’t. Thwack. Late at night, when I’m all alone. I change the universe. So I stand up, put on my blanket, and dance. I do a Hope Dance. I change my universe. And when I’m tired I get to explore entirely new worlds and stars and colors. Because I still have hope. “Hi, I’m Annabelle! Are you here to adopt me?” “Well… Annabelle, we are… thinking about it.” “Oh, well, that’s ok-” She cuts herself off in a short coughing fit, “I’m tired, can I have my blanket?” Darla stands near the door glaring. “Thimble, sweetie, Mr. Scott, and Mrs. Maranda came a very long way to meet you - “ “No, no it’s okay. I think we’ll… maybe be back and come some other time.” They quickly grab their coats and leave. Darla slams the door softly. “I’m sorry.” “For what, sweetie?” … “I’m sorry… can I have my blanket please?” Thwack My blanket is so soft and warm. It helps me feel better. I like to imagine I’m in a spaceship flying far across the galaxy. Waving Hellos to all the people I see. They all look so tiny, woven into the fabric, little smiles and faces. Everyone looks so different - Orange, Purple, Green, Blue. All saying Hello! In silent voices and waves. I can’t hear them because they’re too far away. And when I visit these worlds and dream - Dad is making breakfast and Mom is combing my hair. And I feel Home. We smile and laugh and then I have to go to the next world and find my Mom and Dad there. And we smile and sometimes we live in castles and wear beautiful dresses and we smile But… They’re not smiling today. They look sad and that makes me sad. With their sad voices and silent tears. When I feel like this and they frown, I get up and put my blanket over my head and hear beautiful silent music. And I dance. I dance and I smile and I feel happy once again, letting my feet and hands make new wrinkles and galaxies and stars. I change my universe.