A thud. The mattress wobbles. “Hey. Marry me.” Anoushka groans, and burrows further into the pillow. ______________________________________________________ Some unknowable number of hours later, Anoushka is finally feeling once more capable of being alive, though not without some bitterness. She finds Jade in the kitchen, sat cross-legged on a chair and hunched over a book. She looks up as Anoushka comes in, smiles at her, soft and warm. “Merry Almost Christmas.” “Back at ya.” She pauses on her way to the kettle, hand coming to rest on the back of her chair as she leans over to kiss her on the cheek. Her mug is already on the counter, she notices, next to the coffee that’s also been left out. She tips out some powder, forgoing the spoon, and then hops up onto the worktop to wait for the water to boil. Jade straightens slightly in her seat, eyes scanning words with marked intent. She finishes up her chapter and sets her book on the table, page marked with an old grocery receipt. The kettle finishes boiling. Anoushka finishes making her coffee. She holds the mug in both hands - the steam warms her face, just the right side of too hot. She looks at Jade. “So. Lunch at Anna’s today, right?” Receiving a confirming nod, she continues. “Presents?” “Still under our tree. We should pile them up before we get ready to go.” “Is Kiran’s -” “Yep. Wrapped it while you were asleep.” Anoushka sighs. “Thanks.” She takes her first sip. Jade shrugs. “No big deal. Nothing else to do anyway, and you were asleep a very long time.” “Awww,” she coos, dropping off her perch. “Missed my sparkling personality, huh?” Her tone is light and teasing, but she moves across the kitchen to drape an arm around Jade’s shoulders in something half-hug, half-apology.

Jade leans into the touch, looks up at her. She sighs, though her tone doesn’t quite manage to hit the faux-exasperation Anoushka’s sure she was aiming for. “I am going to ask Santa to bring you so much coal.” They walk into the living room together, debating the various merits of being gifted coal. Anoushka, being over half a foot shorter than Jade, had dropped her arm at some point out of necessity, so it now rests loosely about Jade’s waist. Jade has her elbow at Anoushka’s shoulder and is leaning heavily onto it, shifting her weight over almost on instinct. The joint digs into her flesh. The tree stands in one corner, a garish, foil affair, loud and gaudy and balanced precariously atop an old cat scratching post that one or the other had appropriated from someone or the other many years ago. Lights smother the structure as if doing so could suffocate the spirit of Christmas itself - Anoushka has been buying a new string of LEDs every year for almost a decade now, and these days their makeshift tree more closely resembles a military dazzler, best only viewed out of the corner of the eye. Every colour found under the sun is present, and, as Jade likes to posit, likely a fair few that aren’t as well. A half metre above the tree, a small bookshelf has been temporarily cleared to make space for cards, while presents lie at the base of the post, scattered without consideration. Anoushka studies the pile, appraising. “We’ve been living together too long. People don’t bother giving us separate gifts anymore.” Jade evidently doesn’t think this observation worth a verbal response, but she presses her elbow a little heavier into her shoulder, deliberately, and Anoushka laughs. They sit down, legs crossed and angled just slightly towards each other. Anoushka begins rifling through packages, checking labels against a mental list of people she’s expecting to find at Anna’s annual pre-Christmas lunch. “Do we open one tonight?” She looks sideways after a moment, when she doesn’t get a response.

Jade looks, not quite present. Not completely lost in thought, but certainly straying. She reaches out and nudges her knee. “Hey.” Jade blinks, twice, then looks up at her. Nods. “Uh, yeah. Same old.” Anoushka waits a beat, and then when it’s clear that Jade isn’t going to add anything else,

goes back to stacking presents. “Pick something out then, I guess.” “You should, um, do mine. If, you know, you don’t mind.” She still seems vaguely preoccupied. She also still seems uninclined to elaborate, so again Anoushka lets it lie. “Sure,” she says, tugging out a long flat package, and nearly toppling the tree in the process. “Not that I seem to have many other options here,” she mutters, voice overdark, and she’s rewarded with a small smile.

They pass the next half hour like that, side by side, laughing and trading quips and just enjoying each other’s company, as they sit relaxed in the rare stillness of an unrushed morning. But all things must end, and eventually the outside world comes creeping in in the form of an alarm Jade had set last night in anticipation of this very event. “We should get moving.” Anoushka groans, but time very rudely does not heed her wordless request to cease moving, so she pushes herself up to kneeling and does a final run through the gifts they’re taking. “Oh, I forgot to give Kiran a card.” “On it,” she answers, standing up and heading into the kitchen to dig one out. “Although, really I should be making you do this. He’s your friend.”

“You’re my hero,” she hears called after her, and smiles despite herself. “Get rid of some of your friends,” she shouts back. “No can do, they’re common property now.” “Ah.” She thinks for a moment. “Guess there’s nothing else for it, we’ll have to split.” She hears a slightly choked sound from the other room, a stifled grunt of pain, and hurries back, worried and equally worried about betraying that fact. “I get Anna in the divorce though.” She rounds the corner of the door and stops, surveying. Jade has stopped moving, but nothing else seems out of place, and she doesn’t look like she’s in pain. She’s on one knee by the tree, right hand pressed into the carpet for balance, and Anoushka feels the corner of her mouth lift as she leans against the doorframe, expectant. Jade looks up at her. She raises an eyebrow. “Divorcing me before I even got a chance to ask? That’s cold.” Anoushka bites the inside of her cheek and breathes, trying to keep a straight face. “That the best you’ve got?” Jade grins. She reaches for her ponytail and tugs it loose, holds out the newly liberated hair band between both thumbs and middle fingers, proffered like a ring. Anoushka brings a hand up to her mouth to stifle her laughter, hoping the mimicry of joyous shock is obvious. “Anu, darling. Light of my life, brighter than even a thousand LED bulbs, a comparison I do feel qualified to make based on my own personal experiences.” Here she nods over at their tree. Anoushka tightens her grip on her face. Jade ignores her. “For days now, I have wandered, lonely as a cloud that exists against the odds in a region where it is in fact unusual for there to be clouds and the sighting of one would be a rare and isolated event, of how, in this house we share -” “It’s a flat.”

She gets a mock glare in return. “Fine. Home, then.” Such a beautiful sentiment has never been expressed with such disparagement . “Wondering how, in this home we share, to ask if you would be willing to forever more share your life with me in this way. For so long did I deliberate over how to ask you, until here and now, sitting with you during this, the most wonderful time of the year -” Anoushka shakes, sliding further down the doorpost. “- all my feelings came rushing out, and suddenly without conscious thought did I find myself here: just a girl, waiting on one knee in front of another, different girl, asking her to marry her.” Don’t laugh out loud, don’t laugh out loud, don’t laugh. Jade stares straight at her, eyes bright, hair long and loose about her shoulders, daring her to crack. Slowly, Anoushka brings down her hand and straightens up. “In other words, you stumbled and fell trying to get up?” Jade slips her hair bubble over her wrist and finally puts her hands back down. “Would be a different but not entirely inaccurate version of events.” “Need a hand?” “Perhaps.” Anoushka does laugh this time, and walks over. “Come on then, lover mine. Let’s head out.” ______________________________________________________ “Hey, toss us an orange.” Something bright comes hurtling at her face. Anoushka just barely brings up her hands to catch it.

A round object, red and smooth. “This is an apple.” “Is it.” The words are flat, the intonation not questioning, and deliberately so. Anoushka continues to stare at her. Jade just smiles back, a sweet, butter won’t melt smile. She picks up the correct fruit and stands up, empty hand reaching for her cane, and starts to walk towards Anoushka and the door. Anoushka keeps staring at her. She keeps staring even as another bright round object is pressed into her hand, and she’s left standing in a doorway in some parody of a modern art piece, weighing up two pieces of fruit. “Comparing apples and oranges, a commentary on modern black and white-ism.” Jade does not drop her vacantly saccharine expression once. “In Ancient Greece... “ she starts, uncertainly. Jade slows on her way towards Anna’s living room, dawdling, the movements of a person desperate to hear what a person has to say, but not at the expense of that desperation being discovered. It comforts Anoushka, makes her think she may be along the right lines as she tries to piece together the various oddities of the day, and emboldens her to continue. “In Ancient Greece, they used to propose like this sometimes. You’d throw an apple at a girl, and if she caught it, she’d accept.” Jade turns around. She looks her in the eye.

They hold each other’s gazes for a heavily pregnant minute. “You know, that’s actually a common misconception, it doesn’t have any factual basis or precedent in the historical record.” And with that, still smiling, she turns back and goes to join everyone else in the main room. “Wait, what? Jay!” ______________________________________________________ It’s late when they finally leave Anna’s and head back home. There was a time when she would have balked at the thought of making such a short journey by car. These days she just drives, hand on the wheel and Jade in the passenger seat. It’s not like she drinks that much these days, anyway. Neither of them do. The same cannot be said for the majority of their friends, and they’re kept out another forty minutes dropping people off. But eventually it’s just the two of them, driving through darkness. Anoushka looks to her left. “So. You gonna tell me what’s going on?” She can’t read her expression. Part of that is no doubt due to the inconsistency of illumination provided by the street lamps they pass, and part will also likely be the fact that she can’t take her eyes off the road for too long, in the interests of safety. But little she does see is guarded, and though no less apprehensive she is at once sure her suspicions are right. Silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but not easy either. The air is expectant, anticipation. “I was gonna wait till we got home.” She sighs. Anoushka says nothing. They’re maybe twelve minutes out now, but she has the wild urge to take a sudden wrong turn or four, just to give them time. Jade breathes.

“Look. We don’t know how long I have left.” Invisible bands wrap around Anoushka’s chest and pull tight. She can’t move, can barely breathe. She has the strangest, most fleeting thought that it’s good the car’s already in third gear, because she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to relax her grip enough to release the wheel and change it, right now. Her knuckles, she knows intuitively, are already white. Jade must notice. Her next words are hurried. “And I mean that genuinely, we really don’t know, it could be years - hell, it could be decades. This isn’t some grand farewell tour or anything. It’s just…” “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but, you’re it for me. I know we’re not, together, like that, but there’s no one else I’d want to share my life with, you know? You’re my family. “And…” She hesitates. “I’m pretty sure, or, I mean, I’d like to think, that, well… That it’s the same for you.” Her voice has grown quiet.

Silence. She soldiers on. “So, I’m asking you to marry me, because I love you, more and better than I will ever love anyone else. And because friends or partners or roommates aren’t inaccurate labels for what we are, but they fail to express the depth of my commitment to you. And I’m asking you, because I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few years, I just know that I want you by my side for it. And I want people to know how important you are to me without my having to explain it, and maybe it’s somewhat misleading, but I’d rather people understand the significance of our relationship if not the relationship itself, than undervalue it.” Jade’s breathing a little heavier now. Good , Anoushka thinks. She can pick up the slack for both of them - her own lungs are empty. She’s reading between the lines, and the thousands of unspoken words paint a devastating picture. Jade's eyes are shut - it seems she’s decided the best course of action is to simply not look at Anoushka until she’s done. Usually Anoushka would try and fix that, try to comfort and reassure, but her hands are still glued to the wheel and she still can’t move. Her voice is more measured when she opens her mouth again. “And I’m also asking you, because I don’t want to live the rest of my life with this cloud hanging over me, and I don’t want to have to keep worrying about updating my will, or making sure you’re listed as next of kin in case I’m suddenly hospitalised somewhere and can’t tell them to let you in, and maybe it isn’t fair to put any of that on you, but I’m not sure fairness still has a place around here, so I’m asking you anyway.” It’s impossible to think that they could still be moving. Anoushka’s world has, jarringly, for a moment ceased its inevitable slow spiral out of orbit, and so it is only rational that the rest of the world follow suit. But the engine still rumbles and the shadows dancing across Jade’s face are still in flux as they pass under lamp after lamp. Anoushka notes it all, vaguely, as though from a great distance. She is thinking, lost in these revealed glimpses of an unwelcome future: a Jade weakening; a Jade lying motionless in some cold, unfamiliar bed, and just as terrifying, the thought of that bed becoming familiar in time; a Jade nowhere to be found, the worst vision of all. She blinks hard. Beside her, Jade has opened her eyes. Her tone now is firm, if slightly sharp, as though the words escaping her mouth left a lemon-sour taste behind. “And besides, there’s the Marriage Allowance - you could get some sort of tax break. Plus, I think there’s less inheritance tax or something if you leave stuff to your spouse. So, you know, there’s something in it for you too.” And Anoushka still doesn’t feel completely present. But the idea that Jade might not be enough, that she’d need something to sweeten the pot - well, suddenly it’s the simplest thing in the world, unclenching her hand to take Jade’s into hers. She clasps their fingers, left hand not quite dexterous enough for anything more complicated and squeezes slightly. “Regardless,” she says. “I would be honoured.” Jade stays quiet, and the bands around her chest don’t fall away, but the heavy silence shifts to something lighter, more comforting, and Anoushka can breathe again. “You and me, together till the end. Partners in crime, and now also in law,” she says, as the car finally pulls into their hard-won parking space, and Jade rewards her with a slight snort. She straightens out, then stops the car and pulls the key from the ignition. “Besides,” she starts, opening the door. “I refuse to believe you own anything that could be worthy of inheritance tax.” She’s grinning wide, and won’t make herself stop. “No take-backs,” she adds as she jogs over to open the front door, chased by Jade’s insistence that she rescinds every nice thing she said, and also hopes Anoushka dies. ______________________________________________________ They’re in Jade’s room, sitting on her bed. Two wrapped parcels had lain atop the covers, one each. Jade now wears a beautiful new watch, elegant with deep leather straps. It proclaims the time to be a minute to midnight. Anoushka’s gift is in a tiny square box, topped with a small gold bow. She pries it open to find a ring, nestled in velveteen lining. She looks at Jade, who shrugs. “I have a book stashed somewhere, I was gonna swap them out depending on how you reacted today.” She looks back at the ring. A plain black band, with a single silver line. Carefully, she lifts it from the box and offers it to Jade. Jade seems startled for a moment, but then her face clears and she shuffles a little on the floor to face Anoushka more fully. She takes her hand. “Marry me?” She feels the cool metal against her fourth finger, and answers: “I will.” The minute hand reaches twelve.


I've gone madly insane and grown to love myself. I've journeyed through a thousand leys where between numbers 9 and 199,500 I found myself, many times. I found myself in a cold room with log walls and wooden floors. The stench of fresh game, peate and cold. An old woman with a bigger mustache than mine licks my face. Slick silvery saliva slide onto my brow as she drags her tongue across my forehead from one temple to the other then tells me to believe in myself. I don't like that so I squeeze through the cracks in the floor boards and... I found myself outside my father's room, not his room now but the one he shared with my momma when he was still my hero. I can hear two voices arguing inside, one squashed and one pounding. When I enter they are both him, and he fights himself until I take them both by the hand and say I loved them. They tell me I must learn to control myself, I thought that was hypocritical so I left. As I close the door they began to argue once more, typical. There is nothing but scintillating lights so I walk until they stop hurting my eyes and I found myself at the mouth of a cave whose path seems to lead up to nothing. Walking inside I see my mother on our old couch with a book in her hand waiting for me, the warm spot where I learn to read and trust sits ready. I am more tempted by this comfort than anything but I don't linger. I move on and my old elementary school appears, where I learn a love for music, stories and the unfair nature of adults. I continue walking towards middle school where I learn how to type 60 wpm and that people can be selfish. I go faster through Highschool, where I learn the most, that the truth is often veiled. That anyone can lie to you. I came to the cliff edge and look over the abyssal chasm that would be the rest of my blip of existence. Then back at the climb I have taken where all the instructors of my past linger in varying forms of interest. Beckoning me to follow paths I have already past. I turn and step off into myself, trusting. I fall for so long that I begin to fly and i found myself soaring above oiled plains heading toward an ocean of water and people. My grandfather is waiting when I land and I cry for hours on his shoulder while he recites every piece of advice he ever gave me. I look up to thank him for making me human but I've wasted my time crying and he has faded away. The sadness is too heavy with the weight of the feelings I cannot express. I am pressed into the hard earth until I am separated and move through it. I found myself disjointed both in mind and body. I float for years through substances hoping to stick myself together, not knowing it was solvent to my glue. I drift into a fairy circle where a woman wearing an apron dress of my ancestors flowing with every color put my pieces back together. She is kind, funny, understanding and fierce. She feeds me from her circle, the taste is bitter but I could not live without it so I ask to take more. I eat until I am full and realize I have left none to regrow. The woman begins to weep in my arms so I pick her up on my back and we move away from her home. I found myself walking for miles through a nothingness that screams out with all the things left ignored and unfulfilled. The words bite and tear at my clothing, taking strips of my flesh, sucking moats of my energy. Regret drives me to my knees where I continue to crawl towards something I do not know. After millennia I come to realize the voices are mine, all of me from all of time who all have a common emotional response towards me, hatred. Before I allow myself to be crushed by the unfathomable burden of my criticism I feel weight lift from my back as my hands are taken. Through the immense pressure of my self worth I am lifted and... I found myself looking into my own oceanic eyes as the woman in the hangerok brings me to my feet. I am frightened and overjoyed to see that she is me in a way I can never be alone. She is everything I have ever thought, everything that I have ever felt, every scar I have created. I look back to the start of my journey and see she had been along the entire path, pushed behind me, ignored. When we had come to the circle we had arrived together, but I was the only one that ate. I apologized and hugged myself, becoming singular for perhaps the first time. The voices do not stop but hinder and cut less as I make my way towards the end. When I emerge, I found myself whole.


The red hand lurches forward, trekking across the face of the clock. He taps his finger on the rim of his coffee cup, precisely in time with the torturous beat. Despite the bustling cafe around him, he swears he can hear it. Tick, tick, tick. He wishes it would pause. If only to stop her from walking through the door behind him and sitting across from him. He glances at the small table before him, dark rings staining its wooden surface. Too small. It's too small to stop her from reaching across and slapping him or perhaps to move before she threw the napkin holder at his head. Not that he didn't deserve it. She had requested to meet here, but it was his friend who made him go. He hadn't been inclined to do so at all and had been about to send the message saying so when Ben had snatched his phone out of his hands, typed 'yes, of course,' and offered him a hard pat on the back. Ben had looked at him and said, "You need to tell her." Ben had looked at him and said, "We all make mistakes; just own up to them." He didn't miss the faint glimmer of amusement in Ben's eyes. Ben wanted to see him flustered and wanted to see what he would do. He silently cursed Ben, but he had spent the night tangled up in another girl's sheets. He was not a religious man, but he guessed that fact would deem him insufficient to praise or curse anyone. He could still taste her lip gloss. Still smell her floral perfume. Hastily, he sips at his lukewarm coffee, silently praying that the scent of coffee beans and overpriced pastries would take care of the rest. Tick, tick, tick. There were two choices. 1.Do the good thing. Be the good guy who owns up to his mistakes. He snorts into his coffee cup. He, of all people, knew Ben wasn't a saint, which made his plea for honestly downright comical. 2.Keep it to himself. After all, omission isn't quite a lie. Though, he had ignored her twenty missed calls. Had told her that he would be out with friends-which he was at one point in the night. Tick, tick, tick. The bell above the door rings. His back is turned towards it, but he knows it's her. He can feel her gaze from behind, already discerning his rumpled clothes that had been on the ground for the better half of the night and his tousled hair. He didn't quite decide which option to chose when she sat across from him. Too close. Close enough to see her red-rimmed eyes and puffy face. A bitter taste fills his mouth. He doesn't know if it's from the crappy coffee or shame. He makes his choice. "How's it going?" His question seems to startle her out of a stupor. He knew her well enough to know that she had been in her thoughts for far too long. She had probably tossed and turned all night in her small bed in her small apartment where they spent many nights. So different from the penthouse in the Upper West side he found himself in last night. But his response-casual and calm-was not what she had expected. It certainly wasn't what he had expected, but instincts have a funny way of acting on behalf of self-preservation. If Ben were here, he'd laugh. " How's it going? " She seethes. A group of kids at the table next to them stall in conversation, making no effort to look like they aren't eavesdropping. One of the girls loudly slurps her iced coffee as she watches. This could have been a theater, and they the show. "That's what you have to say?" "I told you I was going out with my friends, didn't I?" He keeps eye contact. Not too much as to cause suspicion, but just enough . He wouldn't look up and to the left. He read somewhere that it signaled a lie-or was it the right? But a flicker to the lips and an occasional glimpse to the forehead would suffice. She looks away first. Perfect. "I told you I probably wouldn't answer my phone, babe. You knew this." He wouldn't say more than he needed to. Too much and too fast would make her question. Too little, and she would fill the blanks with the assumptions she had made as she tried to sleep. "I know, but-" "I'm struggling to see the issue, then." He clutches his coffee cup as the words come out of his mouth. Too forward. He needed to let her speak. Let her feel like she was being heard and listened to. As if she read his thoughts, she looks at him, more confident than before. Yes, he had made an error. His eyes strained, begging him to find refuge in the clock. Or perhaps glare at the girl next to them, now chewing a croissant with her mouth open. He hates bad manners. He gestures his hand for her to continue-a silent apology and submission. She sighs and runs a hand through her greasy hair. "This was for hours, Jace. You usually text me at the end of the night to at least let me know where you are." He nods and makes more eye contact. She looks slightly pleased. She loves being heard. She loves being listened to. He would risk it. He reaches out for her hand. She eyes it warily, but the tug of his genuine demeanor and the familiarity of two years with each other lifts hers and places it into his. He squeezes it. Reassurance goes a long way with women who overthink. That's what Ben said. "And well...Anne saw you at the bar. She said you were on your phone." Busted. Think, think, think. Tick, tick, tick. Too long and he was putting together a lie. Too short meant too defensive. Tick, tick, tick. He wills his face into a frown. He settles on being displeased. "I wasn't aware you were having your friends keep tabs on me," he says. Red blooms on her round cheeks, and she hastily shakes her head. "No, it's not like that. She just happened to be there." She looks at him again. Her eyes harden, a hint of defiance left in them. She was reminding herself what her argument was. Reminding herself what her friends had told her in their little group chat. "She said you also left early. Without your friends." He tries to keep his swallow imperceptible, but her eyes flicker to his throat as it bobs. He squeezes her hand again and leans in close, willing her to look into the eyes she knew so well. He prays she won't catch a whiff of the perfume he breathed in all night. It was intoxicating and so different from the vanilla scent he smelled now. "Ben and his friends get a little too rowdy for me these days, I told you that. I went to hang out with Greg at his place afterwards." "And you couldn't have mentioned that?" Not too many details. "We had a few drinks and crashed. You know he and Linda have been having some issues. He wanted to talk it out. I was texting him at the bar, making sure he was okay." Pieces in a puzzle. Cogs in a clock. She looks down in submission. Moments pass. Tick, tick, tick. She finally nods her head and squeezes his hand in response. He raises a brow and asks, "Is there something wrong with that?" "No...no of course not. It's just..." And there it was-the life line, the holy grail. He could almost see the future-could see the words he would say and how she would react. He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. With his warm countenance and calm eyes, he would coax the words out of her. She sighs in pleasure at his touch. "I just can't help but think you were with someone else." Perfect. He stops hearing the clock. Now, he has what he needs, and despite not being a religious man, he thinks himself a prophet. He retracts his hand. Hurt. He would look hurt and tired. It was almost too easy to do, but it was significantly harder to see her recoil and watch the regret choke her. "We've talked about this." The words come out of his mouth stern. Sharp and cold. She needs to know she will lose him. He would use his hurt and anger like a whip taming a wild animal back into its cage. "A thousand times we have talked about this, and you still don't trust me." She panics, reaching out for his hand. He appears hesitant, but he takes it. A drop of hope that he isn't too angry to get past her insecurities. Hope that he will stay. "No, god no , of course not Jace. It's not that." "Then what is it?" He let his hand go slack in hers. A tether to him that would snap if she wasn't careful. She tightens her grip. Perfect. "Because it seems to me that's what we come to every time. You assume I'm up to no good and then punish me as if I actually did something." He allows his voice to raise a notch. He allows her to look embarrassed as he uses the public setting to his advantage, and eyes turn towards them. She is fumbling for words. "I-I'm sorry . I know, I know.." Perfect. He leans back in his chair, the picture of a man's pride having been trampled on. Slowly, he pulls his hand from hers, and tries not to notice when she flinches. He rubs his face. He is tired, yes. He is tired, and she was the reason. She would be the reason. "I just...I just don't understand. I've never given you a reason not to trust me." She leans forward. Eager. He feels pity for her, the pity someone feels when they see a stray dog or a homeless person. "I know. I'm sorry, okay? I'm trying to work on it, I promise." She is chewing on her lip now, the tears gathering in her eyes. "I just got a little worried, is all." "You promise you'll work on it every time we have this conversation. And lately, it feels like we're having it more often than not." Desperation. Panic. Regret. Those were the things she was revealing on her face and what he was feeling beneath the surface. "Look, can we just please move past this? Come back to my place." Bingo. He would look hesitant. Would take a long sip of his now cold-coffee as he considers the offer. His hesitation will tug on the leash he has so cleverly put around her neck. "I don't know..." " Please." God, he felt like an asshole. " Please, Jace. " Those were the magic words. He sets his cup down, picks up his keys and stands. No words, but a little nod. Just to show he still wasn't keen on the idea, but he would do it for her. By god, he would do anything for her. The relief was stark on her face. She hastily snatches up her belongings and stands as well, rushing to his side. As he walks out the door, he doesn't bother to hold it open for her. But she won't say anything. She would accept it because she had to. And she had to, or else that tether would slip entirely, and he would be gone. And it would be her fault. He told her he would meet her back at her place before walking to his car. As he drove off on that familiar route, he had one honest thought. The art of persuasion was a nasty one, but one that he would perfect for her.


TRIGGER WARNING: Explicit language and mention of substance abuse It had been five years since I'd been home for the holidays. The last time I was home for Thanksgiving dinner, I uncovered a massive secret my mother was keeping. She swore me to secrecy. What kind of mother would force her child to keep such a secret from her father? I resented her for that. I also blamed her for my little sister Joy's drug addiction and for my older brother Jonathan's gambling problem. She had single handily destroyed our whole family. This year, she had begged for us all to come together for dinner; she said she had something to tell us. I was grateful that my boyfriend Greg was attending dinner with me because I could really use his support. We'd been dating for eight months and I'd been avoiding introducing my family to him. I didn't come from a family filled with love, hugs and kisses. My family was filled with hatred, lies, deception and secrets. I wanted no parts of that so I decided to learn how to love them from a distance. "When the dysfunction begins, don't say I didn't warn you," I said to Greg as we walked hand-in-hand to the front door of my childhood home. "C'mon, Babe," he chuckled, "They can't be THAT bad." "Just you wait and see," I replied as I knocked on the door. My beautiful grandmother opened the door. I got my good looks from her, through my father. "Granny!" I exclaimed, genuinely happy to see her. She tended to be one of the least dramatic members of the family. We hugged and I introduced her to Greg. When I turned to look at him, he was standing with a blank look on his face. "Y'all c'mon in. Everybody's already here and waiting on ya!" she said as she walked towards the dining room. I turned back around quickly and shot Greg a confused look. "What's the matter?,"I asked him. "Oh...oh...n-nothing," he stuttered, "It's just-she looks way too young to be your grandmother. I giggled. "Good genes." We followed my grandmother into the dining room. She took a seat next to my grandfather at the far end of the table. I sat next to her, directly across from Joy and Jonathan. Greg sat in the seat between me and my cousin CJ. CJ was sitting next to his mom, Sandy, who is my mother's sister. Across from her was Uncle Ted, my dad's brother. In between him and Jonathan sat his daughter, my cousin Deena. My parents were seated at the other end of the table; both of them next to their own sibling. After introducing everyone to Greg, my grandfather blessed the food and we proceeded to break bread with one another. It wasn't long before Joy and Jonathan started their usual sibling banter, shortly being joined by CJ and Deena. Like clockwork, my parents began jesting with their respective siblings. Greg and I sat quietly enjoying the meal. I sipped on a chilled glass of wine, impatiently anticipating my mother's big reveal. Time was ticking and I was getting antsy. I was on my third glass of wine and it was starting to go to my head. Finally, my mother cleared her throat. "Well family," she said with a deep sigh, "I asked you all to come here today because I have something important to tell you. I'm just gonna get straight to it. I have cancer. It's stage four. They tell me I don't have much time left." I cocked my head to the side looking confused as my mother sat teary-eyed and a silence fell over the room. "Is that all, Mother?" I inquired aggressively. Greg squeezed my hand under the table to comfort me. I shook my head then continued. "No. You need to tell them the rest of the secrets you've been hiding." "Jenna, please," my mother begged. "Tell them, Mom. Tell them how you cheated on Dad and he's not Joy's real father." Every mouth sitting around the table fell open. "What!" Joy exclaimed, turning to our mother, "She's lying, right, Mom?" Silence. Finally, my father spoke. "Is it true, Sheila?" "Yes." She said, dropping her head. My father proceeded. "So, who is her father?" I looked at my mother, then we both looked at my grandfather. The guilty look on his face said it all. When it clicked in my father's head, heartbreak was written on his face. "Dad!," he yelled. My grandfather hung his head down. "I'm sorry, Son." Gasps and wishpers roamed all over the dinner table. "I'm sorry, Joe," my mother chimed in. "Back then, you were always traveling for work. I was just so lonely." "Lonely my ass, you tramp!," he growed at her. My mother began sobbing uncontrollably. I rolled my eyes noticing the death stare my grandmother was giving my grandfather. "I don't know why I thought you'd ever change," she said to him. "You've been a dog the whole fifty years we've been together! Dammit, James! Our son's wife! You're a pastor for God's sake!" " Edna, I...I...," he stuttered. "Save your excuses, you ol' fool! And you too, jezebel!," she exclaimed as she stood up, looking at my mother. She then scanned the rest of the faces at the table. "What's wrong with this family?," she asked. "Does anyone else have any secrets they want to share? I guarantee that each one of you at this table has a secret their hiding? How about who stole my bracelets?" Jonathan clear his throat as my grandmother sat back down. "Well since we're telling secrets...," he began, as he turned to look at our sister. "It was Joy, she's smoking crack again. She stole Granny's bracelets, pawned them, and smoked all that money." He put his fingers to his mouth as if he was smoking, to tease her. She smack his hand down. "Go to hell, Jonathan!," she screamed at him, "You're just mad I didn't give you any of the money to cover your gambling debts." She looked at our father. "Hey, Dad. Did Johnathan tell you that he's been sleeping with Deena." "She is your cousin, Johnathan!," my father hollered at him. "She's not my cousin," he replied. "Her momma told her that Uncle Ted is not her real father." "What the hell!," Uncle Ted yelled, wearing the same expression of despair his brother wore just a couple of minutes ago. "I'm sorry, Dad," Deena explained, "Mom's been paying me for years so I wouldn't tell you." She darted her eyes at my brother. "And how dare you," she grunted at him. I thought we were confiding in each other. I never told anyone that you told me your dad has been sleeping with your Aunt Sandy." "Yeah, I did it," my father said quickly, without hesitation. "I been sleeping with her. By the way, CJ.....we gonna have to talk about getting your name changed. I don't like the idea of MY son being named after another man." He raised both hands, balled up like fist. Then he opened them up like exploding bombs. "Boom!," he said to my mother as he stood up. "How ya like them apples?" Then he walked out of the dining room. Dinner with my family was the exact disaster that I was expecting it to be. "You see," I said to Greg as we walked back to the car after dinner, "My family is dysfunction at its finest. That's why I keep my distance." I opened the passenger side door, slide into the seat, and buckled my seat belt. I noticed an expression on Greg's face that I just couldn't read. "Baby, what's wrong," I asked concerned. "You've been acting strange all night. "J, I don't think we're gonna be able to continue seeing each other," he said somberly. I panicked. "Is it because of my family? Greg, they don't have to be part of our lives. Baby, I love you. Please, don't this" "Your family is wild, and no secrets are gonna be safe or stay buried." "Are you trying to say that you have a secret to tell me?" "Well....do you remember the conversation we had earlier in our relationship? The one about some of the wild sexcapades we've had before we met?" "Yes, but what are you trying to say, Greg? I don't understand." "Just listen. I know you remember me telling you about that older, cougar lady that I had a fling with." "Yes." "I don't know how to tell you this, Jenna. But, that lady is your grandmother...."


     I clasped my hands in front of me like a good little boy and watched Not-Naughty-Librarian thumb through the book looking for something that seemed mighty important to her. I couldn’t tell you what she was so intent on finding that she couldn’t even spare me a passing glance seeing as how I was dead and hadn’t had orientation yet. All I knew was I didn’t seem to be in hell since there was a considerable lack of hellfire and brimstone.

I don’t remember the exact moment I died. Or, rather, I don’t know when my body died as my soul was sucked plum out without my permission. Did I live another few minutes? I have no idea. All I know is I was rushing through a beam of warm light, neither air nor liquid, but somehow seemingly both. I continued whooshing right past some sort of welcome committee. I saw my Granny Coral, her face so jubilant at first, confused as hell the next moment, but by then I was already long past her and whomever else was waiting there for me.

     Zooming right by a blur of buildings, people, alien-looking creatures, beams of light; all wrapped snugly in a cocoon of bubbles, I didn’t have much time to process a thing. Looks a lot like a beehive, I thought, as my progression sped up until I found myself jolted to a stop and plopped right smack dab into a polished chair facing a young woman, hair in a loose bun, glasses perched on the end of a pert button nose, a humongous book taking up the space between us on the desk piled high with books of all shapes and sizes. Frankly, she looked like one of those “naughty librarians” I sometimes liked to watch, but I quickly erased the thought because, you know, I was dead, and Granny Coral taught me all about the Good Book and Judgement Day. I probably shouldn’t have been thinking of my sins right that moment lest I inadvertently invite some of that there fire and brimstone I noticed was fortunately not here.      In fact, this room was rather lovely. I took my first good look at the place. Seemed like I was in an ancient library. All stone and wood and stained glass windows, it appeared as if I was somehow in one of those fantasy movies my girlfriend sure loved to watch. I never really understood the appeal, but she said that’s to be expected when you’re a muzzle… er… muddle… uh.. muggle? Hell, I don’t know. I just know that’s the very second I started to tear up thinking about my sweet, perfect Penelope, my favorite nerd, my little angel baby who used to keep a smile on my face.

     That’s precisely when Ms. Not-So-Naughty Librarian finally deigned to cast me a glance. “Oh, don’t you fret now, dearie. You’ll see her again before you know it. You’re from the same group, after all.”

      I must have looked rather alarmed because she laughed a tinkling little laugh that sounded unlike any laugh I’d ever heard in my whole life. “Well, you’re not holding anything back, you realize. You don’t have to shout your thoughts at me, either.” Her face was sunshine and dandelions as she thrust her full attention on me. Maybe Judgement day wouldn’t be so bad, I mused.

     “Oh, calm yourself, sweet soul. You’re still really new, only been here…” her eyes swept down on the page wedged in between her arms resting casually on the desk, “...oh, yes, you’ve only existed for a few lives. But don’t you worry one itty bitty bit. I’ll walk you through a few things and get you settled in to heal the gaps in your energy.”       All complacency left me as a flood of questions drenched my mind like a deluge worthy of Noah. I no sooner opened my mouth to start shooting them questions right out my mouth before she held up her petite hand and closed my mouth right quick.

     “Right, then. First, you’ll need to quit calling me Not-So-Naughty Librarian. My name is Akasha. Secondly, my job here is not to judge you. You’ll find there’s none of that fear-mongering nonsense here. And thirdly, my job is Archivist. I document and organize every single life you’ll ever lead, and then I’ll help you in your studies to evaluate your actions and monitor your growth to enlightenment.” She paused then, and the cutest little smile lit up her face. I presumed my embarrassment over the moniker I had gifted her was showing on my face. Could ghosts blush? Was I as red as my Mama’s homemade sangria that she made every summer?

     “No, I’m just trying to figure out why you came straight to me instead of to meet your soul group, head to the The Healing Cavern, or see your guides for your Life Review before they brought you here to study. And you are not a ghost. Those poor souls get a little confused before we can coax them to come back home, but they all make their way back eventually.”      I watched the colors from the stained glass play across Akasha’s face, red and orange and yellow and colors I had no name for. The light should have been blinding, but no. I could feel it moving against my skin like a living thing, warm and cool all at once, before becoming me. Sounds crazy, when I think of it in human terms, but this lady here was busy explaining I am not a human, I am a soul who had a human experience. Huh, imagine that. I didn’t really believe Granny Coral or Pastor Hank. I mean, religion seemed so silly, no more reasonable than thinking a wolf swallowed a little girl in a cherry red cape before gobbling up her granny.

     “There’s a reason you came to me first, so we’re going to figure that out together! Let’s take a look at the life you just led, shall we?”      All of a sudden, images sprang up out of that big book she’d been studying and oozed all around, like I was watching my surroundings being painted over, a fresh new world in its place. And then I saw myself being born. I had no idea my Mama could scream like that! Hoo boy! I was going to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers just as soon as I was done here. It hit me again as soon as I thought it. I was dead. There weren’t going to be any more flowers sent to Mama or anyone else.      “No, no, no, just a little too far back. Let’s speed this up just a bit, shall we?”      The blobs of paint began to dance around me, and I watched myself growing up. There I was, spitting beets out all over my father’s face when he insisted I would love them even though I was only six months old, and no baby loves beets. The scene was painted anew as Mama’s laugh faded out. I was a few months older and taking my first steps. I was two and scared of a thunderstorm. I was three and lost my mother for a few minutes when I let go of her hand and chased a dragonfly. I was four and skinned my knees up so badly that I carried the scars for the rest of my life. Five and starting kindergarten, bravely not crying even though I really wanted to. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten; memories, but more. I felt everything all over again. The sting of my first heartbreak. The embarrassment of my first time with Lonnie in the backseat of the old car Dad and I spent a full year repairing, that first time ending before I could say “Oh, my God!”      My graduation, Helena - the first woman I ever really, truly loved. Thought I was gonna spend my whole life with that one. But then the baby, that perfect boy, arriving much too early and gone too fast. I watched Helena pack her things and drive away all over again. No Helena. No baby. Months of depression where my entire world turned grey and flavorless, leaving me lost within the ocean of myself, with no anchor to hold me in place. Then Olivia. Warmth returned to my bones then. Three years of carnivals, concerts, movies, getting snowed in during the nor’easter of ninety-four. Then she, too, was gone, but my world only dimmed a little that time.      I saw myself starting my own auto shop, and working with my hands was good and honest work that paid the bills. That’s what Dad said as he slipped away in the hospital bed in the living room. He was proud of me. The energetic and kind hospice nurse wiped my tears. “Thank you, Penelope,” I breathed into her hair. I could smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo all over again. She became my everything from then on out. Sunday dinners with Mama, camping under the stars, that trip to Disney World because Penelope said we never really have to grow up if we don’t want to. I watched it all again, the joy within me expanding until I felt it explode from me and meld with the images of my life.

     And then I watched myself collapse, saw through my flesh and muscle to my heart, suddenly still, and the crowd that rushed in on aisle seven of the hardware store. I wasn’t going to finish that crib now. I wasn’t going to paint the nursery. I wasn’t going to see the little lima bean inside Penelope grow into someone I could teach to ride a bike.       The paint faded back into the book, and I sat on the polished chair, half the size I was before, folded in on myself. Penelope glided right through the desk and wrapped her arms around me, breathing fire back into my soul like warm honey, slowly seeping into each molecule.

    “How are you here?” I croaked.      Akasha’s voice seemed to come from within me. “I can be any shape you need. So can you. We are limitless. We are everything.”      The doors burst open, and in rushed my father. If anyone ever tells you there are no tears in heaven, they’re a bald-faced liar, I can tell you that, yes sir! But he didn’t give me time to cry. No, sir! He grabbed my hand right up into his and began to pull me along at the speed of light. It could have been a minute, could have been a week, hell if I know, but we came to an abrupt halt right about where I came in and first saw Granny Coral. Souls were lined up and saying goodbye or hello, depending on which way they were heading.

   And there was Granny Coral, just like that.

    “I wanted to have more time with ya before I headed on down, but this will do.” Her smile was so much more beautiful than I remembered. “I’ll be popping back in here and there for a while, so we can get a slice of blackberry cobbler with ice cream and play catch-up as soon as I get a little work done. Humans are boring to be until they can start getting into trouble. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be taking care of Penelope for you now.”     “You mean…?”      “I’m your granny and your daughter, Pumpkin. Guess we really are Southern.” The raucous laughter that erupted from me at that moment almost drowned out her goodbye as she headed back through the gates. “We will get that cobbler, lickety split! Go get yourself patched up!”

     I can’t describe what it’s like here; I can just let you know that you’re really gonna love it. There is no beginning, there is no end, there just is. Why I was flung halfway to Timbuktu when I arrived hasn't been made clear yet; however, I have a lot to learn over the course of innumerable lives to come. There's no rush. I'll be having a lot of human experiences, I reckon. How 'bout that? Having human experiences is great ‘n all, but being a soul sure takes the cake. Yeah, you're gonna love it here.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Brotherhood! This week, let’s take a look at the theme of “Brotherhood”. A sense of brotherhood can be found in many places; family and bloodlines, of course, but also in a community group, an army, or even a job. Think about the type of bond formed between members in these groups, and the sense of belonging and purpose one may find there. Sometimes long-time friends can be more like family than those sharing blood. How do these relationships affect your main (or side) character(s)? How do they shape their goals and desires, and their paths? What happens when a member of the brotherhood makes a choice that goes against the group's ideals or goals? Or, when someone on the outside, maybe an enemy or a foe, practically moves mountains to draw them apart? Will the brotherhood stand strong or crumble at their feet? These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - July 24 - Brotherhood - July 31 - Control - August 7 - Danger   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. *Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title.* If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** Our bot will not be able to log these. - **On Saturdays, I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. **We now start at 1pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server!** Be sure to grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including new posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings - **First place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Second place:** - by u/mattswritingaccount   - **Third place:** - by u/katherine_c   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/Zetakh   - **Crit Star:** u/FyeNite - **Crit Star:** u/rainbow\-\-penguin *Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques (on the thread) and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC or have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .*   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Note: Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting! Don’t forget to leave your feedback each week, it is a *requirement.*** To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   ***   #This week's theme is Pride! Let’s explore the theme of ‘pride’ this week. What are your characters proud of? It could be something as big as the world around them or as small as how they handled a particular situation or conversation. What inspires their pride? What makes it meaningful to them? What kind of obstacles or challenges did they face to get there? Maybe they’re proud of something less than upstanding. What does that look like in their world? How will it tie in to next week’s theme, ‘fallen’? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * July 4 - Pride (this week) * July 11 - Fallen * July 18 - Dissonance   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   ***   #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story.** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on 2 different stories) to quality for rankings every week.** The comment **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   ***   #Reminders: * **Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments**, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * **Saturdays I will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see breakdown at the bottom of this post). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. 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\ I watched as the dying light finally claimed the island’s outline. Kadear Coalfields - or Pomafauc Reset, whatever it was to be called - was gone once more. I tore myself away from where the island had been, andI sat on the side of the boat, my legs dangling between two railings as a weak breeze pushed us lazily through the waters. A late summer moon lit up the flat ocean in an indigo blue. Light enough to be seen. Dark enough to appear as a shapeless canvas, a blank slate where my thoughts could land. Alessia walked up beside me and leaned against the bullwark, holding her palms together. “Done what I can with the wind, but it’s gonna be slow sailing.” I nodded, but my eyes didn’t look up. Alessia was studying my face, waiting for a reaction. I had no idea what she could see. My mind and body felt numb, sucked of all consciousness. I can only assume I looked like a faceless statue, waiting for someone to engrave in the details. She sighed and sat down beside me, dropping her legs off the side next to mine. “I’m sorry, Ferdinand.” “It’s not your fault.” My gaze remained fixed on the blue expanse, as gentle waves rolled into shapes. Thomas’s smile. Lachlann’s guitar. Jacob’s nod before he jumped off that ladder. Alessia shuffled awkwardly. “I know this has been a lot of loss…” She paused, rubbing her neck with her hand. “I wish I had something better to say.” Once more silence came back. Another wave came, this one reminding me of Thomas’s friendship, a more abstract shape. “All you can do…” Alessia spoke slowly, seemingly unsure of what words would come next. “…is try and do right by Thomas. And Lachlann. Try and live the life they’d want you to live.” “I’m not even sure what Thomas would want,” I muttered. Alessia leaned forward, turning to try and better see my face. “He’d want you to go chase your ambitions. Do what you wanted to do.” “At least…” I paused, a small moment of grief caught in my throat. “At least with Lachlann, he died with everyone loving him. Everyone who ever hears of Lachlann will know how great he was. Thomas?” I shook my head. “Everyone on that island is going to be told he was a traitor.” “Those who knew him will think differently.” “I don’t know. Even if they do. There’s a lot of the island who will only ever know him from the scaffold. Know what Jacob wants them to know.” “There’s always a chance someone found the papers you left.” “Maybe.” I stared down at my feet, feeling the heaviness in my chest. “He died not knowing he was right. He died with everyone thinking he deserved it.” “He died after speaking with his best friend,” Alessia said, stressing every syllable. He died knowing you were going to investigate just because he asked. He knew how you felt.” I thought back to Thomas’s face on that scaffold as it lay beneath my own. The soft rise at the corner of the lips in contrast to the physical pain in the eyes. “He deserved so much more.” “We can respect him. And everywhere we go we can tell people who he was.” Alessia let out the softest of chuckles. “Never underestimate how quickly word can travel among traders across the sea. When all this is done, we’ll make sure the whole Archipelago knows.” I nodded, trying to take solace in the offer. She looked to her right, staring off at the lightless horizon. “Meanwhile, guess we’ll see what we can find on Yotese Over Haven.” “You know anything about the place?” I turned, staring into the blackness with her. “Only cause I’ve sailed around it rather than into it.” Alessia sniffed. “Beyond that, not a damn thing. Gets little trade. Some insular, deadwater types from what I understand.” I sighed. “Into the unknown again then.” “It’s what we do best though, ay?” Alessia pushed herself to her feet and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be a few days sailing in this wind. Try and get some rest, okay?” I twitched a nod. Alessia left for the night and once more I was alone with the ocean, and the tides slowly filling with my every thought and my every regret. I would sleep eventually. But when I did, it would be through exhaustion, because there were no more thoughts to be had. \ Rest came with difficulty over the next few days. The fourth night, I spent the full stretch on the deck, only sinking below deck when the orange hue that disappeared in the west had begun to reemerge in the east. I woke with a thud. The whole boat lurched with enough force to throw me against my bedside wall. My eyes shot open. Something was wrong. I leapt from bed and hurried up the stairs, still only wearing my pajama shorts. My conscious mind was still waking up to its surroundings as adrenalin drew me to the door and out onto the deck. I ran outside and looked over the edge. Beach. We had landed. “You probably wanna get dressed before we head on out,” Alessia snickered from behind the wheel. The tension left my body and my body deflated. “You could’ve let me know we were about to land.” “Thought you could do with the extra sleep. Besides, nice to know how quickly you’ll rescue me if needs be.” She cast an eye across my bare torso and shorts. I sighed and crossed my arms, partly out of protest, and partly to stave off the chilly morning air clipping against my bare skin. “I’ll go get dressed,” I said, turning to the door. “Hopefully we can find out a bit about why Sannaz was here.” “Oh, I’ve got a fair idea of that already,” Alessia called out, raising her chin. I stared at her, my eyebrows narrowed in. She nodded behind me, looking over my shoulder. I turned. Across the shoreline, the beach curved outwards and the banks climbed higher. Thin reeds of grass poked out from the sand in a thin patch before disappearing where the coast descended once more. But in that next part of the bay, rising above the dune, there was a structure. The metal had slowly rusted, a former sheen had turned a copper colour at the edges, the surfaces eroded to sharp and brittle points. However, the bulk of it was intact. It was around five storeys tall, though the circular windows on the side didn’t seem to be evenly distributed. At the very top, orbs and dishes decorated the roof, and long thin poles pointed to the sky. Near the front, a lower section stretched out, two sides meeting in a point at the shoreline. It was then I realised I was looking at a boat, stuck and marooned on the sands of Yotese Over Haven. But this boat wasn’t built here, or anywhere in the Archipelago. It had to be of the old world. “How is that here?” The words left my mouth compulsively. “How has it survived?” “Your idea is as good as mine.” Alessia shrugged. “Go get dressed, we can venture out when you’re done.”. I hurried below deck and changed as quickly as I could. The possibilities of the odd structure had wiped away the weariness and given my brain something to latch onto, something to think about other than Pomafauc Reset. We trudged along the deserted shoreline, our feet falling into the soft powdery sands of Yotese Over Haven. My mind craved activity. It wanted noises and distractions. But Yotese seemed so still. Any coast should bring with it small fishing boats, the odd parked vessel, or even just people enjoying being near the sea. Yet, here, we were alone. I began looking for signs of life. Up the hill to our left, I could see some old wooden shacks, and farmland. However, it all seemed in disrepair. The fences around the pens were falling apart, and the buildings were peppered with holes and rotting planks. If it weren’t for a small group of pigs patrolling the fields, I would assume the place to be abandoned. Instead, I was trying to work out why it was so uncared for. Resources couldn’t be the issue. These were simple wooden homes surrounded by tall trees. Something else was missing. We continued till we reached the top of the dunes and could see the whole of the ship. Only the smallest pool of water ran by the base of the boat, a mixture of a stream heading out and the edge of the waves that ran up the inlet. As such, much of the keel sat atop the sand, causing it to list to its port side. Still, even the height of the keel was enough to dwarf Alessia’s boat. As I continued to examine the details of the ship - the railings at the side of the vessel, the rivets that held the great sections together, old faded paint lines where the ship’s lettering used to be - I noticed a solitary man standing watch at the base. He looked out away from the ship, his hands clasped behind him. He had a long sleeve shirt far too hot for the summer sun, and I could see the glistening sheen of sweat on his red face. Next to him there was a wooden pole with a bell fixed on top and a rope that ran down its side. He had seen us already. His back was straight and stiff, but his head glanced between the bell and us. His arm twitched, ready to grab the bell if needs be. “Hello,” I announced as I walked down the slope. “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters.” He answered. His voice was croaky through unuse, the words only arriving through drilled-in instinct. “You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” I stopped. “Okay. I just wanted to know if we could enter the ship.” The man swallowed. “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters. You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” “Understood,” I said, turning to Alessia, my face scrunched, before returning to the guard. “Do you think they’ll let us into the ship?” “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters. You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” The man seemed to gain confidence with each repeated verse. Alessia tapped me on the arm. “I don’t think this is going anywhere.” I leaned over, lest my voice carry and cause offence. “What’s with the strange answer though?” Alessia lowered her head in return. “I don’t know. But you could try asking him that. I’m sure you’ll get a different response this time.” I turned halfway towards the man, before glancing back at Alessia and noticing the tongue bit between her teeth. “Very funny,” I muttered. “Thanks, we’ll come back later-“ Something interrupted me. Not a sound. A sight - a brief visual caught out the corner of my eye - a sleeve poking through the sand. It was the same navy of the guard’s shirt, except at the end of this one were the brown bones of a dead man’s hands. “What… what is that?” I said, the volume increasing as I transitioned from confusion to anger. The guard raised his hands, his voice slightly panicked, but the words were the same. “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters. You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” “Is that a man? Buried there? There’s a dead body, right there.” I pointed at the arm resting in the sand less than three metres away from him. “Why are you just standing there?” “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters. You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” Something inside me was flickering, a quivering set of thoughts that left me confused, angry, disorientated; as though any attempt at rationality was repeatedly being kicked out of me by some force. My mouth spluttered for coherency until it found something that felt like a sentence. I pounced on the thought, screaming it. “How could you just leave a body like that? How could you not respect it?” The man took a quick pace to his right, leaned over, and pulled hard on the rope of the bell. The clapper struck and a hollow ring echoed out across the sands. The reverberation faded just in time for the ball to strike on the other side and the alarm to sound once more. The trilling cut off my thoughts. I looked to Alessia. Her eyes darted back and forth, watching the hills, as her hands poised by the belt on her hip. Slow shallow breathing took over as I felt my chest pound with each sounding of the bell. The guard spoke once more. Confidence had returned to his demeanour and he spoke with enough volume to clear the ringing of the bell. “All visitors must report to the Council headquarters. You can find the headquarters on the western side of the island.” \ *The Archipelago is posted every Wednesday.


“That’s it, I’m finished!” Calix announced as he entered the abandoned warehouse. Black blood dripped from his clothes onto the concrete floor. “I swear it, Allard. No more prophecies or monsters or fate. I’m done with it all!”          Allard came rushing as fast as his ragged leg would allow. An injury he had sustained years ago from a similar beast Calix had bested tonight. A beast that had punctured his new armor within moments and ruined his celebration.          Allard quickly stopped as he took in the picture of his friend, wincing at the sight. “What the hell did you fight tonight?”          “A loxhorn.” Calix groaned as he removed his weapons, his armor, and his soiled shirt. Underneath it all was the wound Calix had felt throbbing for hours.          “Calix, I just mopped the floors.”          The stare Allard received could’ve burned through walls. “I’m quitting.”          “Monster hunters don’t get to quit.”          “Then call it a retirement instead. I’m done.” Calix left his equipment on the floor as he shuffled his way further into the warehouse, searching tables and shelves. He sighed with relief when, finally, his hands wrapped around the half-full bottle of whiskey.          “Well, you look like utter shit.”          Calix froze. He knew that voice- that sweet, innocent, beckoning voice.          “Oh, no.” Calix turned. “No, Allard. What is that witch doing here?”          “I am not a witch.”          “I could’ve called you something that rhymes, instead, sweetheart.”          Briar was across the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked the same as the last time Calix had seen her. Just as deadly.          “Not happy to see me?” Briar taunted, a wicked smile across her face.          “Happy to see you? The last time we were together you let me get dragged into the sewers by a Dragrer that tried to devour me whole. I reeked like piss for weeks and I still can’t smell right!”          “Calix, please don’t be presumptive. She comes here with news.”          Calix flicked the whiskey bottle open and took a long sip. “No.”          “What do you mean ‘no’?” Briar pushed from the wall.          “Exactly what it sounds like- no. If you hadn’t heard, I’m retired now. No more monsters for me. Tonight, I’m getting drunk and regretting my past year of decisions just like every other normal human on new year’s.”          “That’s ridiculous, Calix. Stop acting like a child.”          Calix flared, “How many times have I risked my life? Been wounded? Nearly lost myself to fighting creatures I never asked to fight? Take whatever world-saving quest you have and shove it.”          Briar and Allard followed Calix as he stormed across the warehouse, this time looking for the damned first-aid kit he had laid around here somewhere.          “So, you wouldn’t be interested in hearing that a Fenrer has been spotted just outside the city.”          Calix paused, “…Fenrer have been extinct for over a century.”          Allard confirmed, “Not anymore.”          “A team spotted one moving West three days ago. They’ve been keeping tabs on the monster while a team is assembled to kill it. I came to recruit you. Your reputation for hunts speaks for itself- we want you to help us kill it.”          “Did she already rope you into this?” Calix asked Allard, taking another drag from the whiskey bottle.          “You know me,” Allard shrugged, “I was promised the body for research purposes if I helped. I couldn’t pass the opportunity.”          Calix scoffed, “So predictable…”          “Calix, wait!” Briar stepped in front of him as he tried to leave. They were close enough he could smell the mint gum on her breath. “This isn’t the first rare sighting we’ve had over the past year. First it was a Inferorid, then a Hoxfond, now a Fenrer. All thought extinct and all, somehow, miraculously returning.”          “That’s impossible- I slayed the last Hoxfond myself.”          “Brighton died fighting it. The strangest part is that it had a scar on its chest from where a sword had run through its heart before.” Briar paused, letting the information sink in. “The monsters are coming back to life.”          Calix took another drink, squeezing his eyes shut as though he could tune out the world.          “We don’t know how it’s possible, but she’s right. The scholars have been following the situation for a few months now.”          “You didn’t think to inform me before tonight?” Calix snapped at the old man.          Allard looked him up and down, “You didn’t seem in the right headspace lately to drop this sort of news.”          Calix wanted to argue, but one look at himself and he shut his mouth. It was impossible- monsters didn’t come back . The amount of power - of magic - it would take for something like that to happen… hunters everywhere would be desperately underprepared.          “What’s hunting the creature going to do if it’ll just return? What are you hoping to gain from this?”          Briar leaned back against the table, again crossing her arms. “We’re hoping to use the trace magic left in the creature to track where it came from. We have an actual witch already with us, ready to do the spell. All she needs is the monster’s body.”          “Say you find whoever is responsible for bringing the creatures back, then what? You hunt them, too? How do you plan to kill someone that powerful?”          “I’d say my sword to their throat would do the trick.”          Calix sighed, “… When’s the hunt?”          “Oh, it’s already begun. You’re the last hunter we’ve reached out to join us.”          “Well, don’t I feel honored and special.”          Briar chuckled, “Listen, I know you want out of this career. I understand it completely and, hell, maybe after this I’ll do the same thing. But right now, you and I both know that whatever is happening needs to stop before it becomes too powerful, even for us.” She approached him surprisingly gently, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. “I know you want to quit but let’s finish this first. Consider it your new year resolution– no stopping until whatever monster necromancer is dead.”          Calix took one last drink. “Fine.” He grumbled, “But I’ll need a new set of armor before we run off to die.”


It was the beautifully crafted wooden sign in the distance that caught my eye. Arriving, I pulled in, parked in front of the diner, shut the car off and sat for a moment. It was still early, but these places open at the crack of dawn. Always. So, I wanted to get the feel of this business before I went on to my next writing assignment. It was to be a visit of two eateries in one day. My first one was the local diner, The Bauernof, and the second one was the newly opened restaurant on the other side of town, Regal Royalty. I heard that new place has brought in an upscale city vibe, after only being in the area for a short time. It was pricy for the average local person, but the restaurant was seeing an overflow of out of towners since it was in the scenic tour guide of New Hampshire’s best of the best. That crowd brought in the big bucks. How to capture this unique scene in a good way, on paper, was key. It needed to blend somehow with the rural character of this quaint town. I would not and could not blow the story out of proportion. Making it larger than life was not my aim. Two totally different eateries serving guests in their own unique way, would be the way to capture the feel of local first, tourism second. Unfortunately, from what has already been reported, Regal Royalty was more than just the top chef upscale food place to go, it was ‘who’ was dining there with an important status or claim to fame.

Since I had more than a TV dinner mentality, my boss put me on this story. I began writing for our town newspaper when it started from scratch some years ago. Back then it was a compilation of whatever each of us offered and brought to the table but in a story of interest for the community. I found people to interview at a local shop, the town hall, or the dog park who just liked to chat which led to finding something in our conversation to write about leading to a compelling story. It is a trait that I have developed, to engage anyone in a fun way that opened the door to want to share what was going on in their world, whether it was at the office, home or somewhere else. There was always a connection woven into the story that resonated with town folks. This would be my first assignment in another town, as it was a new investment of interest to our expanding publication area.

With notebook in hand, my audio recording up to date on my smart phone, I ventured into the diner. First impressions are lasting impressions and what I felt was real; the soft glow of the lights, country music playing, and the best subtle aroma of a blend of baked fruit, ginger and cinnamon spices. Serve me up! A young lady greeted me and said, “Good morning. Just sit anywhere you like.” I hung my coat on an old-fashioned coat rack then proceeded to slide into the nearest tiny booth as she poured me a fresh hot cup of Joe. It was a cute booth for two and a spot that would be really nice to share a breakfast with someone special. The window looked out onto the east side where the sun was just creeping up. You could pay me a million bucks for that view. It was just a moment that made me relax, and to ponder life in the day ahead. All that while enjoying my first dark roast coffee of the day. I looked around at the homey feel of the place with decorated lanterns, the right color palette everywhere and the timeless wooden décor. The young lady came back and offered to refill my cup, asking if I would like to see a menu. I thanked her but wanted to know if the owner was available. We were interested in highlighting this unique diner by offering an upcoming story for the town newspaper, I told her with a smile. She only slightly smiled in response and said, “I’ll be right back.” That was it. Hmm. I got the feeling something was off but knew to wait and not critique my instincts. Yet.

The owner, an older woman who I knew by name only as, Mariam Goodnow, came out of the kitchen. She paused to speak quietly to the young lady, and I saw her head nodding. I am sure the owner was addressing the daily to-do list to keep ahead of the food requests of the morning customers as the door now opened more frequently. As she passed several older gentlemen, she smiled and welcomed them, giving them a hearty pat on the back. Regulars were my guess, and that was a good sign. Note taken.

I went to stand up and she waved, “Freut mich! Please, stay, I will sit with you. I never seem to get a minute by myself, so I’ll enjoy this moment.”

I thanked her and began my intro telling her of my story idea for the newspaper and our opportunity to shed some positive light on this diner and the other new restaurant in town.

That is when I saw a light go out. I was perplexed when she folded her hands, her lips pressed tight together, and she looked off to the side.

“I take it I said something that was not agreeable. Are you okay with a story and a promotion of your diner? It seems like everyone around here loves The Bauernhof. I am so ready to write a great reflection of your place, to highlight your farm to table efforts and by supporting local.” I apologized by being too blunt, but she stopped me before I said more.

Two pieces of Bienenstich Kuchen were suddenly on the table. My jaw dropped, as this was my grandmother’s prize treat, always. Mariam smiled. “Please, let’s take a moment before we talk. I have a feeling that you might like my family recipe.” She could not help but grin at my little kid reaction. “Guten appetit!”

With satisfied happiness, I finished the unexpected treat and thanked Mariam heartily. “You already made my day! I hope I can do the same for you with a nice writeup piece for the paper.”

Mariam sighed and told me something surprisingly sad.

When she finished revealing what prompted her emotions to take ahold of what she felt strongly about, I was in shock. It seemed like the new restaurant, Regal Royalty, was focusing on reviews and literally created a “vanity plate” to keep enticing a steady entourage of high-class customers to their restaurant. I did some digging and discovered that the posted comments for the diner on the same promotional advertising site as the restaurant were given very poor marks by way of fake reviews while the new restaurant was applauded for bringing its upscale quality improvements to the tourism market. High reviews = lots of money.

By the time I left, she had my assurance that the story written for The Bauernhof would be far above the one for Regal Royalty. Two can play the game and whoever is marketing under false pretenses to trash another’s business would pay the cost in what is known as the actual truth.

Now on to the next story book chapter with Regal Royalty. What will that reveal?

It was now mid-morning as I pulled into their parking area located a fair distance away. The entry sign stated the front door was only for VIP. So, the back door was for the nobodies? I guess it was too early for a formal escort to meet and greet a guest and to provide their weekend famous horse and carriage ride to the main entrance. I strode up and with panache, opened the front door and walked right into the building.

Immediately, I was confronted by someone with a very negative tone in the way he spoke to me.

“Excuse me.” He came right over, blocking my view of the door to the dining area. “Is there something I can help you with?” With arms folded, he faced me, turned his lip up and I couldn’t help but just smile in exchange for that lovely first impression.

And he was the manager?

“Good morning!” I cheerfully introduced myself and extended my hand as I explained the reason being here at this early hour. I drew my hand back since that was not a receptive gesture. I mentioned the owner by name and asked if he had time in his schedule for an interview. I mentioned the story about the restaurant that I was in the process of writing for the newspaper’s special feature section.

The man, who didn’t bother to mention his name only said, “Wait here.” Oh, boy. This was a whole lot different than I expected. Ten minutes went by, and this same person approached and told me to follow him. Great. We walked through a darkened hallway, turned and went down a flight of stairs. Is this the basement? He turned a light on and at the next door stopped and knocked. A voice answered to come in, and the manager only gave me a chin up to follow behind. This was not at all what I thought.

Apparently, this was the restaurant’s main office which included the security videos in and around the entire building and the property. The owner at least was more cordial than his manager, as he stood, introduced himself and shook my hand. Big surprise there.

He spoke first. “Well, I hear there will be a story in the newspaper giving us some more publicity highlighting the upcoming tourist season. Do I have that right? Our 5-star reviews have been excellent.” I agreed and further explained the reason for my visit.

“A few minutes would be okay. I’m sure you already know how we have already expanded our image to meet the demands of the tourists. We give more to get more, if you know what I mean. Unlike some other place nearby that can’t seem to get enough people through their barn door.” He laughed at his own humorous way to criticize The Bauernhof. He proceeded to rub his fingers together to mimic the money factor. “We’ll go through the upstairs gala area for a quick tour.”

Following him back upstairs, I couldn’t help but feel the unwelcome vibe. He paused by a fancy door and told me, “Please don’t touch anything. We have an important private guest list this evening and everything needs to be according to our standards of elegance.” Okay, I get it. We went through several rooms so I could get a sense of the décor and ambiance. It was like lusterless frosting on a cake, crusty, icy, and overly sweetened. I pretended to be excited in writing the review and gave him a thumbs up as I was escorted out the front door. Walking back to the car, I could only shake my head in amazement of the personalities of everyone including some of the wait staff. Several watched us by giving me the stink eye with added smirks. I guess the word was out about how, in their smug opinion, we were trying to make Regal Royalty a big story only to use the restaurant to make the newspaper more popular. They had no idea how my first impression was going to be a game changer. I can and will write a story without reservation or hesitation. The owner’s fake way to glamourize every square inch of the place didn’t sit well with me. It was all just eyewash. Star reviews? You’d better believe it. I’ll clear that fake bright sky and bring in the real picture. Storm clouds.