I close my eyes and imagine his dark eyes, chestnut hair. I know every inch of him-- his looks, his interests, his flaws, even the middle name he’d hidden from everyone but I’d found so wonderfully gorgeous. (It was Nathaniel, by the way. Nothing about the name itself was interesting, but the way it locked together with his first name-- Ashton Nathaniel-- was so incredible.) I remember so well being a lovestruck teenager, staring at the back of the smart boy’s head in English, singing angsty pop songs and pretending he was listening, biking past his house on lonely Saturdays. I’d found out his middle name that way when his mother shouted it for all to hear. “Ashton Nathaniel! Come back here!” I’d treasured that moment and so many others. But after he started dating Aryana, I’d given up. My feelings had faded away.

I remind myself that my feelings have faded away. “So?” Carolyn’s voice, filtered into a crackly imitation by the internet,

prompts me out of my reverie. “Huh?” “So? Are you gonna ask Ashton out, or do I need to pick another dude?” I fiddle with my blanket. “I guess.” “You are the worst at Truth or Dare, Leah! At least pretend to sound excited about it,” Wifaq says. “I mean, he’s kinda hot. You can’t deny it.” “Wow, Wifaq. And I just want to point out that you were the ones who roped me into this thing anyway. And you were the ones who brought up my middle school crush. That’s ancient history!” “Sure, girl.” I’m about to say something else when Carolyn interrupts me. “Go get him! And for real though, bring your phone so we know you’re not sitting on your dang couch watching rom-coms.” How does she know my every move? I say, “Okay then.”

“I need to go,” Wifaq says. “My brother just woke up, and well--”

She hangs up quickly as someone faintly screeches her name. “You know,” I say before Carolyn can make fun of me again, “Where am I supposed to find Ashton? It’s not like he’s hanging around my house.” “Actually--” “What did you do?!” “Thank me later. Just go out to your front yard and leave the phone on the porch. I won’t say anything, promise.” I reluctantly get out of bed and step outside to the porch. It’s freezing out here-- too cold for Valentine’s Day.

“There’s no one here!” I say, gesturing around to the familiar front yard I grew up in. “I’m going back in. My parents are going to be up soon.”

“Just wait a few minutes.” I set the phone down on the porch ledge right as a black car pulls up. I go on high alert, pulling my sleeves tight.

Ashton steps out of the car, and I swear it’s like a movie. I’m in love again, and the world’s in slow motion as his strong, muscled arms slam the door shut-- “Hello?” “Hi!” I say feebly and rush down to the sidewalk. I nearly trip but manage to catch myself. “Hi, um, someone told me that I was supposed to meet a person here? I’m assuming that’s you?” Ashton has a cute concerned look on his face. I make a mental note to ask Carolyn how the heck she got him to come here.

“Oh. Yes, that’s me.” Go for it , I tell myself. “I was just wondering, I guess, since Valentine’s Day is coming up…”

My cheeks flush. He stares at me blankly. “Would you maybe like to, er, go out?” “Oh, um,” Ashton runs his fingers through his perfect hair. God, that hair. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” “Oh,” I say, surprised and a little hurt that he doesn’t remember me. I guess it makes sense though. We were never really friends, and he changed schools almost three years ago. “I’m Leah. Leah Wilson. We used to go to school together…” “Oh, Leah! Yeah, I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t remember me. “Yeah,” I say, deciding to play along. Maybe he will remember me. I know deep down he’s forgotten me, but I still want to hope. “So, how’s St. Mary’s?” “It’s good.” “Cool.” This is the most awkward conversation ever. My face is on fire. I just want to disappear into my cozy house and watch rom-coms. Dang it, Carolyn knows me too well. “So, um, Leigh--” “Leah.” “Right.” He smiles awkwardly. “Leah. Well, today, I have an um-- I should go.” “Of course.” I hesitate, then ask, “About, um going out?” “I’m so sorry, but I have a girlfriend.” “Of course,” I say again. “I am so sorry. I should have known. Aryana.” “Oh, we broke up a while ago.” Ashton forces his face into a casual expression. “Oh?” “Yes, I’m dating a girl named Jillian, and she’s waiting for me. Sorry. Bye, Laine.” “Bye.” I don’t bother to correct him. I hold my breath as he gets into his car and drives away. He doesn’t even look at me as he speeds off. My eyes are watery. Why am I crying? It’s just Ashton, the boy I loved for a full year. Just Ashton, with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect name. I brush the tears out of my eyes. I hate myself for crying like this. There’s no way Carolyn can see me crying. It’s too personal. I feel like my emotions have been stripped away and left for everyone to see. But I have to go hang up the call. I slowly walk up the porch stairs and pick up my phone. “O-M-G, I COULDN’T HEAR A THING!” Carolyn shrieks. “What HAPPENED?” “I’ll tell you later. It didn’t go well.” “Wait, Leah--” But I’ve already hit the button to hang up. I’m about to go inside, meet Dad and his Sunday morning pancakes while he reads the Bible, then curl up with a blanket and computer and watch To All The Boys for the third time. But I hear the thud of footsteps behind me and brace myself to turn around. Luckily, it’s just a boy walking his dog. Or maybe not so luckily, because I’ve just been crying and I really don’t want random boys to see me like this. “Hi,” the boy says, giving me a little wave. He’s kind of cute. Definitely not Ashton-level, but still, cute. Unfortunately, I notice that his dog is squatting down and pooping in our yard.

“Hi,” I say, waving feebly. “Um, your dog--” “Oh no,” he says with a sigh, looking down at the dog. He glances back up at me. “I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay. You know, dogs…” I’ve never had a dog. “Yeah,” he says, obviously relieved as he expertly scoops it up into a doggie bag. “Sorry again. I really didn’t mean to--” “It’s not your fault,” I say truthfully, easily. It’s nice to have a conversation with another human being that doesn’t involve truth or dare, awkwardness, or rejection. But honestly, I just need to be alone. I point my thumb at the house. “I need to go. Thanks for picking up.” “No problem.” And I finally head inside. ---- I sip my latte as Carolyn hammers me with questions. She convinced me to go to Scooters with her before school, and I would be regretting it if this latte wasn’t so dang good.

“I already told you everything that happened.” “Yes, but what do you think will happen now?” Carolyn demands, tilting her head down to give me The Carolyn Look. (Wifaq and I coined this term after we realized Carolyn gives us the same look whenever she wants us to spill the tea.) “Nothing,” I shrug, feeling a little pang. But I know it’s true. “Ashton obviously doesn’t like me. I’m over him. So what happens now is we move on.” “Good move, sis.” Carolyn gives me an approving nod. “Want me to put on my ‘breakup song’ playlist?” “No! We weren’t even together.” “Do I need an excuse to play Adele and Mabel?” “Not Adele, but why you’re in love with that British singer no one’s ever heard of, I’ll never understand.” “She’s good!” Carolyn protests, but my eyes have locked onto something else across the coffee shop. I gasp. “I’m telling you, she’s so underrated-- what are you gasping about?” “We need to go.”

“What? Why?” But it’s too late. He’s at our table. The boy whose dog pooped in my yard yesterday is at our table . “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I feel like I know you,” he says. “I’m Kyle? Did we meet?” “Nope. No. I don’t think I know you. And we need to go, right Carolyn?” I say, dragging her out of her seat. “I know!” Kyle says. He lowers his voice. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” “Oh, I remember!” I act like I just realized who he was. “No problem. But we better head out. So sorry.” “Yeah, we have school soon,” Carolyn says casually, completely ignoring my frantic tone. “Where do you go to school?” “I’m homeschooled, with a few other neighborhood kids and parents,” Kyle says. “I actually have school soon too, but my mom sent me out to get a snack for my brother.” I smile and quickly tell him goodbye. Carolyn drags me outside and gives me The Carolyn Look. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?!” “I was going to,” I say lamely. “After Ashton left, he was walking his dog, and the dog pooped in my yard.” “So romantic.” Carolyn rolls her eyes. “But seriously, he is cute. You should ask him out. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day! Love is in the air.” “No way!” I say, even though I was thinking he was cute too. But I’m definitely not asking him out. “I don’t want to get into all that again. And we really should head off to school.” “Well, you’d be a good couple. Think about it.” “No.” ----- In Biology, Wifaq passes me a note. It reads Carolyn wanted me to tell u that she got Kyle’s ph #. Who’s Kyle??? I write back, How? That girl is insane. FYI, Kyle is a guy she’s trying to set me up with. What’s his #? Idk, she just wanted me to tell u. Do u like him? Kinda, but I don’t want to date rn. I’ll ask Carolyn about it later. Wifaq nods at me and shoves the note in her backpack. I’m a little angry at Carolyn, but secretly… I’m glad too.

----

I fluff up my pillow and start scrolling through Instagram. I see Ashton, smiling, his arm draped across a pretty redhead. I guess that's Jillian. I'm a little jealous, despite what I told Carolyn earlier. A notification for a "new contact" pops up. I glance longingly at Ashton's feed, then I open the notification. I spot Kyle’s name and am tempted, just for a moment, to text him. Instead, I go back to Instagram and unfollow Ashton. It’s a purposeful moment. I’m really letting him go. Then, I open the "break-up" playlist Carolyn sent me. The music echoes through my room, fighting back the loneliness that hangs in the air. I’m lonely. It’s a hard truth, one that can’t be filled by any music. I hit stop on the music and open up the contacts page again.

Right now, I ache to contact someone, anyone. I start to text Kyle, but at the last second, I hit the call button. The phone rings sharply against my ear, again and again, and I wonder if he’s going to pick up. He does. “Hello?” “Hi,” I say. “I don’t think I actually introduced myself. I’m Leah. The girl who you saw the other morning?”

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. But it’s the kind of nice surprised that you get when you weren’t expecting to talk to someone, but you’re glad you ended up where you are. “Hi, Leah.” We talk and talk, and there’s no awkwardness here. It’s nothing like it was with Ashton, and I forget about him in minutes. It’s easy, and once I’ve hung up, I decide that maybe, just maybe, I’ll ask Kyle out. Before I can dwell on it too much, the sirens ring, and my heart rate quickens. But I know what to do, just like any other Nebraskan. I grab my phone and a robe and head to the stairs. “Watch or warning?” I ask Mom as we rush to the basement. “Don’t know. Dan?” “Coming!” Dad calls. We enter the basement and sit on the couch. Fortunately, the lights are still on. Mom turns on the weather. A few minutes into the forecast-- it’s only a watch, they inform us-- my phone buzzes. I check-- it’s Kyle. You ok? I text back, Yeah, you? He sends me a thumbs-up, and I pause before typing. Do you want to go out sometime? I see the little bubbles. He’s answering. They stop. Sorry, I know this isn’t very romantic, I say. No! Of course, I’ll go out with you. I smile, holding my phone to my chest. We’re stuck in the basement at night, in the middle of a tornado watch, but I couldn’t be happier. My phone rings and I pick up, knowing without really knowing that it’s Kyle. “I thought you’d never ask.”


The ruins were musty. It was uncomfortably hot, and to top it off, the band of looters hadn’t brought any extra water. “Boss, can we go soon?” complained one. “Of course you can, as soon as we find some gold,” spat the leader of the miserable group. They all gave a collective groan of exasperation. “Come on boss, this place has been picked clean by all the other guys who came here, and I’m thirsty,” said another lackey. “If every looter was as wimpy as all of you I’m sure they missed something. Now back to work!” They searched for a few more minutes. Two of the looters had crept off to a secluded area and were resting on the ground with their backs to a wall. They dabbed their foreheads with their shirts to soak up the sweat. “Hey, look what I got,” whispered one of them. He pulled out a small flask. “Is that the boss’s? He’s gonna kill you if he finds out you took his only flask of whiskey!” the other replied. “He’s not gonna find out, and I want something other than the distilled water we get to drink,” He popped it open and took a swig. He threw his head back and hit the wall. “Ow!” He leaned forward and rubbed the back of his head. “Hah, nice going.” sniggered the second looter. He looked back at the wall. The place that had been hit was indented. “Wow, you actually broke that brick.” he said pointing to the indent. The first turned around and peered at the brick. “Wait, this isn’t a brick.” His eyes widened in astonishment. “It’s a switch!” He pushed the brick further in and the wall slid down. They stood in shock at what their eyes beheld. It was an untouched tomb. Trinkets lay stacked in piles five feet high. Ancient scrolls and artifacts lay on tables. At the center of it all stood an engraved sarcophagus. It showed the picture of a king with his arms crossed. He held a flail in his right hand, and a crook in the left. It was an ancient work of art. “Lawson, Carter, I’m gonna have your hides if you… don’t…” the boss stopped and saw the two gaping at the tomb. He looked in and saw the room. “Wh-how… how did you find this?” he asked. Carter turned and started, “Well-”, but he was cut off as the boss turned back to call the rest of the looters. “I want all this outta here in half an hour!” He commanded. They cleared the room in half that time. They were all so excited at the find that they could hardly contain themselves. “Boss, you want this thing?” asked a looter who was gesturing to the sarcophagus. “It’s gonna take a few of you, but yeah. Haul her out,” said the boss. A looter touched the coffin to tip it over. The moment he did, a blast of air blew the man across the room. He slid and hit the wall. “What was that!?” called out the boss. The coffin shook. The ground shook. The looters shook with fear. There was a wind in the ruins. It whipped at their hair. The walls cracked. The coffin lid slid off, and from it stepped a man. He was no mummy, but the looters ran regardless. Except for one. He had fallen to the ground and sat, paralyzed. The coffin man stumbled forward, clutching the same crook and flail engraved on the sarcophagus. He was nearly twice the size of the average man. His body was that of a warrior, toned and battle hardened. Around his shoulders was a gold plaited collar, and his legs were wrapped in a white robe that draped down on the back. His bright green eyes seemed to give off a faint glow. He had a bald head save the black ponytail on the back. He blinked multiple times, and looked on the verge of collapse. He fell to his knees. He looked at the petrified looter. “You,” he spoke. The air trembled at his voice. It was a deep booming voice that held one in place as he spoke. “are you a minion of that traitor?” “I...I…” stammered the man. His knees were knocking together with an audible sound. “I don’t know any traitor.” he finally blustered. “Then what house are you apart of?” questioned the man. He stood up, and with his tools held in one hand he brushed off the dust that had accumulated. “I...I..I’m..” the frightened looter continue to stutter. “Speak!” commanded the coffin man. The air shook at his voice. “I’m just part of a looter group. We were looking for ancient treasure.” spoke the man clearly. He started crawling backwards as the coffin man stepped forward. “Ancient?” He questioned. He turned and looked at the coffin behind him. His eyes widened. “No,” he quietly pleaded. “No, No, No, No” he started to panic. He looked at the looter who was about ready to soil himself. “What has happened to the nation of Anima?” he said. “Anima? What’s that?” said the looter. “Wait, why were you in that,” he gestured toward the sarcophagus, ”thing?” “It’s a prison. I was trapped and put into a trance by a traitorous subject of mine.” A look a dread was on his face. “What has become of my people. My kingdom?” He dropped his tools and put his hands on his head. “Wait, you’re a king?” said the looter “No,” he replied. He held out his hand and the crook and flail rose back to his hands, “I am Pharaoh.” This is my first time on Reddit. I'm really looking forward to making this into a full length story.


You left me. You left me with love. The kind of love that they write about in romance novels. The kind of love that most people search for their entire lives. The kind of love that burns right through your heart and ignites your soul. The kind of love that cannot be quenched even if it were surrounded by water. You left me. You left me with anger. The kind of anger that smothers any joy with a stare. The kind of anger that kills any smile with a knife. The kind of anger that wakes the dead. The kind of anger that needs to be locked in a cage. You left me. You left me with wisdom. The kind of wisdom that conveniently comes to those when they most needed answers. The kind of wisdom that many people wait years to acquire. The kind of wisdom that comes from those with salt and pepper hair. The kind of wisdom that continues in tales to tell for numerous years to come. You left me. You left me with questions. The kind of questions that come from unsolved mysteries. The kind of questions that leave you puzzled and confused. The kind of questions that go unasked from fear of embarrassment. The kind of questions that no one wants to hear the answers to. You left me. You left me with compassion. The kind of compassion that makes you feel seen. The kind of compassion that holds you as you speak your darkest truths. The kind of compassion that frees you from the chains of judgement. The kind of compassion that warms you with an embrace. You left me. You left me with indifference. The kind of indifference that feels cold and leaves you feeling abandoned. The kind of indifference that makes you feel that you might be invisible. The kind of indifference that refuses to say what needs to be said. The kind of indifference that keeps you with your head down and your walls up. You left me. You left me with strength. The kind of strength that is seen in superheroes and war stories. The kind of strength that not only comes from bravery but also muscle. The kind of strength that surprises you from an adrenaline rush. The kind of strength that overcomes hurdles that are taller than any skyscraper. You left me. You left me with weakness. The kind of weakness that buckles you to your knees after losing all hope. The kind of weakness that makes you convulse on the floor of your bathroom. The kind of weakness that cowers from the monsters hiding under your bed. The kind of weakness that resembles a child who is scared of the dark. You left me. You left me with power. The kind of power that conquers battles and conquers kings. The kind power that rules over nations. The kind of power that silences any opposition. The kind of power that leaves humans indifferent with blood on their hands. You left me. You left me with impotence. The kind of impotence that allows leaders to destroy you. The kind of impotence that is easily overpowered. The kind of impotence that frustrates the most angelic and patient souls. The kind of impotence that leaves a person frustrated and unfulfilled. You left me. You left me with joy. The kind of joy that exudes on the face of a brand-new parent who just met their baby. The kind of joy that comes from opening presents on a Christmas day. The kind of joy that you find at the end of the rainbow. The kind of joy that fills the air after grand festivities and celebrations. You left me. You left me with despair. The kind of despair that is felt when the winter months have left you isolated and frigid. The kind of despair that murders any signs of triumph. The kind of despair that makes you want to claw out of your skin and dig your own grave. The kind of despair makes you beg the reaper to take you. You left me. You left me with laughter. The kind of laughter that comes from time with an old friend after too much wine. The kind of laughter that moves your entire body and shakes within your spirit. The kind of laughter that erupts loudly like a siren wailing unexpectedly. The kind of laughter that keeps you awake even after hours have passed. You left me. You left me tears. The kind tears where you feel as though you are drowning in a self-made ocean. The kind of tears that feel like a tsunami that no one warned you was approaching. The kind of tears that soak the pillowcase but drop loudly like hail. The kind of tears that make you wonder if your eyes could ever produce any more. You left me. You left me with companionship. The kind of companionship that is as comforting as another pair of feet underneath the sheets. The kind of companionship that brings you your coffee without having to tell them your order. The kind of companionship where home is not a place but a person. The kind of companionship that is a hand pulling you in after almost walking off the ledge. You left me. You left me with loneliness. The kind of loneliness that makes you a hostage to your thoughts. The kind of loneliness where your thoughts become the enemy. The kind of loneliness where all you have is enemy in the mirror. The kind of loneliness where you the only one who can rescue you, is yourself. You left me. You left me with completion. The kind of completion that comes after wedging in the final bit to a three-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. The kind of completion that satisfies your thirst after running a marathon. The kind of completion that gives relief after a much need conversation. The kind of completion that checks off the final box of your bucket list. You left me. You left me with pieces. The kind of pieces that leave you knowing it is indeed possible to die from a broken heart. The kind of pieces that are shattered after a fragile vase was knocked on the floor. The kind of pieces that are fractured from the crushing of a bone. The kind of pieces that cannot be repaired by glue or a cast. You left me. You left me with gratitude. The kind of gratitude that comes from a sunflower that can finally turn towards the light once the clouds have cleared. The kind of gratitude that the desert radiates following a shower during a drought. The kind of gratitude that you find in the eyes of feeding someone that was starving for a meal. The kind of gratitude that comes from the handshake of the destitute being gifted the most basic need. You left me. You left me with bitterness. The kind of bitterness that lingers on your tongue without anything to drink. The kind of bitterness that builds into your skin and seeps into your bloodstream. The kind of bitterness that makes others flee from your scrooge-like demeanor. The kind of bitterness that feasts on you like a parasite. You left me. I wish you hadn’t. You left me. I’m also thrilled you did.


The Days After There were days of death and starvation and all variations of dramatic peril that one could imagine and many that one could not. It quickly became apparent just how flimsy our house of cards had become. One card placed upon the other year after year by fingers that reeked of greed and a lust for power – though some were motivated by the natural human belief in progress, expression, and the belief in a brighter morning. However, no one had bothered to look down for a very long time and when that whisper came, there was none who could not hear it or at least was not affected by its devastation – the whisper that brought down the castle that had been built over thousands of years and left it for what it was: stone, earth, and ash. Economies dissolved like paper swans in water as a dollar bill couldn’t stop the plagues or keep you warm in the grey of the cold, stone nights. Marionette governments disbanded and heads of politicians were mounted on plaques and displayed in line with the orders of elk, moose, and bears at truck-stop diners. The police stayed huddled in their homes with their blinds closed and burned their uniforms. The numbers “9-1-1” were graffitied under bridges and on churches – a mystic relic of a past where safety and security were something more than words to keep off your lips, lest you fall into the madness that only starvation, isolation, and the smell of death can bring. Disease, loss, and violence had numbed us until the desperate cries of children were as poignant as the sound of a leaking faucet. Life had become a cage with no freedom outside and no captive inside – just bars. There was no corruption, no anger, no opinions. Nothing can be wrong or right if there is nothing to begin with. Irony and humor were incomprehensible. There were no points of view, no ways of looking at things, no perspectives. No dreams and no nightmares. There were blank stares and an empty world. There was nothing. But these are the days after. For reasons unclear, mandated by a force we knew not of, one morning, the Sun shone brighter than it had the day before. And the next day, again. After the idea of a smile had all but evaporated from our minds, we at once decided everything was alright. No one believed in governments or monarchs or structures of society or even cultural ideals. After the firemen you had always believed could save you didn’t come and the senator who claimed to looked out for you ran into hiding at the first glimpse of danger, you turned to what you could see with your own eyes. Neighbors taught each other how to grow food, how to defend themselves. Others, how to make moonshine and play the guitar. No one worried about what they could not see as now, they could no longer believe in those things. They knew only what was here and what was now. What lay directly in front of their eyes. No one worried about this or lost sleep over that. No one thought about the future or ruminated on the past. We learned each other’s names and talked about our favorite books. We walked in the woods and over the remnants of a concrete age long past, overrun by sunflowers and daisies growing through the cracks of the pavement and tall oak trees that opened up the sky by pushing through the ceilings of dull, square buildings that used to give men dull, square thoughts. We took our place in the natural order of the world with the deer and the squirrels. We constructed no systems or structures larger than that which we could see and touch and which served only for peace and prosperity. We turned in the direction of the compass of our hearts and walked without looking back and without falter. We would at some times get lost in the curve of a trail and keep along with it, turning and spinning until we were dizzy simply for the sake of getting lost in a feeling. We moved with the rhythm of the winds and danced in and beneath the trees. We wrote songs and we fell in love as humans ought and thanked the stars that they shined, be it for us or for some other purpose that we were not meant to understand.


As usual, he kept his distance all night, until the moment he didn’t. Tonight I am standing next to his bed - freshly showered and groomed in tight denim shorts, because I am pathetic - when he leans over to kiss my thigh just above the knee. I’m talking about DJ Shadow or Cut Chemist or myself but he seems fascinated by my thigh. He pets it like a mid-sized dog he is unsure of, and I keep talking because that’s all I know how to do. Fast-forward to 11:30 - or maybe 1:30, or 2, who fucking cares - and he has slipped inside of me to great effect. The mild-mannered chemical engineer is gone, replaced by a 28-year-old newly baptized Southern Baptist who would like me to pull his hair. I wore my new push-up bra tonight, on purpose, so I am pleased when he pulls me atop him and un-buttons my shirt. My tits - hiked up and heaving - mirror the sudden roundness of his eyes. As my decolletage bursts forth he moans, reaching for them, and for a moment I am proud. Not of my c-cup tits - though they deserve their own accolades, at least for another year or two - but of my follow-through. Two hours I spent in that pink fucking dressing room, subjecting my chest to round after round of torture perpetuated by a $300 stack of 83 percent nylon. I worked 3.2 hours for a billion dollar corporation to pay for this moment, for the guy who’s mouth is on my mouth to look down and say, yeah. Those things. It’s probably best not to think about these things in this manner.


A dead twig snapped beneath my feet as I moved further into the woods. Since arriving about an hour ago, an unsettling fear weighed me down. It was inescapable, yet I couldn't grasp why I felt this way. My mind flashed back to the grumpy old man I encountered earlier that day when I stopped for gas: "There's something evil in the woods... Something sinister rooted in the trees that no man can see." He had a faraway look in his eye as he spoke. Curious, I asked him what he meant but the man refused to elaborate. Instead, he seemed to snap out of a trance, not even remembering what he just said as he sat in his rickety old chair in the sun. It was a scene right out of those cheesy horror films. Figuring him for an old cook, I filled my tank and rounded up the rest of the supplies for my much-needed camping trip. I'd been needing to get away for months. So when my time off was approved, I decided to plan a trip. So there I was, trekking through woods I never heard of with nothing but my flashlight and backpack stocked with essentials to keep me company. I kept pressing forward, even though the day had been long. The more I did, though, the more intense the feelings of dread and worry got. I couldn't shake it. It was as if the further I was into the trees the more tired and worn down I was. A force unbeknownst to me was urging me forward with little promise of much more than a short getaway from the strenuous tasks that constituted everyday life. I had become so bored and tired of the same old stale routine, the same disappointing outings with "friends." I took this time for myself, to reconnect with who I was and what I wanted. But something was off here in between these oak trees and dead leaves. It had been since I got here. I just could not figure out what. Every 30 yards or so, I tied off a branch with a neon orange rope. The ground was uneven and covered in debris. The only solace and comfort I got was that I was wearing my new hiking boots. It was also dark and raining so hard I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face as I held it up. All there was was a dim white cone of light emitting from my flashlight. As I walked, I heard something behind me. Instinctively, I swung my light around. It revealed nothing but the woods behind me. Probably a small deer or other animal. Shrugging it off, I continued on. "Boy it got dark fast," I mumbled to myself. When I got to the woods, it was bright out still. It was almost as if the woods made me lose track of time. What was I thinking? The woods were a bunch of big sticks with leaves attached. The man must have gotten in my head. I checked my watch and it read 4:27. Still a bit early to be as dark as it was. I looked at the sky and chalked it up to being under a thick canopy of treetops, though I was pretty sure that was only rainforests. Close enough to be seen using my flashlight was a small clearing in the trees. I decided it would make a good place to set up camp for the night. As I neared it, I was stopped by a sound once more. It was quiet again before I could even pinpoint where it was coming from. Must have been my imagination or another animal... Though as I thought about it, the woods seemed pretty dead since I had been here. Nonetheless, I set up my gear and decided to cook dinner. The loud crackling of the flames echoed against the eerie silence of the woods. The same echoes were almost enough to disguise noise coming from not too far away. Almost. I strained my ears to hear what it might be. As I did it seemed to be getting louder... Closer. The sense of dread turned quickly to fear and then panic. Somehow I knew it was looking for me, angry and evil with a desire to get rid of me. I could feel it. Without any more thought, I shot up from where I sat on an old tree stump, deciding that making a break for it would give me the best shot I would ever at making it out alive. Not bothering to collect even my flashlight, I headed back toward where I came, my feet sinking into the ground as I ran. The noise followed me and as I sprinted through the pitch-black trees I realized what the noise was. Footsteps. Running footsteps. The problem was, they weren't coming from just one direction anymore. They were coming from everywhere at once, becoming louder and I felt as though they were closing in quickly. The fear coursing through my body created a wave of adrenaline, allowing me to run for what felt like a very long time. As I stopped to catch my breath, I realized I was stepping on something. Looking down, I recognized it even in the empty, unforgiving darkness that enveloped me. Small cuts of neon orange rope piled beneath my feet. It was then I realized something didn't want me to leave... And whatever it was went out of its way to make sure I couldn't. With that thought as motive, I caught my second wind and made my way deeper into the woods as the sound of footsteps followed not too far behind me... *** I don't know how long it's been. I can tell it's been days but I can't be certain how many as it is always night here. I spend my time hiding and running, running and hiding. I can't be still too long, the trees are watching, I can feel them. They are evil and so is everything else in these woods. The scariest of them all is still looking for me, it has almost caught up with me too many times for comfort. I have to keep moving. When I am still and unprepared... That's when it comes...


Boom. A water tower falls in the middle of an empty strawberry field. Lonesome strawberries sit helplessly as the creaking and cracking wooden sphere falls to earth. Crunch. The strawberries are flooded and smashed by the dump of water, creating an almost jelly-like substance that slowly flows out from the wreck. Draining towards the running workers, the jelly creates a trail from where the bomb exploded. Splish-Splosh. Workers muddied boots rush through the sloshing soil. The farm hands were on break when the bomb went off; but, their break was cut off by the fallen timber. When they arrive at the site they notice the deep red jelly that has attached to their boots. Swoosh. An older farm hand, with signs of poor aging and substance abuse, slides his hand across his brown boots and catches some jelly on his middle finger. The dark red has covers his finger with it’s sticky substance, and slowly oozes down. His eyes study the contents, and he moves his finger up to his nose to examine the smell. Nothing. No scent evades his nostril. And so he opens his mouth and rubs his middle finger on his tongue. Slick. Jelly meshes with saliva, and through its chemical properties, the two bond together to form a heavy and dense foam. The old man struggles, for a few seconds, to breath and then falls to the ground clutching at his neck. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He is rolling in the dark red jelly as if his body is in full spasm. He is fully covered in the substance and he is dead. The foam spills out of his mouth and spirals into the jelly. Bddddd-Bdddddd. Far from this incident, on a perch overlooking the field, the ringing of a phone is going off. A man with binoculars is waiting for the other line to pick-up. Click. “Millybroke Car Wash, how may I help you?”, goes the other line. “The tower has fallen”, Says the man. “Yes, we do offer a deluxe wash. Thank you for calling, and have a nice day!” Click. The man looks again at the field and the oasis of red that has formed. Field hands are running amuck, and his job is done. The tower has fallen, and the strawberry field is not dry.  \[ I would love any feedback, or recommendations. I'm thinking this will be the intro to a feature film of some sort.. Would love any thoughts about anything considering this short story \] \[ I'm trying to figure out where to go from here. I think I've set up the first act pretty solidly as we are now hooked and need to figure out what is going on... I'm thinking that maybe I introduce a new character who will get thrown into all of this and have to figure everything out. Maybe the old man is a relative of his or something...


She thought she would never know love. Her young mind was complex and full of countless possibilities of her finding the one that gave her butterflies in her stomach. She moved from man to man as if it was a sales store with a 70% discount. Then, there was him. The moment  that she laid eyes on him, her heart felt heavy, a feeling she wasn't familiar with. She loved him before she even knew him. Little did she know how much pain and anguish that he was about to cause her. As a young child, she never experienced much affection or happiness. As they grew closer, her love for him grew bigger than she thought the heart can handle. This was only the beginning of the end. Throughout the confusing entanglement, she began to believe that love meant misery and pain. It was comforting to her in a way that was unexplainable. She embraced it like it was all she had- and she truly thought that it was. He fed on her insecurities but he was never full. He sucked the energy out of her as she grew closer and closer to giving up. Yet, it was never the end. There were three times where she would try to distance herself from him. Everyone around her tried to save her from years of sobbing late at night.  She would always take him back the second he fed his lies to her, his sweet but empty " I love you's" and " I'm sorry's". The poor girl wanted so desperately to escape this cycle - however, this carried on for years. She allowed him to take over her mind and body. She began to deprive herself of the nutrients she needed in order to feel beautiful to him. She sliced her wrist for every time his words and actions pierced through her heart like a thick needle. Even though she had no hope that she would ever move on from this, by the day she grew more and more disgusted of him and his ways. Her patience ran outwaiting for this person to love her back. Finally, she woke up one morning and gave up. The final strike was the realization that she wanted to grow with someone; she wanted to be fulfilled and full of life, instead of being deprived of the love she knew that was needed. But on his side, he never knew love either. He grew up with emptiness and pain, just like her. The both of them had much more in common than either of them knew. His mother never tucked him in at night- hell, she barely made it home before he fell asleep. His father was his best friend until one day, that was taken away from him. As a growing boy, he needed his dad. He needed support, someone to keep him on the right path. At 13, his father was deported and he was left with his mother. The boy craved attention as mom left every night to meet with one of her temporary distractions, as she downed bottles of liquor to feed her emptiness. Since he was never taught true love, he dumped his frustrations and pain on every woman he came across. Eventually, this wasn't enough to comfort him, so perfectly packed blunts and bottles of Bacardi became his new best friend. He destroyed the hearts of multiple young girls because he was fearful that he would be the only one around him that had their heart shattered into a billion pieces. Then, he met her. As they grew closer, his love for her grew- just as hers did for him; but years of built up sadness and sorrow took control of every thought and action towards her. The boy knew he was breaking her, but since he was convinced that he was already broken beyond repair, he pushed his love to the back of his heart and disguised it in the form of lies and carelessness. One day, she says goodbye for good. He feels every bit of emotion for her that he tried so hard to cover up, but he could never confess that. To him, love was for the weak. So instead, he continued to break himself apart. Both chose to move on in life, on different paths and with different intentions. She graduated high school, found a wonderful man who showed her every drop of affection that the boy hid. They got married and both had careers that were successful and enjoyable for them. He, on the other hand, had let his emptiness take over. He poured a cup for every time that he thought of her being with another man until it was not enough. So he began to dabble into other drugs, trying to forget. There was no hope or faith left inside of his bitter heart. After she ended it, he began to get with women ONLY if there was a huge psychical resemblance to her. But these women could never love him the way that she did. They would never wait on him as long as she waited. None of them could ever be her, they could only be an illusion of the one he loved. She was the only woman to carry a thousand pound weight on his heart. He grew older and older, and  nothing changed. The man landed a job at a construction site where he was fired two days later for being drunk on the job. Every now and then she would think of him and wonder what path he chose, what road he went down... Both of them grew old. The old man laid on the hospital bed feeling nothing but regret and guilt. If only she would come back to him ONE more time, he thought. Then maybe he could finally come to terms with the fact that love isn't for weak ones, it's made for the strongest of people. Tears formed at the crease of his eyes and poured down his tired, wrinkled face- eventually falling asleep. When he awoke, sitting in the corner was a woman around the same age as him. She had strands of grey hair in the way of her hazel eyes. She looked weak and frail, like she was about to break at any moment. It was her. She smiled, but he knew she was still the same girl she was before. Empty without him. She finally finds the courage to speak and in her soft, nurturing voice that he always had a soft spot for, she says," I forgive you, again." This was truly the end to their long life as he passed away the morning after. She sat by the hospital bed as she heard the flatline from the monitor. She gave him a kiss on the head, whispering softly, " You missed out because you were never ready to experience the genuine type of love, my dear."


A cliff of a ravine with shallow water Though void of decorations, such as paintings or family portraits, the white wall which Frank starred at was all the canvas necessary to compliment his inner world. He was motionless and expressionless, and one could only hope there was something happening behind those hopeless eyes – his chest occasionally stretching to signal air coming in and out was about the greatest indicator that he was, in fact, among the living. In his rented one room apartment, located on the second floor of a building not too far away but not quite in the center of Oslo, he was sitting on his bed, beside him a table with a lamp that was turned off, below which were a pen and paper, and there on the paper nothing was written. The bin next to the table was empty, the red stool by the table had a wet towel hanging over it. A school bag that was leaning to the bed was open, and in it were two thin books, a thick laptop and a thicker book, possibly a notebook. The room was indicative of scarcity, with its barren walls, no dining table, and the kitchen which was a part of the one room he inhabited, that included a sink with two hanging showcases above and an induction plate without oven. The bed had a single blanket, pillow without a pillowcase, a slightly not-in-place mat, and of course, Frank sitting and starring not quite at the window but the wall beside it. The kitchen surface had two empty clean glasses and a fork, as well as a dirty plate in the sink.

The tint of the outside light was slowly strengthening into red, and the angled sun began to get the better of Frank’s uninterrupted stare into the wall. He was far removed from reality to perform an extreme action, such as turn his head and body to the left or snap into consciousness and move away from bed into a more important duty of the day. On the contrary, he merged his eyelids and continued the stare. The view for him was still the same. There was really no change of scenery, as for the entire time he was not exactly looking anywhere, and there was nothing to see regardless of the backdrop. This stare is not of the type one may bring themselves into willingly, and it can be difficult to even conceptualize it, lest one is brought to the state that is its prerequisite.

While there can never be nothing that goes on, the thin fabric of the room’s atmosphere was a close authentic representation of what it may be perceivable as. It would be but natural to fall into a deep state of depression in such an environment, though it was not possible to deduce if it was the precise placement of things and empty spaces in the room that made Frank hopelessly melancholic, or the chain of events that led up until now, against which he was defenseless. The complexity of the matter may be the final nail in the coffin, the conundrum on top of a difficult-to-handle situation, that will entirely strip away his ability to feel ever again. The nothing which he now lives, it did not come from nothing, but it all mattered little, and it seemed to him that he had no willpower left to even consider the situation or attempt to deconstruct it. What is the point? He thought he did everything he could to eventually not be in this situation. But during the entire process of moving out from his parents, and pursing his independent life and career as a finance advisor, he dreaded this would come and vividly felt it in all the days leading up to it. He knew it would come, somewhere between the moment he was out of the door and laid a last proper look at his parents waving at him, and staring at the chemical compound which equates to white paint on the wall, that was visible only for a few moments before the void opened up and consumed all matter with it, leaving him to stare into nothingness.

It was useless for him to ruminate now, all that was left was precisely what was said. Certain as the situation was, and that beyond it was a fall over a canyon cliff below which was a shallow river, there was a grey dot located somewhere in the vast space of his inner universe. The grey square resembled little at first and he paid no attention to it. When inevitably glancing at it, it contained the imagery of all the steps and concrete action he took, all of which he was convinced were correct and done flawlessly. This was no solace, and the paintings of success he once painted, which were once able to orchestrate a parade of wonder and excitement, were now a white light behind a grey diffusion. The grey layer of diffusion, he figured, was the confusion with the failure, despite the perfection of accuracy in the steps taken. Those images now, hardly visible, were yet another burden dragging him down an endless pit. He wished time could stop, everything could stop and cease to continue existing. His desires only stretched to the vision of him dissolving into small matter and merging with the void. The void, however, was exclusively inside of him, and the fact that reality did not reciprocate it disappointed him even further. What is there even left to happen, that he can tolerate. Why cannot everything just cease to be? Where exactly is the end of all things? This stupid grey box was now a hindrance. Though pale the light of it as it was, it was becoming overwhelming to even glance at from the side. Frank refused to give in, he wished for no light, no more of anything. He wished for no change in the state of things, for even the light meant another change, a new thing, which will undoubtably be another hindrance in an already impossible state. He had no capacity to take anything new in, to even consider what the good in it might be. There would be too little good in it to weight him out of the gloom. No matter how it may look like, the new light is yet another occurrence to be disappointed by and a chance to be taken aback. No good was ever good enough, at least not in the amount he felt it needed to be. There was nothing now that could spring him back onto the surface, for he felt he was on the absolute bottom of all things. In the way it was, there was no space to ricochet from, there was no ground to build momentum on, there was no force to push with. The light from the grey box, however, was stubbornly persistent and began to increase. At first it was as if someone slightly opened curtains of a small window far up into the unreachable attic, visible as a dot from the basement in the house that had no floors. It then became a door left ajar, and soon after wide opened. There now was no roof, and it was all light. It began to be uncomfortable with closed eyes for Frank, but he refused to give in. The more it persisted the less he wanted to question it. Long gone are spiritual connotation he would put into things happening to him. The trials and tribulations of life that once were, were now occurances and him not refusing to open up to them in any way coated with meaning. The light building up inside his inner cave was no more than some bodily reaction, which satisfying as it was as an explanation, still left him in discomfort. It began to frighten him, mostly due to the confusion over the physiological phenomena. Determined not to give it its attention, he squinted harder his eyes, and his left eye began to water. He sensed this, to his own surprise, and began to dread that he might start producing more tears. The only thing worse than his abysmal state is feeling sadness for it. He refused once more to muster up and look for any capacity he might have for anything happening, in this case crying. He was now involuntarily annoyed. Then he was annoyed that he was annoyed. Then he was confused as to what was even happening inside of him, and he felt aggression piling up.

But there was simply nothing coming up, he thought. Nothing in life worth caring for. All of his investments that were meant to ease his life, make him more stable and put him into a favorable position have failed. And that was all there is to life, as he sacrificed everything else for that. Everything was put in place, there was just no fruit to be picked. It was the dry, barren season, and he had no means to attempt cultivation next year, he was going to starve by then. There was only this prison of a room, and the eye piercing light that populated all of his retina as soon as he closes his eyelids. He was tired of everything, and was still, despite the irritation and disappointment, unable to act out on his frustration. With his back he was now leaning against the wall he previously stared at, his arms loose and lifeless, legs stretching straight forward. He took a glance at his room and found no good reason to entertain reality again. He closed his eyes once more, but the light gave him no chance at continuing the stare from before. Reality will have its way it seems, though Frank was reluctant, and unable to see what is there to do. With little willpower that he had he decided to concisely do nothing, he refused to engage the idea that something greater was happening.

Now back at nowhere, through his head ran an onslaught of images, each pressing and making him feel heavy. They all were of vague scenery he was a witness to during the moments of greatest disappointments. His first breakup soon after moving out and subsequent inability to ever find someone else, his bank account having less and less digits as months went by, the first snow that came about a month early and made a mess of the traffic, and all the ugly faces that uttered words of rejection when applying to big firms, making him think he was not only foolish, but insane for even considering. When strung together, these thoughts gave an image of a wimp, and a man who might have overcalculated the estimate of his talents and abilities to make it in the world. He was blank for a moment more, and then closed his eyes. Embracing the unbearable light, too tired to swiftly react, he thought he saw something. He then opened his eyes and was certain that he saw the contours of a face in the light. It was his father, stern but not angry. The immediate association with the face was a recent email he received from the local Kiwi supermarket, where he was rejected due to there being more qualified applicants. Both sparked a similar reaction within him, and a feeling of a lack of self-worth. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Both of his eyes gave sings of starting to tear up, but he was able to deter the heaviness away. He merely puffed. To be rejected by a supermarket due to lack of qualification was a mighty blow he thought, though he was unsure about the degree it hurt him. In the nothingness of his soul, he felt that heaviness was akin of having shape, and therefore also occupying space. The vast space was still absolutely nothing, but he began to be a tangible reality in it. A notion of spite was shooting as if in a fast projectile, he dodged. Spite was too high of a state, and there was no good reason to be spiteful. It will lead into more action, and that action will lead into more disappointment. Not as if his father did not have fair judgement when he repeatedly suggested that he should join him in being a carpenter. But he tried to do the job himself and could never seem to do it properly, nor find enough motivation to master the craft. He was rather interested in the wages of all the workers, potential workarounds to more efficiently complete the project, the quality of material and that it should suffer the least when deciding the budget of a project. His greatest struggle was perhaps that there seems to be no world where he can actualize his affinities, where he can be useful with them, despite his grandest strives. And when he attempts to be useful elsewhere, though not wholeheartedly but still honestly, he is rejected and there is seldom space available.

There seemed to be no use in being eloquent and articulate, or even educated and well-versed in your craft, if that cannot be exploited to fuel the endless appetite of the consumers. In a way, the less you strive to be remarkable, noteworthy and more you curb your desire for autonomy, the further you will be slingshot into prosperity. That at least applies for the majority, to the class of workers, who have to build their wealth every month anew, and should they dare to take a break, they might as well end their life immediately. It was this exact thinking that made Frank stare numbingly into the wall, and that made him conclude long ago that thinking might just be the number one cause of all problems in the contemporary order of society. This time he was somehow overwhelmed and unable to resist. He was always aware of this reality, but he should never have allowed himself the luxury to ruminate in it. He was now in mud, all of the factors surrounding him indicated that he has failed as a human, and that it is late to go either way. How is there no force in the world on his side? He had a thought to end it all, though in this state he was numb to that idea also. He was numb to all sorts of suggestions that came and went by. That he should check his email to see if the last bigshot company has given a response, or to check the physical mail to see if the passport he ordered and took a portrait for seven days ago came. None of these invitations to perform an action were attractive enough, and he closed his eyelids, only to be reject by the inner radiation of non-existent light. Another puff of air left his mouth, and then an old image came. It was a long time before it last crossed his mind, though there was a period when it refused to leave – similar to the continuous light at the moment. It was the vivid memory of his mother waving at him, eyes filled with tears, smile spread across her face, from one end of the cheek to the other. He was now sure, that is the white spot, which now shone across the entire universe. It was only her that cared for what he wished to bring to the world. To her it was never about what the world might expect from him, but what he can aid the world with in the most profound way. He now remembered that it was precisely this vision that has kept him through thick and thin of his independent life. He wished more than anything to visit her, if briefly. It was now a grand fight between this new noble aspiration, and the quicksand in the soul.

For a while after moving out, this image was burnt in his head. It kept him in motion when he wanted to move the least, it was his sudden burst of energy a marathon runner feels when pushing beyond his limits just before the line. It then began to fade, as all images in life do as time marches on, and they climb up and down into relevancy in the ever-oscillating line through which thoughts swim. Crucial thoughts in their trajectory, even those that motivate, are not linear and it might have not been the cleverest idea to allow this important one to disappear for too long. He felt slightly silly about the whole thing. He was sure when he meets his mother, she will embrace him with the support unlike the rest of the world could ever give him. But then there was his father, the constant counter to all the positivity radiating from the mother. And maybe he is the one in the right, and his mother was foolish, baselessly optimistic and superficially kind. A thought of his mother being disappointed in him crept its way into his heart, he did not know what to do with it. It was entirely plausible that she too expected more of him, or more so of his situation. But so did he, and if anyone was to understand him, it will be her, maybe to a degree higher than he could understand himself. It may have not solved all his problems, but the memory of his mother made him stand up, and that was revolutionary. He will only need to open his email to find his acceptance letter, and pick up the mail to take his passport, but he is unaware of that – and it mattered little. He longed for her face, and for the warmth of her living room for which she was exclusively responsible. He will tolerate his father, that is the most he can do for him.


People, it turned out, had gotten God backwards. You learn this when you’re out walking your dog one evening. Your dog is an awesome dog. He’s been your buddy since you were a little kid, seeing you through good times and bad. You love him very much. You watch him sniff at a clump of leaves floating in a puddle for a while as you think of this. Then, you hear something high up in the air, like a plane but louder. A lot louder. You realize that it’s trumpets. Before you can even wonder why you’re hearing trumpets all of the sudden, a bright light fills the sky, turning night to day. Finally, the clouds part, revealing a giant dog in the sky with a brilliant halo between its floppy years. You drop your dog’s leash, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He’s just as stunned as you. The giant dog, accompanied by a chorus of winged dogs singing the most beautiful notes you’ve ever heard, gives a single bark. It echoes through the entire Earth, and you feel it practically in your bones. And then your own dog is singing along with the celestial pack, actually and genuinely singing! The most you’ve ever gotten your dog to do is stay for a few seconds, but there he is now, singing in a language you don’t understand but seems to be mostly howls and whines in a gorgeous arrangement. The song ends and your dog bows to the sky dog. And now he starts flowing in the air. You try to catch him and bring him back down, but he keeps slipping from your grasp, getting ever and ever higher. You grab onto his leash and feel yourself being pulled up. but then the collar gently loosens and slips from your dog’s neck. You fall roughly to the ground as he floats up and up and up into the sky, which you now realize is full of other dogs. There have to be thousands–no, millions–making their way to the giant sky dog. The sky is alive with yips, yaps, woofs, barks and howls. All you can do is look up and watch the dogs pass, one by one, through a shining gate and dissolve into golden light. You spend several hours doing this, never once getting used to the sight. When the final dog passes through, the trumpets give one last report and fade. The giant dog withdraws back into the clouds. Just as suddenly as it began, it’s over. The following day it was reported that all dogs everywhere in the world have disappeared, floating up into what one can only presume is doggy heaven. Meanwhile, all the humans stayed, well, right where they were. Absolutely nothing happened to them at all. Everyone in the world was left to ponder questions that will never have any answers, at least not for them. Time passes. Humans, while sad, get used to a life without dogs. And then, one evening, the sky opens up once more, and a great white cat appears in the sky.


The era of living gods and sorcerers had ended, leaving humanity to endure within the hollow vestiges of a bygone, golden age. Mankind was no longer a unified empire as it once was, instead existing in the shattered remnants of outposts and strongholds belonging to a time passed. The small village of Sordes had forgotten the old world, its shabby buildings and grimey streets were draped in the low hanging, greasy smoke of wood fire. Its populace was simple and ignorant, unaware of the greater affairs of the world and history beyond them. Generations of isolated inbreeding had made their appearances foul and misshapen, yet on the outskirts of the village, two residents were wholly different from the rest. An old sage and his adoptive acolyte lived there, the sage knew things of the world, crafts that others had forgotten. It was by his hand, miracles to the eyes of the Sordes villagers, were performed; mending bone with nothing but plaster and strips of cloth, predicting the fortunes of weather by looking at nothing but the nighttime sky, cleansing wounds with the captured vapors of boiled mead. It seemed that an ichor of vast wisdom and knowledge flowed through the mind of the old man. Through this, his acolyte studiously learned and observed the devices and crafts of his master. He saw the power that these crafts held. After years of the acolyte’s observation, the old sage sat him down, and spoke, “I knew that one day you would take my mantle, and carry on the work that I have done. But it seems that that time may arrive far sooner than either of us could have anticipated.” The acolyte’s inquisitive stare turned desolate, “What do you mean master? Is something wrong?” “A cancer has taken me, and I am afraid there is nothing to be done. This ailment is far beyond my skill to heal.” “Is there someone that could help? Somewhere that I could go? I do not want to see you die master.” “Death is life, child. It is the natural order of things, and it comes to all of us. There are those that could aid me, but they would not provide it.” “Why? Who would refuse to help you? What have you done wrong?” “I’ve done no wrong, but while I have used my knowledge to aid others, and have chosen to pass it on so that it may endure, there are others who do not feel the same. They chose to hoard what they know, for what they know holds power.” “The power to heal you. These men must be convinced. I must seek them out, so that I may bring back their medicines for you.” “A hopeless endeavor. They will not be swayed by you. Please, just stay here, with me. I do not know how much time I have left, but I know the disease has progressed far. I was not ready to tell you, and you may have not been ready to know.” “Ready to know? You should have told me as soon as you knew yourself. We could have had more time. Where are these men? I will find them, I will convince them.” The sage gave a grim chuckle, “Very well, I’ll tell you.” So the acolyte set out, traveling across lands further than he ever had before, crossing verdant valleys, and tumultuous rivers. The journey was several days. Finally, he arrived to the great ivory tower that he sought, its high reaching pinnacle looking as a skeletal finger groping a claw towards the sky. Foul vespid fumes wafted in the air, billowing out a fetid sulfurous reek from the sides of the tower. The acolyte pushed open the door, and old men in robes sat, arranged in a high circle above their visitor; sooty, grease filled beards draping down their tattered, filthy robes. The one in the middle sat up, straightened himself, and croaked in a gravelly, spite filled tone, “Who are you and what business do you have here?” “Please, my master, he is very sick. A cancer has taken him. I was told that you may help.” “Help? We have more important business than attending to the affairs of a diseased peasant and his boy-slave. Leave us catamite, or we may cast thunder and lightnings down upon you.” “Impossible. My master taught me how thunderstorms worked. Of electrical charges in the clouds and earth, you cannot summon such things from nothing.” The haggard old man gave a wry smile, “So, I see you aren’t of the usual superstitious lot. All the others fear us, they see our sciences and call us wizards, they see our wisdom and perceive their gods of legend, their gods of the old world. If you know such things, then heal your cancerous, cankerous master yourself.” The oiled words continued to pour from his oily lips, his sardonic grin never fading, “We have greater things to attend to than the tribulations of the barely educated peasant. You may know some, but we know all.” “Please, you must help. Without you he will die.” “Then let him die. The old world was filled with knowledge for nothing, yet no one used it, no one appreciated it, they wasted their time with frivolities and primitive pleasure. The masses are incurious, and would prefer to stay ignorant. Even when surrounded by technological wonders they never bothered to learn them, how the things that affected their lives so greatly even remotely worked. This is the new world. Wisdom holds power, the power to control a populace, the power to bend the world to your whims in ways that would otherwise be impossible. We are comparative gods, the populace must be held as newborn children. Weak, and knowing nothing of the world. Only loving the soft, milk filled teat that feeds them. We give enough to others so that they bend to us, yet are still mystified and fearful.” “This is wrong, this is selfish. Please, please do something.” The acolyte pleased, tears rolling down his tired cheeks. “Enough of this. You may know some, but we know all. We are still gods, even to you.” And with that, the old man reached a gnarled hand into his ragged robe, and pulled forth a metal device, a hollow tube with a small drum in the middle, and a handle his squalid fingers rested on. He pointed the hollow end towards the acolyte, “I told you we would summon thunder and lightnings.” A thunderous crack snapped, its reverberations roaring throughout the hall. The acolyte looked down, and a gushing wound had punctured in his stomach. He hunched forward and pressed his hand to the oozing fissure, and shuffled as quickly as he could out the door. The acolyte’s failure rested heavily on his shoulders, made greater by the burden of his mortal wound. He traveled back the way he came, the days stretching into agony. When he finally arrived to his village of Sordes he was met with hushed whispers. “Where is the sage? I need him now.” A bent woman turned to him, her lopsided face and malformed skull difficult to ascertain an expression from, “The sorcerer is dead. A curse took him, he is buried on the far side of the village near the wood so that his spirit may not haunt us.” The acolyte staggered across the village to the grave of his master, his ragged breath growing increasingly more laborious. When he finally saw the freshly dug soil, unmarked by any stone or cenotaph, he collapsed. His coughing and sputtering breath gasped for air, and with a final whisper said, “I’m sorry.


There I was standing, in a pool of blood. Not my blood, not a loved one’s spinal fluid, not an enemy's tears. Rather an old friend’s blood. The dark red, thick, and vital substance spilling out of her back like a waterfall. Didn’t know I could see one’s life escaping someone’s body in such a clear and precise way, I always thought I’d have to see the soul leave, the eyes close, or the smile fade. But that doesn’t appear to be the case, all I had to see to know they were gone, was the blood spilling out of their lifeless body. I texted back saying the job was done, and later saw the money deposited. *Why’d I have to kill my closest friend for money?* I’d say to myself. But quickly replied with: *Eh, you’ll find friends easily, but money like this? Not in a lifetime.* This didn’t seem right, my gut told me so. But could one say this was for the greater good? Could her life possibly be worth this much money? I didn’t like this thought, but the possibility of it being true was still there nonetheless. I drove home, only thinking of her. The closest friend I’ve ever had. She was the only thing keeping me going in my life. She’d comfort me when I needed it, she’d smile when I did, she’d cry when I did. She has done so much for me and so much with me. But unfortunately I cannot go back. The only thing I can enjoy now is the outstanding price that she was labeled with. I needed to call someone to talk about this, but I had no one. *Friends come and go, but now you’re set for life.* This thought kept reassuring me everytime she came to mind, but I kept fighting it. I sat in my bed, only processing what had just happened. *Why would anyone want her dead? She was the sweetest thing.* Tears began to build up, smearing the light entering my eyes, and finally spilled out like the blood of my dead friend. I can almost feel as if the same blood leaving her body was leaving my eyes. I stayed in bed for the entire next day, until I finally got up at around midnight. I walked to a sink in my bathroom and washed my face. After wiping, I stared into my mirror. Something was off, it wasn’t my red face covered in tears, not the dread that was showing, it wasn’t even a visual thing. It was my thoughts. They began to change, no longer were my thoughts my own. Everything I was thinking before wasn’t entering my mind, it was something else. *You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.* I was sitting in bed after I washed my face, dividing my attention on my old friend and what I just heard in my head. My thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t keep up. *I just need to go for a walk to clear my head.* I walked out of my apartment and strolled onto the streets. I kept walking until I came up to a bench in an empty park. I sat down on the cold metal chair staring into the darkness of the tree covered landscape to take a break. After staring and thinking for around an hour, I finally got sick of looking at the same place and got up to go home. But as soon as I stood up I spotted an illuminated shape in the distance, colored yellow. I couldn’t make out the shape exactly. But eventually the shape started nearing, getting closer. As it neared I made out that it appeared to be a pair of eyes. I didn’t know whether or not to run. *Could it be a wild animal?* I however, stood there staring at the shape out of meer curiosity. At this point the thoughts from earlier began to repeat in my head, this time a little louder. *You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.* It was quiet at first, but it started getting louder as the mysterious pair of eyes neared. I started to notice a general body shape, it was skinny and skeleton like. *You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.* I heard it now, I could hear the loud footsteps. But I couldn’t even run, I was so paralyzed with fear that running didn’t appear to be an option now. *You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.* As it got behind tree directly in front of me it got out; the light from the nearby streat illuminated it. It wasn’t like anything I could’ve imagined it to be. It was a monster. A humanoid skeleton double my height, it had the skull of a goat, blood covered the head, the arms ran all the way to the ground, the toes and fingers were a foot long each, branches ran out of its neck, vines covered the body, and the yellow eyes were unbelievably bright. Now that my curiosity was satisfied enough I tried to run. I only ran for a few seconds. The footsteps neared faster than I could’ve expected. It grabbed me by the head and pulled me up to head level. The long fingers cradled my head with an unbelievably strong grip. Looking at the ground the monster said, “*You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.”* I yelled out, “I don’t understand, what are you?!” “Look into my eyes and you will see” Its head turned to face me but I closed my eyes; I didn’t want to look into its eyes, but the grip got stronger the longer I waited. It started hurting now. I finally opened my eyelids, and stared into its eyes. I didn’t see eyes anymore, I saw Hell. I saw the pure embodiment of suffering and pain, I saw blood spilling instead of tears out of countless weeping souls, I heard dreadful screaming and crying, I saw no hope or happiness, I heard no laughter or joy. As I looked away the monster told me, “This world is running out of room for pathetic souls likewise to yourself. Balance must be restored to this world, and justice must be reigned on those who plague this world with darkness.” The creature’s other hand grabbed me by the torso, with the other on my head. It pulled on both sides. My neck seared with pain until my vision clouded with darkness. I woke up in my bed. My heart pounding, my neck hurting, and my vision blurry. *What a horrible dream. I can’t stay in bed after something like that.* I got up to just process what I just dreamed of. I sat in front of my mirror again, too afraid to look at it again. But I finally built up the nerves to look into it. As soon as I saw myself my thought repeated. *You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.* It shocked me deeply at first, but I was reassured with *Damn, that dream was a little too immersive. I need something to take my mind off all this.* I went back to my bed, and turned on my tv. The news was on. I sat there watching for a while trying to take my mind off that dream. A story came up talking about a woman the same age as my friend being murdered. My heart sank with fear and disbelief *This can’t be true, this has to be a coincidence.* They identified the victim, and it was my friend. *No, no, this can’t be my doing.* I checked my bank account via my phone and found the exact money sitting in my account. I sat there for a long time, bewildered. *I can’t believe it, I really murdered her. This can’t be happening, she really is gone. But what was that so-called dream last night? It couldn’t have been real, there’s no way.* I sat there with tears in my eyes and my thoughts racing until I drifted off to sleep. The air in the room got cold, I woke up and looked to the window to my right and saw that it was open. I didn’t remember leaving it open, but I got up to close it. As I started to get out of bed I saw the same creature on the ceiling. It was in a spider-like position staring at me. In its eyes I saw the same horrible things as before. It jumped down on top of me and grabbed my neck again and twisted until darkness came again. I woke up again. *This inception stuff is getting on my nerves, I have to get to sleep. I will figure out all of this tomorrow but I need rest.* I could barely sleep, but I eventually drifted off. I started dreaming, but the only thing I could dream about was the dark place I was presented by the monster. I felt as if I was there. But the longer I dreamed of it, the more clear the thought of my murdered friend got. Numerous weeping souls were next to a red river. I now couldn’t stop thinking of her, and began to cry along with the rest of the others. The river in front of me began to darken along with the blood tears leaving my eyes and entering the water. I woke up again, I quickly looked around and saw nothing. It was morning at long last. I got up out of bed, I remember being clearly awake last night, and I knew my friend was gone forever. It was all my fault as well. And for what? Some stupid cash? She isn’t worth any amount that could’ve been put on her. If only I was aware of that before I killed her. I got dressed and walked to my door to leave the room for a while, I needed to slow down my thoughts on more time. I walked along the same path as last night. When I got to the bench, I walked back home. I couldn’t bear to look at the bench. I was still traumatized from last night. I walked back home. I was back at my room. I got in my bed to do my daily crying over the whole event. When I finished, I got out of my bed. When I got out of my bed, I saw the monster right in front of me. *No, no, no, it’s real? This can’t be real, let this be another dream please.* It tried to grab me, but I ran out of the door in a heartbeat. I got out and ran through the city. I found a building and ran inside, I didn’t even care where I was, I needed to get away from this thing. I found a bathroom and locked myself inside it. I stood there for a long time. I sat there for an hour, whimpering. Eventually she came to mind again, guilt filled my body, the fear of death was no longer prevalent. But then suddenly an arm busted straight through the wall. It was the monster’s arm. Its arm grabbed me by the neck. It pulled me into the wall and then everything got black. I awoke again. My eyes were filled with tears, I wiped my eyes and looked around. It was the same bathroom. Except there were no holes in the wall where the hand should’ve been, only my tears all over the floor. I got up, and got out of the stall. Someone right outside the stall. He asked me if I was okay, I replied that I didn’t know. I walked away from him and outside of the room. I was in a small restaurant. I got out of the building and took the route to where I think my apartment was. *This is all my fault, I killed the only person who ever understood me. I can’t keep living with this injustice. I need to fix this.* When I got home, I reached into my gun safe grabbing a revolver, searing with rage. I went into the garage, got inside my car and drove. I knew exactly where my client lived. He is the one who paid me to kill her. After driving for only a few minutes, I got to a house. The door was locked, but there was another way in, through the windows. I grabbed a nearby rock and threw it at a window, it broke and I entered the house. A startled and familiar man ran down the stairs and found me there. Without hesitating for a second I shot him in the chest. His body fell to the floor, I walked up to him and shot him repeatedly while chanting, “You will pay for your crimes, you will pay for your betrayal, you will pay for your doings, your blood will color the rivers of hell to a deeper shade of red, your skeleton will be crucified on the ceiling of the underground, and your soul will be eternally damned to endure the suffering of your selfish deeds.” The gun finally ran out of bullets, so I punched his corpse until my hands bled. I finally stopped and cried on the floor. I couldn’t keep living with what I did, I needed to do something to make this right, killing the client was only part of what I needed to do. I ran into his kitchen and found a knife. As I stared at the knife I cried more, sobbing continuously for the longest 20 minutes of my life. She could never get out of my mind. *I have to do this, it’s the only way to make things right.* She never left my mind in the duration of that time, until I finally lifted the blade. I got it into position, the blade of the knife shining in the light. I waited a bit comprehending what I was about to do. But I had to do it. I swung the knife towards me and stabbed myself in the stomach. The pain was immense, but eventually faded along with my senses.


Lia da Silva, dread pirate and captain of the ship Calypso’s Revenge , was in a bad mood. She was the scourge of the Seven Seas, feared by all on the grounds of being a merciless cutthroat, as clever as she was brave, and mistress of evading capture even in the tightest spots, and yet she simply could not shake the feeling that the whole world was laughing at her and her utter failure to complete her most recent quest. She toyed absently with one of the daggers that pinned a scroll to her captain's table and could almost hear her governess' disparaging tones in her ears. Emilia remove those steak knives at once! What on earth do you think you are doing with dangerous weapons in the classroom?! Give them to me this instant! She sighed and rolled her eyes, but pulled the daggers free and watched the scroll spring back into shape. It had consumed her attention for some time; it was old and ragged, had suspicious stains on it that she supposed were the blood of a previous owner who had died in a vain attempt to protect it, it was covered with the illegible spidery scribblings of the semi-literate sailors who had tried to unravel its mysteries before her, it was, in short, the real deal but she, Captain Lia, could not make head nor tail of it. It had been weeks, and she had pored over it day and night, turned it this way and that, held it up to a full moon, examined every inch with her eyeglass, even held it over a candle flame in the hopes that a hidden message might appear but nothing had worked except that she had singed a corner, and now she was angry. The scroll held all the answers she needed. It was a map to the Arcanum, a treasure so ancient that its origins were lost in the mists of time and she desperately needed to get her hands on it. Captain Lia raised her head. She sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a tightening of the sky. A storm was coming, she could feel it in the very marrow of her pirate bones. She could just imagine her governess telling her to pay attention or so help me your father will hear about this young lady. She tucked the scroll inside her captain’s jacket and, bracing herself against the rock and sway of the ship, made her way into the passageway outside. She could hear the sounds of the gulls’ mocking cries in the wind. Batten down the hatches, she thought to herself; looks like we’re in for the long haul on this one. - The storm turned out to be more of a passing squall and after the howling of the wind had subsided and the ship had stopped rolling and bucking on the swell, Captain Lia climbed to the crow's nest and sat gazing out across a now becalmed sea. She twisted the ring on her finger absently and wondered why it hadn’t retained its powers of invisibility. It was still one of the most priceless treasures that she owned, and she and First Mate Lily had come upon it entirely by accident hidden in a sea shell when they happened to be taking a stroll on the beach of a desert island where they had landed once.

First Mate Lily. Captain Lia sighed and took out the scroll once more. Not so long ago they had been Lia and Lily, Captain and First Mate of the Calypso’s Revenge , with more crew members than they could tell to scrub the decks or climb the rigging and now...here she was, alone in the crow’s nest with an indecipherable map, no crew, and worst of all, a kidnapped first mate. - It had been a calm night, they had enjoyed a profitable day of pillaging and had retired to their separate quarters. Lia had fallen asleep almost instantly and slept soundly until the morning when she had been awoken by a sad-eyed crew member who told her that Lily had been spirited away in the dead of night. From bits and pieces of stories that she could gather, it had been some sort of sea demon whose eyes had flashed blue and whose unearthly wails had torn through the night sky. She had heard nothing. Over the following days, she had gleaned further information; the sea demon had taken First Mate Lily to its lair and was holding her captive there, where she was still fighting bravely but was very weak, her life hanging in the balance. And then Lia knew what she had to do. She dug out the scroll from an old sea chest. It had been something that she and the first mate had discussed pursuing a few times but always settled on other adventures due to the difficult nature of solving the mysteries of the scroll and the fact that although the Arcanum was the most powerful known restorative in the history of mankind, neither of them had any wounds that needed healing, nor diseases that needed curing. Now she wished that they had done it together whilst there had still been time. Nevertheless, buoyed by the knowledge that she had the key to saving her first mate, she had taken the scroll to the rest of the crew and announced that they would be embarking on a new adventure which would culminate in the brave and daring rescue of First Mate Lily from the lair of the sea demon. The crew had been enthusiastic, although some of them had exchanged strange looks, and they had set about deciphering the map. When it seemed that the adventure was more of a quest there were grumblings, and as the days turned into weeks and the crew’s pleas for a different adventure went unheard, they began to drift away from the Calypso’s Revenge and her captain who barely even seemed to notice them any more. Isolated on her ship with only the ship’s boy and the ship’s cat for company, Captain Lia withdrew into herself and redoubled her efforts to discover the Arcanum. - “Lia? I mean...Captain da Silva? Permission to come aboard? Darling, I know it’s been difficult for you not being able to see Lily, but you understand why don’t you? Yes, well she’s doing a little better and we can go and visit her this afternoon if you’d like to. Sweetheart, it might be hard, she’s very weak but I think it might help you to understand what’s happening. Your teacher agrees with me. Go and get ready, we’ll leave in a minute.” Finally some small measure of success! She would visit the lair of the sea demon and rescue her first mate. Once she had Lily back on the safety of Calypso’s Revenge , she could find the Arcanum and heal her. She would set sail immediately. - Captain Lia, having safely anchored Calypso’s Revenge now stood looking up at the vast cliff face before her. She could hear the distant shrieks of the sea demon and she drew her cutlass in readiness. “Lia, no. You’re not taking that in there, leave it in the car please.” No weapons then. Captain Lia squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and started for the mouth of the cave at the base of the cliff. As she entered she was struck by a strange smell, unnatural and unpleasant and a shiver ran down her spine. Setting off, she found that the cave led into a labyrinth of passageways and tunnels and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to find her way out again once she had rescued Lily. Fearless, merciless cutthroat pirate, she thought to herself and tried to remember the turns she was taking.

“Sweetheart this is it, we’re nearly there. Remember, she’s very sick and you need to be quiet for her, ok? Be brave Lia, she’s going to look a little different from when you last saw her.” Eventually, she came out into another cave, small and dark, and laying there in the gloom was First Mate Lily. She seemed to be tied down. Dark circles stood out like bruises around her eyes, her hair had been shorn close to her head so that her scalp shone dimly in the phosphorescence and her breathing was ragged and shallow. Of the terrible sea demon, there was no sign. Captain Lia twisted the ring on her finger and suddenly wished for invisibility or it just to whisk her away back to the safety of Calypso’s Revenge. All at once, her bravery fled from her body and she slid to the floor of the hospital corridor. Somewhere beyond her, she heard the strange beeps from the machines that moored her sister to life and wished with all her heart that the Arcanum might somehow turn out to be real so that she could make Lily better and they could once again sail the high seas together.

A pair of strong arms picked her up, and dread pirate Captain Lia sobbed helplessly into her father’s chest.