so when you asked what happened in kentucky i thought you meant like what made Kentucky Kentucky lol but you meant what happened when i had guns pulled on me maybe? **8:50 PM** yeah! 😩 that's why i was confused genuinely interested bc thats a fun story post hoc (vocab word of the day! someone used it in class and im using it now in probably the wrong context) **8:52pm** lol, i was confused too clearly i was like, how the fuck do i explain Kentucky to a New Yorker and why am I being asked to **9:51pm** wait i wanna know what happened wit da guns in kentucky **12:25am** i'll tell the story tomorrow i don't want to tell it in a way that plays into stereotypes or paints Kentucky as a negative place because it's one of my favorite places on Earth  **7:07am** so first things first there was a pretty girl the prettiest think roll out of bed without makeup on pretty think a wardrobe full of things she bought in India pretty think no bra millenial hippy pretty think positive vibes and a longtime interest in Jainism pretty think 24 years old and slightly obnoxious in 2009  her boyfriend was a friend of mine a skinny affluent suburban kid from the northside of Columbus, Ohio  he liked to play video games the pro-social kind like Minecraft and he'd talk to me about how they could maybe save the world by bringing nerds together for good  he'd tell me this over craft beers in a Unitarian Church on Bardstown Road  you know the kind of church with taps and bartenders and salvaged wood tables with mason jars for water  the kind that got converted into a for profit company because the progressives who built it don't need God anymore  and besides their children were more interested in witchcraft pokemon and the understandable joys of dancing naked in same gender company in the thick dark woods  anyway, it's through these two people the pretty girl and her boyfriend that I met Andrew the girl's older brother  since he is the first character with a name i think it should be clear that we immediately hit it off due to a shared love of anti-civilization philosophy and anarcho-communist ideals  besides I knew how to farm organically and could strike up a wallet-opening harlequin smile at the St. Matthew's farmer's market  Andrew, for his worth, knew how to operate and repair machinery produce high quality bourbon and install gravity powered-irrigation systems on land his family had owned since the early 1970s  the land was a few hours south of all of these immaculately maintained victorian mansions in Old Louisville and the Highlands  it was also just a few hours south of where *we* lived at the time in a shotgun cohabitation with a large yard in Schnitzelberg  keep in mind, this is 2009 and I am an appropriate technology anarcho-communist on a farm hand's income so my directions were written down with pen and paper and there was no GPS in my car or on my phone  on the drive down, I listened to music loudly alone in the car but I didn't let Okkervil River, Neil Young, or Fleetwood Mac distract me i simply followed Andrew's written word like I was a fresh Biblical Scholar at Southern on the verge of losing my inerrant convictions through my sincere, devote attention to every serif and san of a higher power's life-directional >!lack of clarity!<  i got off I-65 the winding two lane road became a straight one lane road that one lane road became gravel then dirt and finally it stopped at tall grass and a small break in the trees  this was the end but something didn't look right i didn't see a large back-to-the-land yurt in a secluded clearing with three palimino horses drinking from a crystal clear, cold spring fed unpolluted creek  i saw a doublewide in decent condition with a mix of tobacco and weed growing in the backyard and shagbark hickory and dying ash in the front  i pulled into this dirt driveway slowly to turn around and briefly check my directions  however, that's when it hit me that i was driving a 2002 Saturn Ion well off the well-travelled roads and I was in a drug grower's driveway in a part of the country that is notoriously suspicious of *their own family members* let alone longhaired outsiders in India-import cowboy western buttondowns with big city, Jefferson County plates  i claim no great stroke of wisdom for this humble realization the dogs, the nine pitbulls, they helped me  so did the three adult men bearded, strong, healthy on their porch with shotguns pointed my way and words heading toward me that i couldn't hear  as dumb and clueless as I might be sometimes, I am the reckless, wayward son of Quaker missionaries and this was not the scariest thing that's ever happened to me not close  I simply raised my hands and slowly moved my left one to lower my window  the first thing i hear is WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE but against reason, i laugh i say: isn't it obvious? *i'm* *lost* I was *invited* to see Gerry Dickens do you know him?  at this, they laugh louder and harder than I had in my profound fear and vulnerability "*You* want to see *that* crazy old man who never wears clothes?"  (they lower their guns)  "See where the dirt road ends and turns into a skinny driveway of unmowed grass between those rows of mostly beech and elm trees *that's* where you go."  "But, first, let me guess... you're dating his daughter, aren't you?"  **5:10pm** i liked the way you told that very memoir-y like it could be a cool nostalgic bit in a lil memoir or book or whatever also thats not at all how i imagined it also is it not taboo to talk abotu how beautiful a girl is when ur friend is dating her? ALSO i see a pattern in guys liking the hippie no makeup kinda pretty bc all my guy friends (including you i suppose) have expressed this specific aesthetic  **8:52pm** haha, yeah idk i like people when they are comfortable like pjs over a fancy dress 99/100 times but this is Kentucky as I understand it or this is a slice of Kentucky i wanted to give the sense of a deeply rooted people who are comfortable with who they are and who like being outside and like doing things themselves and are a little romantic and kooky and it's not a joke i saw so many naked people in Kentucky and it's not necessarily a sexual thing it's just people don't think they need to be ashamed of their bodies or awkward about it even if they are women who haven't bothered to shave anything in 11 days \-not so bad, right? like not for everyone, but not a nuclear wasteland in need of other people's intervention and charity \-like fuck. this is the horse capital of the world and horses aren't exactly for beggers \-oh, and yeah.


I feel so tired, I woke up too early today so I closed my eyes to fall asleep again, It didn't help so I opened my eyes and just looked around and Started thinking of how my day would go. "Huh", I looked towards my door, "did I put my clothes there?" I don't have my glasses on so maybe it's just my imagination. I checked the time 5:34, I could stay in bed a little longer, I closed my eyes again. Still can't sleep but I could relax and maybe play another fantasy, what do I make it about? I haven't done many fantasy's lately but what should it be about? Ah, maybe that. "Hm, why does the fantasy keep cutting out?"Maybe I'm too tired, sigh, let's try sleeping again. How much time has passed? "I think I slept a little, let me check my phone. "It's still 5:34? Even if I didn't fall asleep the time should have changed, "let's just go downstairs and make something. I really don't want to move my arms, let's just think about how I'll make breakfast, I stared at my door and then my closet "those clothes I'll need to fold them" but why do i have so many? It probably just looks that way because it's bunched together. "Do I still have chicken in the fridge, what do I make?" Let's get started. I wanted to get up, but my limbs weren't budging, I'm probably still tired, "..wait then how did I check the time?" I probably just imagined checking. I opened my eyes again... but something feels weird, my eyes don't feel open. Ah, is it a fantasy?, more likely a dream since i can't feel the outside, what was it called again? I forgot. What do I do now? Since I can't move I can't properly enjoy this. Let me try making things move till I feel myself waking up, I 'look' towards the clothes in my closet and focus on it. I tried that for most of the things around me and nothing moved, 'don't tell me I'm just stuck here?' I tried forcing myself awake but it's still not working, there's nobody around to wake me up either. I heard some clattering, what is it?, it's getting louder, it sounds like a person. I try to move, what if I'm being robbed?, what will they do if they find me here? I force my eyes open to see..Mom!! That's right, I don't live alone! I live with my mom, she must have just gotten back from work, tired I gently close my eyes again. I wake up again to find my room warped, my closet is no longer next to the door, there is another bed in the room with me apart from the one I'm laying on. 'Another fantasy/dream thing?' I still can't move but I can feel my limbs, so maybe not, I open my eyes 'they feel open and my eyesight is not any less terrible' is this not a fantasy? I'm probably still out of it. I blink my eyes a bit and try to roll my body. It worked so I put my feet to the ground and stood up. 'Everything seems to be alright, but my room still isn't back to normal', I walk out of my door, I survey my surroundings 'it's an apartment, the kitchen isn't downstairs, another apartment is what's happening?' I look for mom, maybe I'll wake up from this if i find something my mind can't properly mimic. I find her but… she's asleep in the bed next to mine, "that's right she worked night yesterday", yeah and we live in an apartment we have been for the past 4 and a half years, I checked the time again 9:04. "Did my mind just trick me into thinking reality was my imagination and vice versa, scary". (Had to write it out because things took a while to feel real.


#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.   *** #This week's theme is Journey! This week’s theme is ‘journey’. There are so many journeys to take your characters on! Is the journey literal or more metaphorical, like a journey of the soul? What do your characters hope to achieve on their journey? What type of things do they see? Show me some beautiful scenery! What unique people and beings do they encounter along the way? What effect will this have on the future of the world? 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 release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * September 19 - Journey (this week) * September 26 - Mischief * October 3 - Vice   *** **Previous 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 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 inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** 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. **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 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 two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **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 of family friendly 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 exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host 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 point breakdown). * 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. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/Zetakh   - - u/gurgilewis   - - u/ReverendWrites   - - u/OneSidedDice   - - u/WorldOrphan   - - u/chunksisthedog   - - u/Bavarianlageryeast   *** #Ranking System There is a new point 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) *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” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


“Your boy ain’t right, Jane. You know it and we know it. It’s becoming more obvious by the minute but let’s be honest with ourselves here. He weren’t right in the head, even before he was bit by one of them rabid things roaming the woods. He’s always been a tad on the wild side but this, this is somethin’ else. It’s dangerous.” “Alright Martha. I’ll reluctantly agree with that, but he was always a good boy! He always minded me. Now, not so much. He’s become a lil’ monster I can’t control. I don’t know what to do about the situation!” “Oh, hon. No one’s disputin’ he’s a good little feller. We all like him. We do. He’s a real joy and blessing to you, and brought huge smiles to our faces when he was around. I’m just saying what the rest of us are thinking. There’s very bad things lurking out there. You know what I’m talking about, and you understand what happens after they get ahold of somethin’. The madness is irreversible, right? Something’s gotta be done about your little man, and ideally it should come from you. You’re his family. Even though it’s not his fault, you know what needs to happen. We’ve all seen the tear-jerker ‘Old Yeller’. We remember how that sad story ends and we know how this one is gonna end too. It’s ugly as sin. No doubt about it and there’s no cure. You just gotta… ‘put him down’, real quick like. I’ll be easier. The decent thing to do is to put him out of his misery and end his sufferin’.” “That’s simple for you to say, Mar. He ain’t your’n. You didn’t raise him from a little ‘pup’. It’s.. just so hard to let go. I love him to pieces and had so many hopes and dreams for him. He depends on me for everything. He’s gonna be sad when I…” “No, no. It ain’t simple for any of us to say! No one ever said doing the right thing was easy but it’s the only thing to do, in this case. It’s not fair. We all know that. We’ve approached you about it because we know how hard it’s going to be to take care of, and we want to support you in this terrible time. Your little ray of sunshine is depending on you now to do what’s best for him, and in the end we know you will. No one wants to deal with something so heart-wrenching but in times like this, it has to be done swiftly. Good folks stick together to help each other in times like this.” “Thank you Martha! I appreciate it. I really do. You guys are so good to me. I just don’t have the strength to pull the trigger. How do we know he’s really suffering? Like you said, he was already a little wild hellion child. Maybe he doesn’t feel any pain anymore. Surely being like this is still better than being… dea…” “No Jane. Noooo. He’s infected. He’s frothing at the mouth for heaven’s sake. Just look at him! He has spasms and violent mood swings. He’d tear you to pieces if you got any closer. Your boy is not himself. It’s highly contagious and he’s in immense pain. You can see that when you look into his dilated pupils. Plus, what if he bites you? One of us will have to put you down too, and none of us wants to have to do that. It would’ve been totally unnecessary and preventable. There’s no saving him, but we can help support you. Take care of your boy.” “Would you please, pretty please do it for me, Martha? You just said you are all here to help. I can’t do it. That would help me immensely if you or Earl would….” “We would take care of you because we had no choice. There would be no one else left to do it but that’s not even close to the same situation, and it’s not fair of you to ask us. Frankly, we’re worried your sick little feller will bite you, and then you could spread it to all of us. Doing this will make you a much stronger woman! Every person should take care of their own ‘mess’. I’m sorry to be harsh but this is yours, Jane. You must clean it up.” Jane Weaver looked around the room with a deepening level of realization. The real truth slowly slid out of their forked tongues. They weren’t nearly as supportive as they pretended to be. It was a more of a pushy confrontation than ‘loving support’. Resentment was building rapidly in her heart. She wanted to lash out at them but the problem of what to do about her infected hellion still remained. The thought of having to blow his brains out was unbearable. Meanwhile, they stood there with their cold, calculating eyes. “If any of you had been more diligent about eliminating those infected creatures lurking in the woods, none of this would be an issue! Then he would still be himself! You knew rabid skunks and foxes were dangerous, and yet you did nothing about them. That is YOUR mess, and you need to clean THAT up! Perhaps I’ll just let Ol’ Blue out of his containment pen, and then you’ll be forced to take care of my good little boy, yourselves.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **“They would never find me.”** This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, but the original sentence should stay intact. Stories without the sentence will be disqualified from rankings and campfire readings. The bonus constraint is not required. *Bonus constraint (worth extra points): A river appears or is mentioned.*   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week Keep up all the hard work! I loved the variety of stories this week, making nominations was *hard*! Well done, all around. I have loved the uptick in feedback the last few weeks. <3 - - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/HDJoey   *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Hello r/Shortstories! Guess who we’re celebrating today? u/GammaGames, congrats on your completed serial!!!! His serial, *That Unholy Ghost*, came to a conclusion with 13 chapters. It’s a wonderful read. Gamma has been part of the r/WritingPrompts family (including here at SS) for about a year and a half. I have enjoyed his energy and presence in the community, writing for all the features, always encouraging new writers and then zipping off to write more words. He’s such a delight to have around. If you haven’t read any of his work, you are missing out! It’s . You can read it all on . He’s even begun a brand new serial already. Such a champ.   ***   #That Unholy Ghost - Written by u/GammaGames **A brief synopsis from Gamma:** The story of Reverend Gregory Canmore after he is unwillingly relocated to a small town in the midwest. There, he discovers a purpose, and a corrupting being with no regard to the people of Faircreek. - - - - - - - - - - - - -   ***   #A Chat with u/Gamma about Serial Writing Let’s take a moment and hear what Gamma’s serial experience was like. ##**What have you learned throughout the serial writing process?** This was my longest story I’ve ever written, and I learned that I actually kinda like outlines! Not too detailed though. A few hundred words of major beats, some character descriptions and motivations, and (*checks outline file*) at least a thousand words of random scribblings for dialogue and plot ideas that I have while trying to fall asleep help a lot with keeping ideas going. Writing serials has also boosted my word count. Before, I was doing a SEUS every week and coming up with a different idea for each story took a lot of time. Having one story that I don’t have to create from scratch every week has been great for keeping motivated. ##**What did you enjoy most about writing this?** Since I knew where it was going, trying to tell the story nonlinearly was a lot of fun. Some of the earlier chapters could’ve been lengthened a little to allow more breathing room, but overall I enjoyed trying to plan it out. Also, the themes fit the outlined notes very often! That was mostly luck, but it did make it so I had to work harder to not skip a week when time was tighter. ##**What was the biggest challenge you faced and how did you overcome it?** Trying to find time to write it! I tried to get a draft and edit done by Thursday so I could try to get some feedback before posting, but half the time I ended up sprinting at 2am on Friday night to get a draft finished that could be edited Saturday morning. I haven’t overcome it! I continue to be a late-night writer, but I’m trying to be better so I can write more in the mornings instead. ##**What advice would you give to writers who are thinking about writing a serial for the first time?** Do it! I think a vague outline helps with thinking of ideas for the upcoming themes, but don’t sweat it if the story starts to diverge from your notes. Being able to write a story in little chunks at a time is a nice leisurely way to write, so give it a try!   ***   Thank you so much, Gamma, for sharing some of your thoughts with us! I love reading your words around the subreddits. And I’m already so intrigued by your new project! Writers like you make doing this such a pleasure. Be sure to leave Gamma some love in the comments below. Feel free to throw a congrats his way or ask him great writing questions!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Once there was a little girl. She was neither tall nor short, thin nor fat. She had long, beautiful, light brown hair, a beautiful face, and a sunny disposition. Her milk teeth had come out and very large ones had replaced them. She was teased by other children, but it never stopped her from smiling. Home life was happy enough, at that time. Sure, her mother would lash out and beat and her father would get into the ale too much, but the little girl had her brothers, and her very best friend. Her reflection. The little girl was fortunate enough to have a room separate from the rest of the family. She would go there when noise got to be too much for her. She would dream and act, cry and read, and think about what it would be like to have her own cottage with her own little girl. Ah, but the mirror. That was where her best friend lived. You see, other than her teeth, no one had ever made comments about her appearance before, other than to comment on her complexion or eyes. She loved looking at herself, but not in a vain way. The way that birds like to look at themselves. She would watch her mouth form words, learned to wiggle her eyebrows and wink with both eyes, and would use funny voices with different expressions. When the girl would cry, she knew that if she went to her room and shut the door, her best friend would cry with her. They could tell each other that they weren’t at fault and things weren’t always going to be this way. The girl would sniffle and kiss her reflection, and feel better. This went on for a long time. And then, one day, the winds shifted. This man that called himself her “REAL Grandpapa” was coming for a visit, and the girl’s mother started acting strangely. The cottage was scrubbed, top to bottom, the beatings came more often and more harsh, and the girl started to go quiet. Not too much at first. Just a little less laughing and smiling. More hair being pushed behind her ears in a soothing gesture. The day for “Grandpapa” to arrive drew closer and closer. When he arrived, the girl was shy. Who was this man that resembled her mother so? Why did his young daughter look like a reflection of her mother? The girl was uneasy, as Grandpapa paid more and more attention to her, giving her a nickname for her smile, and ignoring her mother. Her Auntie was only five years older than her, how strange. She was mischievous and manipulative, but the girl kept quiet and hoped they’d leave soon. The Auntie was causing trouble with Mother and Grandpapa, acting like a child having a fit whenever he would engage with Mother. At long last, Grandpapa and Auntie took their photographs and bid their goodbyes. Auntie promised to write the girl and the girl promised back. As soon as their caravan was out of sight, Mother had tears in her eyes and trembling hands. She went to her bedroom and shut the door. After that, things around the house changed. Bad magic had been stirred up. Mother and Father fought and argued more, each battle worse than the one before. The girl was informed that she was getting fat, had a unibrow, huge crooked teeth, and was too...her. This crushed the girl, and at first, she tried comforting herself the same way she always had. Her best friend was still there, with her sad smile and tearful eyes. But then the girl REALLY looked at her friend. Mother was right. Her teeth were too big, her eyebrows too bushy and met in the middle, and she did seem a little chubbier than the day before. The girl turned away from her friend and whispered, “You’re hideous. I HATE you.” After that, whenever the girl was reprimanded, picked on, or told she was starting to get “heavy,” she’d sneak up to her room, look at her reflection and give HER the riot act. “Why can’t you be beautiful? Why are you unable to keep from knocking milk over? Why are you so LOUD? Can’t you keep quiet? Can’t you get better grades?” The girl would cry, engulfed in emotion, and turn away from her reflection. The years went by, and the girl stopped visiting her friend. She would look into the mirror, only see flaws, and run. She couldn’t stand her reflection, yet looked into a mirror every chance she got. Maybe in a way, she was trying to check in on her old friend, but only sad eyes and a harsh tongue met her. When the girl became a mother, she was so sad and angry all of the time, she lost herself. And one day, when the pain and crying were too much, she started feeling desperate. She needed to do something! Hurt herself, end it all, or make it all better! Her heart pounded hard, she couldn’t hear, breathe or see. She stumbled in front of the mirror and saw her friend. Her friend she had known forever. Her beautiful friend, looking so bereft and terrified. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. I love you, it’s okay.” The girl started muttering and then it got louder. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay, we’re OKAY. We’ll be okay. We just need to get through this. I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry.” The girl watched her friend slowly calm. They looked at each other in quiet admiration. They had weathered the storm together, just like so many years ago. Things were going to get better, they knew it. The girl doesn’t talk to her friend much anymore. Her friend understands, it’s how things have to be. But every once in a while, while the girl is picking at her reflection’s face, tearing her down with sad and angry words, they lock eyes and know that they love each other. The End.


She'd been there for me since I turned sixteen. I was younger then, physically that much is obvious, but I was a younger spirit too. I didn't know what it felt like to breathe another person's air in, and I couldn't have known what it was like for someone to spit yours back in your face. I was only sixteen, and anything was possible, and she was my ticket to all those possibilities, to a life yet unknown. Carmen, my sister had named her, it was only proper that I addressed her by the same name once she had become mine. I'm the type who doesn't like changing the name of his pets if they've already been given one, I don't see why cars should be any different. Hell, I'd hate it if someone started calling me by something stupid one of these days for no good reason. But, I guess there's no harm in a nickname - still, she remained Carmen to me. In my youth I had mistreated her, as most youth do with most things they don't understand the value in. Tools were tools to me, and relationships were relationships, and my mother's fascination with dolls and furniture had pushed me even further away from subjectifying objects. I drove her too hard, I let my friends blast their shitty music at full volume through her speakers - I paid quickly for that one, poor Carmen never sounded the same after that first summer I had her. It didn't take long for her health to start to fade, she was an older girl, but she had been properly taken care of before me. Her brakes went out, her oil turned to slop, and later on, she'd punish me especially harshly by taking away her cooling capabilities from me - a sentence too cruel to be served in Texas, regardless of the crime. I learned a lot from her though - every time she'd let me know something was wrong, I learned how to fix it. She taught me to be attentive, to listen to every bad breath she'd heave, to feel for when her shoes would start to hurt in the wrong ways. I didn't become a mechanic by any means, but I was well beyond oil changes and brake swaps by my second year. By the end of her life, I'd fixed her bumper, given her cleaner headlamps, replaced the power window assembly on three of her four doors, you could definitely say we were well acquainted. That's what I think does it to me, now in our twilight together, she's not just a car to me anymore. I don't think she'd just been a car when I got her either, but now I know the difference. A car can take you places, a car has nice features and big cup holders and vents for the rear, but a car is just a means to an end, no more romantic than a high-tech wagon. Carmen was something else, Carmen was something to hang out with - I learned that on one of the many drives between college and my hometown. I learned it more deeply later on, on the drives I'd make to and from nowhere: excuses to hang out with Carmen. I remember the wind she cupped perfectly into my hair as I drove her on, the way she'd hum and purr beneath my feet so gently. I remember what it felt like when we were in our prime together. But, Carmen is an older woman - younger than me, but old in her years. Eventually, the years caught up to her; fixing her became more of a hassle, and made hanging out with her feel like something tedious. Her health got worse and worse over the years, and by the time I could start affording to give her the attention she needed, it was plain to see that we had outgrown one another. As she sits now, lonely and unattended to for far too long, a fixture in my garage, I wonder what to do with her. I love her, and I know she loves me, but the love is different now - love for a long lost past we shared. So, when I asked her this morning, it didn't surprise me that she accepted my offer - it almost felt like she had been waiting for this moment too. Carmen's moving on. She became far too costly for anyone who didn't understand her worth to sign up for; but, I found a service that lets me free her, one that lets me give her away. I don't know what'll happen to her once they take her, but I know what would happen if she stays. I hope they give her to somebody who can appreciate her, some one who can learn to love her flaws that make her unique. I hope they fix her up before they do, give her the makeover she so desperately deserves. But, I know they could just as well turn around and discard her at the nearest salvage yard. How many pieces of silver would she be worth for her flesh alone? I don't know what will happen to her if she goes - but I think that's just life; all I can do is hope. But, if there's one thing she's taught me: it's not about where she stops, but about the drive that got her there in the first place. I'll miss you, Carmen.


I love to watch people. I know how it sounds, but let me explain. I love to take a simple glance at a stranger and invent their entire life story. That woman you queued behind at the supermarket? She’s a single mother, her three children, all under the age of 5, struggling to survive. Of course, I could be, and most likely am, completely wrong. She might be heading home to her spouse, or to an empty house, or even to no house at all. I have no idea. But I have instinct. I have this odd feeling that I’m right. Each and every time. Deep down, I know that each observation I make is entirely true. And in my profession, it makes all the difference. Things have been slow recently. I’ve been slow. None of my stories seem quite right. That was, until, I saw her. She sat across from me on the metro, staring down at her phone. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But then, she moved. She flipped her hair back, read something off of her phone, and smiled. It was brief. Only for a second did that grin cross her face. But I saw it. And it made all the difference. My mind began to spin, running through every single possibility I could conjure up. Maybe a family member was having a baby? Maybe she was having a baby? Or maybe it was something simple, an “I love you” from the one she cares about, perhaps. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something sick. Something twisted. The passing of a loved one. A friend in danger. Maybe she smiled so briefly because she knew it was wrong. But this thought exited my mind as quickly as it had appeared. What were the chances of this woman being a sociopath? Highly unlikely. Of course, it was something mundane. Like a turning cog in my head, I waited for my brain to land on an explanation. And then it came. Her loved one was far away. Much too far away to keep a stable relationship. But they had. And the smile? The reasoning was simple. I was almost dismayed at how long it took me to work it out. Her lover was coming back to her. Whether they were taking the next flight or had only just booked, I had no idea. But that was her story. Do you see? Do you see now why I love this so much? I can ignore my boring life and think about all the adventures that other people have. I began to imagine the reunion. Maybe they would embrace. Maybe she would drop whatever she was holding and run towards them, like in a movie. Or maybe she would simply smile, like she had just then. I didn’t know. I can’t tell the future; just the present. I sighed, my shoulders falling, a small, brief smile gracing my face. Just like hers. For the remainder of the ride, I stayed deep in thought about this girl and her mystery lover. That was, until, the train came to a grinding halt at the station. I knew it wasn’t my stop, so I started to close my eyes, leaning back more in my chair. But she stood. She stood up, brushing the dust from her lap and beginning to make her way towards the platform. I told myself it didn’t matter; that I didn’t care about this stranger. But I did. I cared more about her and her story than anything in my life. I had to know. So I stood. I brushed the dust from my lap. And I followed her onto the platform. And all the way home. I had no idea where I was, but I didn’t even care. My mind was clouded by excitement, at anticipation for seeing how this story continued. She paused outside one of the homes, most likely hers, and turned. She looked one way down the street, and then the other. And then down at her watch. What was she waiting for? Or who was she waiting for? My heart began to pound. It was almost ironic; I thought I must have been more excited than her. I - no, we, - waited there for almost an hour. Nobody came. I was angry. Disappointed. In fact, scratch that - I was furious. How could they have left me hanging like this? Left on the edge of my seat, barely even breathing, and they had disappointed me. Of course they had. They always did. But she looked worse. She had crumpled down onto the concrete, head in her knees, sobbing. It was muffled from across the street, but I could tell she was weeping. She lifted her head up for a moment - the same way she had lifted her head on the train - and I saw the tears lining her face like a periwinkle glitter. Before I could even tell what I was doing, I took a step into the street. And another. And another. And before I knew it, I was sprinting towards this poor, poor girl. She didn’t know me, of course, but she needed the comfort. She needed my comfort. And she was going to get it. I realised how close I was standing to her, towering over her crumpled figure like some kind of twisted, humanoid lighthouse. She didn’t even lift her head. Rude, I thought, but she was sad. I couldn’t blame her. I knelt down, my knees rough against the concrete pavement. Should I speak? I tried. I opened my mouth, my throat dry and lips chapped, but no sound came from my decaying mouth. Not even a hoarse groan. Nothing. So instead. I raised my skeletal hand to her shoulder. I’m so sorry this had to happen to you, I thought in my head. No one deserves this. And as my hand fell, fell towards her shoulder, it never hit. I phased straight through her. Like always. My piteous smile turned into a grimace. My other hand swung up, down through her back, and into the concrete. I tried to grab her face, to lift up her beautiful head, to wipe away the tears, but all I felt was air. My love, I’m sorry, I tried to scream. I didn’t mean to leave you here alone. I tried to come, I did, I swear. I just never made it. It wasn’t my fault, but it also isn’t yours. You could never do anything wrong. My love. My love. My love. I shut my eyes tight, praying, wishing, begging I could embrace her once more. Pleading with the universe to allow me to explain myself. And yet, when I opened my eyes; nothing had changed. I’m back on the metro, sat across from the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She flips her hair and smiles; smiles at my text message. I can’t wait to see you again, it reads. She types back. I never get her message. Because a block away from her home, I’m dead with a bullet wound in my head. Tossed away like garbage in a back alley. She never gets to embrace me. I can never embrace her. So all I can do is observe. Over and over. Forever.


The pages scattered across the floor and he dropped to his knees, gathering them up. The woman behind the desk was shouting at him, shouting something he wasn’t really listening to. It was just another rejection. Just something else to weigh on his mind tonight. He stood, clutching the paper to his chest and thanked the woman for her time and stumbled out. Her assistant gave him a pitying look and his face burned with embarrassment. It was bad enough that he was being rejected, he didn’t need to be pitied as well. The bench at the bus stop was cold as he sat, but there was nothing more comfortable around. He just wanted to get home before the rain started. He could see the grey clouds building quickly. Around the corner rumbled the bus, jerking to a stop before him. He paid his fee and found a seat, shuffling the paper in his lap to put it back in order. Some of the pages had been crumpled and he smoothed them out as best he could. She didn’t have to be so mean, he thought to himself. A simple ‘no thank you’ would have been far more than enough for him to leave her office. Throwing the pages at him was nothing more than smug dismissal. The bus creaked to a halt at his stop and he shuffled off. As soon as the door closed behind him, a wet drop hit his shoulder. He glanced at it and then at the sky. Of course it began to rain as soon as he was out of shelter. He would have to run. By the time he reached his door, water had soaked through his clothes. The pages were wet under his shirt where he had tucked them. The ink had run and smeared across his skin. He kicked the door shut behind him and sat, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared at the sodden pages. Another failure. He’d even ruined the pages. Of course, they were too crumpled to take to another meeting. He sighed and pulled himself from the floor. The pages were laid over his bench to dry, a pathetic attempt at saving the paper, though he could already see how it had gone rough and fluffy from wet and friction. He crawled into bed, burying himself in his disappointment. The night passed and morning came, with a hungry belly waking him. Pulling on clothes and muttering to himself, he shuffled into the kitchen. The sheets of paper he had left on the bench were gone. Instead he found a box, filled to the brim with folded paper flowers. He picked up one, reading the text on one of the petals and realised it was a line from one of his rejected poems. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up.” His sister was holding a cake, smiling at him brightly. “I heard you come back yesterday, but you didn’t come in to tell me how it went.” He stumbled to her, setting aside the cake and leaned his head on her shoulder. Her arms went around him, rubbing his back softly and he began to cry. She held him tight, whispering soft words of love and encouragement until he stopped crying.


Cameron was a good guide, and we felt more certain on our route as we weaved our way over the hillsides of Stetguttot Heath. However, it was still tiring work. My lungs and legs were relieved at the top of every hill, catching a moment’s pause before we continued descending again. It wasn’t until we started our trek the next day that Cameron quickly turned off the main road, jolting away from the rising hills and instead snaking along the bottom of a valley. The track would never have been wide enough for a cart. Boulders jutted out into the path, and even in single-file we would occasionally have to step over rocks that had tumbled down the hillside, gravity pulling them as far as it could The gentle morning breeze felt stronger, concentrated and cajoled into a powerful gust. Around us, the air whistled as it spun its way through the corridors, and I struggled to hear Cameron’s instructions as he warned us of oddly placed rocks or thorn-covered plants. After a couple of hours in the valley, the path seemed to widen out. The steep banks of the hills slowly lost their pitch, becoming more rolled, until we turned one final corner and could see the town at Section F ahead of us. Immediately I could sense something was off. In the distance, there were people running between buildings. However, they weren’t focussed like the dedicated workers of Tima Voreef or Bluekira Ministrations. Instead, their eyes darted about, their gait was unsteady. They seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, but unsure where. In the far distance, I could hear voices. Not loud enough to make out words, but they were shrill. Orders were being barked in plaintive, hurried notes. Cameron noticed too, his feet quickly transitioning to a jog. We followed him closely until he stopped outside a building as a woman ran out of a building with a bucket of water. “What’s wrong?” Cameron asked. “One of the shafts collapsed.” The woman didn’t stop to talk, she just ran past us. “Good sixty people missing, hopefully most the other side, just trapped in there.” “How can we help?” I asked. “Any way you can. Move rocks. Help the doctor. Whatever works.” Cameron once more kicked his feet and began sprinting through the town. We stuck to his heels, darting past the buildings until we re-emerged on the otherside. Looking out ahead, I could see the entrance to the mineshaft. Where the hills began again, a tunnel had been dug into the earth. The entrance was several metres across, and wooden beams held back the mountain on either side. At the entrance, a chain of people had formed passing large rocks dragged out from the collapse. Behind them, carts, each manned by two people, trekked back and forth filled with dirt and rubble. They heaved their way out of the entrance, tipped the contents to the floor and then ran back in to gather another load. Then, emerging from the darkness, I saw two people carrying a woman with her arms draped over their shoulders. She hobbled slowly on one leg, the other refusing to touch the ground. Thick trickles of blood ran down her scalp towards her cheek. “Looks like there’s another one coming out, doc,” we heard a heavyset woman with dirt-brown hair screech from the mine. We followed her eyeline to see a man in a white shirt and black trousers knelt down by a prone body on the floor. “Come on, we have to help them.” Cameron beckoned us forward as he charged towards the mouth of the mine. We kept pace behind him until I saw Alessia suddenly stop and freeze by the doctor and the body on the floor. It was a man, perhaps in his twentie, silently writhing in pain. He rocked back-and forth, his arm held up to his face, covering his eyes. Looking down his body, I could see the source of his pain. His ankle was bent and twisted at near right angles to his leg, morphed into a position that looked so unnatural I almost gagged. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do for the ankle,” the doctor muttered to a woman standing nearby. “I think the best we can hope for is to save the rest of the leg.” “Please Doctor, please, just make the pain stop,” the man winced. “I’m afraid this might get worse before it gets better. But you’ll be okay. However, I think we might have to amputate.” He turned back to the woman standing nearby. “Do you think you can find me a saw?” “What the fuck?” Alessia suddenly blurted out loud, the words escaping from her lips like vented steam. “Amputate?” The doctor turned to face us. “I’m afraid it’s probably for the best. This will prevent any impediment caused by the useless limb and prevent infection.” “It’s a dislocation,” Alessia said. “It needs realignment, and then some elevation.” The man stood up and puffed his chest. “And you would be a qualified doctor would you?” “No,” Alessia replied, looking at the man on the ground. “But neither are you if you think you need to amputate.” “I am the lead medical officer for this entire section. Unless you have credentials, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Alessia simply stood still and shook her head. “I said leave.” “Let me realign that man’s ankle,” she said calmly. “You have no authority here,” the doctor replied, his eyes darting around us, looking for help. “One minute. If I’m wrong you can needlessly amputate my leg too.” “I am a qualified doctor…” “Oh screw this,” Alessia said, pushing past the doctor and kneeling down by the man on the floor. “Hey, I’m gonna do something that will help save your foot. But I need to pop the ankle back in its joint, and while I’m doing that it’s going to hurt. Bad. Okay?” The man nodded. “Get away from my patient,” the doctor barked. He reached down an arm onto Alessia’s shoulder to grab it. As soon as his fingers touched her, an instinct kicked in. She flicked her body back, reached up, grabbed his arm and yanked him down to the ground behind her. The doctor tumbled into the dirt as Alessia whipped a knife out from her belt. “Stay still or next time I don’t stop at showing you the knife.” She turned to me. “Ferdinand, keep an eye on him.” “Gladly,” I smirked, walking over to the doctor and standing by him. “You’re going to let this woman maim a patient are you?” The doctor glared at me. “Be quiet. Allow her to concentrate.” I said softly, nodding to Alessia and the patient. “Okay. This will hurt. But try not to fight it or buck against me. Scream if you need to.” The man got half a word into a response before Alessia lifted up the leg and with one quick movement, twisted the ankle back. The man let out a gasping scream, a roar so loud that everyone around us turned to stare, drawn towards the howl. However, no sooner had it begun, than Alessia was finished. The leg back down on the floor again, and the foot looking normal. “It’ll hurt for a bit. Keep it elevated and rested. But you’ll be fine,” Alessia said. The man’s head bobbed in confusion and relief. Alessia stood back up and turned to the doctor on the floor. “Learn what a dislocation is, you moron.” She rolled her eyes and began walking off towards the mine. I smiled to the man on the floor, and then to the doctor, before following Alessia. “I know what you did was right. But was that worth it?” “Pick your battles. I picked one. It was an easy win,” Alessia shrugged. “What if that doctor tries to get you in trouble?” “For what? Helping his patient? Yeah, he’s gonna sit scared and embarrassed, nothing more.” I paused for a moment, glancing back over my shoulder at the man, now sitting, staring at his swollen ankle. “What was all that about anyway?” “What do you mean?” “Why was a doctor preparing to cut off a man’s leg for a dislocation?” “No idea. But wanna do some good?” she said, her head bowed to the mine. “Let’s go clear as much rubble as we can.” \ We helped out for much of the rest of the day, doing our best to clear the mine as the people of Section F desperately tried to burrow through to the other side. As the sun began to fade, exhausted, we pulled ourselves away from the struggle. A few committed workers would continue to fight through the night, but most needed to stop, sleep, and finish the job in the morning. My skin tingled as the heavy sweat from the day’s labour evaporated in the cool nighttime air. We sat around a large open campfire, maybe some five metres back. Close enough to give me light, but far enough away that only the occasional crackle of the fire blew warmth my way. My body provided enough heat on its own. We had been sitting in relative peace, when Cameron walked out of the gloom, accompanied by the large woman I had seen bellowing orders when we first arrived. “Cameron says you’ve been asking about Sannaz Lytta,” the woman said as she knelt down on her haunches by the fire, the tips of the flames occasionally obscuring her face. “Yes.” I leaned forwards. “Do you know them?” “Did,” the woman replied. “I’m the foreperson of the mine here. It’s my job to know all the workers.” “Has Cameron told you about what Sannaz did?” I asked. The woman looked to the ground. “I… I feel I ought to apologize for what he apparently did to your friends.” “Do you know why he may have done it?” The woman shook her head. “Afraid your guess is as good as mine. He was always pretty quiet. Just spent his time observing the world around him. I’m sorry I can’t offer much more.” I forced a smile, hiding the disappointment. The woman looked back to Cameron. “Cameron tells me you helped a man who was injured earlier." She pointed to her own ankle. “He had a bad leg, I think?" Alessia steadied herself, preparing for trouble. “Uh huh. The doctor intended to amputate, and I-” “Yeah. That sounds about right,” the woman interrupted. “That kid’s got his whole life ahead of him, one that will remain good because of you. Thank you.” Alessia relaxed her shoulders. “I’m glad we could help.” The woman paused once more. “I’m not sure if this will be helpful, but maybe you can still make use of it.” She leaned in closer, whispering her words with the flames. “About a week before he disappeared, Sannaz said he had found an old cave system while digging out a new route - asked if he could see where it went, thought it might lead to some more veins. I said it sounded good. I never spoke to him to find out how it when. But then there’s an explosion near where he had been working. The whole shaft collapsed. Sannaz was nowhere to be seen. Truth be told I was worried he had died there, or been trapped in the caves.” She rolled her head from side to side. “By the sounds of it, may have been better if he had.” “You didn't clear the route?” Alessia asked. “No. But the explosion caused a sinkhole. There’s a straight drop down to where he was working about three hundred metres that way.” The woman pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “The ground’s unstable. And you’d have to drop straight down a good hundred metres. But if you wanna try it, it might be your best chance of finding out what happened.” “Thank you,” I said. The woman stood back up. “I am truly sorry for what happened. Sorry that someone from our island did this. And I guess I’m sorry for Sannaz too. He was a bright man." "Bright?" The words spilled from my lips like a reflex. "I thought he did terribly on the test, the… TBU thing." The woman chuckled. "You ever taken that test?" I shook my head. "Have a look sometime. Tell me how you do." The woman turned and left, her figure slowly fading into the darkness. Cameron stayed behind and sat down next to the fire. "What about the test?" Alessia asked. My eyes narrowed as I focused on the flame in front of me. "Alessia, can I have a look at that book?" "Sure," she replied. Reaching to the bag we confiscated from Cameron and throwing it over to me. I saw Cameron's eyes follow it, like a baying dog. I grabbed the bag and took out the book, flicking it open to the front. The text was in simple black and white, the occasional smudge where the printing press shifted as the ink settled. I look at the contents, found a section labeled "practice questions" and turned forward. I reached the right section and read the question at the top of the page. Then I read it again. Then again. Slowly, pausing between each word, tracing the sounds with my lips. After the fourth attempt I find myself incoherently mumbling the words aloud. “You okay there?” Alessia asked, distracted by my noises. “Yes,” I replied. “Well, no. This question…” “What?” “‘Cato takes resources from batch CF231502 for part of the smelting process, and combines them with resources from batch MW222686. This creates the correct reducing agent for which ore?’” “Copper, right?” Cameron asked. “The answer will be in the margins at the bottom.” I flicked my eyes to the end of the page where the answers was written in the tiniest font. Sure enough, as I squinted, I could see he was correct. “Yeah,” I nodded, slowly. “But the batch numbers?” “Labels given to each of the materials down at the mines.” “How many are there?” Cameron shrugged. “Thousands, probably.” “So to pass the test you have to remember thousands of batch names and what’s in each.” “In theory,” Cameron said with a tilt of his head. “In theory?” “That’s what the book’s for. It’s a study guide. To show you how to prepare for the test?” “So that’s how you learned all the batches and what’s in them?” “You don’t have to,” Cameron said, shaking his head. He uncrossed his legs, stood up, and walked over. He crouched down beside me and picked up the book, before opening it in the middle. He flipped through a few pages until he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he said, placing the book in my lap. I glanced down at the open page. *In order to assist with test grading, the examination office at Section C often use a code that ties the question to the answer. Remembering these can help speed up answering the questions.* *Arlo = arsenic* *Cato = copper* *Tina = tin* The list continued but I stopped reading. “It’s a cheat.” “It’s not a cheat. You still got to study and learn. You can’t take the book into the test,” Cameron protested. “But...” I blinked, processing Cameron’s argument. “You don’t need to know how to make copper to answer that question?” "No." “So without the book -” “- you can never pass.” Cameron finished my sentence for me. “Even with it, only the brightest, hard working students get top grades. There’s too much to remember. I got lucky with that copper question you asked. But, if you live in a section where they don’t have the book… Ain’t anyone in the whole of Section F got more than a thirty in generations.” I looked around at our surroundings, recalling every person I had met since we arrived. Everything I knew about the island was wrong. It had all been offset, slightly askew. And now a lens had been shifted, the world put into alignment, and it all became so clear. Everything seemed to suddenly make sense, from the rundown harbour, to the sad but smart people of Section F. I turned my gaze back to the fire, watching the burning wood blacken from the heat, as the flames leapt high and gracious into the night air. I watched the ash flutter up into the dark sky, disappearing out of sight. And I wondered how my life might have been had I been born in Section F. \ Next chapter released 30th September.


Regret Vera looked at me. School was just out and we had agreed to go to her house after school. Our English teacher had given us an assignment: write a two-page story about a strong feeling you've had this school year. Both her and I had a hard time coming up with a topic, so we had agreed to sit together and write our stories. “Let’s go!”, Vera said. When we came out of the school building, the sun was shining. For the last couple of days or so, it had already been cold outside, autumn was clearly coming. But today, it was bright outside and pretty warm. We started walking towards Vera’s house. She lives half an hour away from school, outside our village. We walked past the lake. There were tiny waves on the lake that made the sunlight dance in a million miniature suns. There was the small beach and the jetty where we had spent so many days during the summer. “I want to sit on the jetty”, Vera said. That was a great idea. I was feeling quite hot already, and we would have our feet in the water while discussing what we would write about. We sat down and took off our shoes. “Cooolllld...!”, I yelled when I dipped my toes. Vera laughed. After a while, it just felt good. We talked about many things, but English class wasn’t one of them. The sun was still shining. A woman with two children had arrived at the little beach at the far end of the jetty. The children started to play on the beach, and I heard their mother raise her voice and say “stay in the shade!”. A couple in their 30s had laid down on the other side of the jetty and were tanning. The man had taken off his shirt, and the woman was wearing a bikini, or? no, she was actually just in her underwear. This day had surprised everyone with it’s summeriness. “Let’s take a swim!”, Vera suddenly said. “Ha ha, yes, let’s!” I said, thinking she was joking. “I’m serious!” “But…” “Yes, we don’t have our bathing suits. But, noone will see us or even care! We just jump in quickly!” “OK, but…” “Yes!”, she exclaimed, “I knew you were up for it!” And before I could say anything else, she started unbuttoning her jeans. I fumbled a bit with my dress. Vera was already pulling her jeans off her legs with great force. Her wet feet were sticking to the inside. I was touching some of the buttons on my dress. “It’s going to to feel so wonderful in this heat!” Vera said while folding up her jeans. She put them down neatly next to her shoes and socks. I looked at the mother and her children. They were digging a hole and filling it with water from the lake. “Not in the sun!” the mother shouted. I looked at the tanning couple. They were on their backs with their eyes closed and softly talking with each other. What if someone else came? I was clenching the buttons of my dress. Vera had taken off her top and was undoing her bra. I stared at her. “I am going to go in, what are you waiting for?” she laughed. Vera now stood on the edge, with her back towards me, her arms stretched upwards. She was breathing in and out deeply, preparing for the cold rush that would come when she would enter the water. I saw the freckles that started in her neck and went down all the way towards her lower back. The pattern looked beautifully symmetrical. Her skin was browned by many days of sun. She had no tanlines to speak of. I could see the fine detailed imprint that the underwear she had just worn had left on her body. It somehow reminded me of the emperor’s new clothes. She looked back at me. “The last one in is a rotten herring!”, she yelled, lifted up her arms and dove in the water. She made a perfect curve. Her feet were slightly apart when they disappeared into the water. A few seconds later she came back up. She swam back to where I was sitting and looked up at me. “Are you not coming?” she asked, using her normal voice. “That’s okay”, some seconds later. She swam away. I watched her moving in the water. The sunlight was still dancing on the waves, although now the pattern was different, from this close to the water. I closed my eyes and could almost feel how being in the cold water must feel for Vera, how the rush of just jumping in and not worrying about anything must feel for her. Vera swam to the wooden platform with the jumping tower that was floating in the water a small distance away, where the water was deeper. She climbed onto the platform and then to the top of the tower. “Geronimo!” she shouted when she let herself fall down all the way into the water. I watched. I saw the tanning couple were sitting up and were looking at Vera too, with smiles on their faces. I was still holding a part of my dress in one hand when Vera came back and climbed the steps back on to the jetty. She sat down next to me and brushed the water off her body with her hands. “The water was lovely!” she said. This time only to inform me, the tone of voice she had used earlier to try to convince me was gone. My window of opportunity was gone too. “Let me just dry up in the sun and then we go home, okay?” When we arrived at Vera’s house, her mother was wondering where we had been. She saw Vera’s wet hair and laughed, “okay, I thought so!”. She made lemonade for us and served cookies. We didn’t really make much progress with the story writing. When dinner time came, I said I had to go home and went outside. I started walking back to the village. It had become cloudy and it was a bit chilly in the air. I pulled my jacket out of my bag and put it on. When I walked by the lake, the water looked grey and uninviting. Summer was definitely over.


#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.   *** #This week's theme is Mischief! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘mischief’. What kind of antics and trouble will your characters get into? Will it be a playful type of mischief or something darker, with real repercussions? Is the misbehavior born of boredom or a deeper driving force, like jealousy or greed? How are the other characters affected? What kind of adventure will you take them on this week? 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 release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * September 26 - Mischief (this week) * October 3 - Vice * October 10 - Insidious   *** **Previous 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 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 inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** 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. **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 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 two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **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 of family friendly 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 exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host 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 point breakdown). * 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. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/Zetakh   - - u/Bavarianlageryeast   - - u/gurgilewis   - - u/OneSidedDice   - - u/rainbow--penguin   - - u/Sonic_Guy97   - - u/chunksisthedog   *** #Ranking System There is a new point 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) *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” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


My wife’s name is Ava. She’s pretty much the only good thing that has happened to me over the past few years. Lately though, things have changed with her. Let me go back to the beginning. Three years ago, I was at rock bottom. Like just about everyone my age, I shipped off to college when I was 18. I was never the best student, but I was never close to failing any classes either. It was just the next thing to do in life. It just didn’t turn out the way I planned. I hit a wall in college. It wasn’t the classes but college life in general. Coming from a small town, I wasn’t used to all the social circles, gossip, and backstabbing. More than anything, my dorm was just a mass of loud strangers. My anxiety and insomnia hit a pick, and, eventually, I couldn’t do it anymore. My parents were disappointment, but they eventually got over it. I was adamant that I would get a job and that college just wasn’t right for me at the moment. My mistake was taking the first job that came up. I started working at the grocery store just down the street from my parents’ house. It was soul-crushing work at first. I stacked so many cans and peeled so many labels that my fingernails were permanently chipped. I dealt with so many customers yelling about their expired coupons and how the bakery ruined their child’s birthday’s cake that I had a persistent headache. Unlike college, however, work was repetitive and mind-numbing. More than anything, it felt pretty good to come back to my childhood bed at the end of the day. Things got better right around the time I met Ava. My do-nothing store manager retired and I decided to throw my hat in the ring for the position. Next thing I knew, I was working a salaried position. Things still were far from perfect. I had new migraines involving employees not showing up for work, stealing merchandise, or failing drug tests. The difference now was that I was finally in control of something for once. It was my store and my rules for the most part. It also helped that my bank account now had four digits in it, and I was looking to move out of my parents’ house. I met Ava on a completely random day at work. One moment I was fixing the lotto machine and suddenly there was a stunning woman looking at me. She was tall shoulder-length gold-brown hair and a set of large brown eyes. At the time, she was clutching a can of green beans. I shook off my immediate infatuation long enough to hear her explain that she had a lot of food allergies and that she wanted to know about some of the mystery chemicals listed on the ingredients label. I had to take out my phone for some quick research before piecing together some less-than-scientific explanation for the strangely named compounds. She was extremely thankful afterwards, leaving me a with a smile. This became an almost weekly occurrence. Ava (I learned her name after the third time) would come in to quiz me on some preservative or food coloring agent. It was a little strange, but I figured that she was used to going to organic grocery stores or something. Her questions eventually turned to conversations. She wanted to here about me, and I learned about her as well. She said that she was a graduate student, working with a professor to study some of the rare salamanders found in the nearby woods. When she started talking to me outside of her food questions, things picked up speed. For only the third time in my life, I asked a girl out and, somehow, she said yes. It was a whirlwind after that. She was adventurous (outside of food), constantly taking me on road trips and day-cations. It was good for me. I was a college dropout working a dead-end job and, suddenly, my world was a whole lot brighter. Ava never talked much about her past. She said that she had a bad relationship with her family and couldn’t move away from them fast enough. She only had a few friends, like me, she had made around town. My parents loved her, so it wasn’t heard to consider her part of our family. I was always teaching her things that I thought regular parents usually taught their children. I taught her how to change a car tire and how to cook a pot of spaghetti noodles. I guess her relationship with her parents really was strange. She always had an interesting way of bashfully bringing up questions about those things. She would be overboiling something on the stove and say something like: “Help. I do not have knowledge of this.” I thought it was cute. The little idiosyncrasies in her speech made me feel like she had spent time in another country or something like that. After a year, I was never so sure about anything. This girl had to be my wife. I wanted her with me, lighting up everything around me for the rest of my life. She seriously said yes. In some private moments, however, she did ask me if I was sure. After all, she had to travel regularly back to her college and attend conferences. We’d be separated for long spans. I said exactly what I felt. While I always wanted to be by her side, it seemed like a no-brainer tradeoff. If it came to it, I had no problem with quitting my job and picking up everything to move with her if we had to. My first clue that something was off came during one of those conferences. Back at home, I decided to call Ava to check in before I went to bed. She didn’t answer her cell phone, and I basically figured she was tired from the trip and had fallen asleep with the phone off. Still, being an overly-cautious person, I decided to call her room number. That was a problem. The number I called was disconnected. That was a little concerning, but I thought she may have scribbled down the wrong number for me. I called the hotel front desk then. That started sending shivers down my spine. Not only did they not have any record of anyone named Ava in the hotel, but her room did not exist. In fact, the hotel only had five floors and Ava had given her room number at 604. I didn’t sleep that night. My mind raced with possibilities. Did she not make it to the hotel? Had she lied about where she was going? Why? Was she having an affair? Had she left me? Why? We barely ever fought about anything. No, I was just being suspicious. I resolved to call her program advisor in the morning. I sent an email to the professor just asking if I could get in contact with Ava and how she was doing at the conference. I had just pressed “send” when my phone started ringing. It was her. I exhaled all of the air I had been taking in from hyperventilating. She had seen my missed call and was checking up. She apologized for falling asleep and not getting back to me. I delicately broached my confusion with the hotel situation. She told me that she had simply wrote down the wrong number and that the room had been booked by the university without her name attached. That made me feel pretty bad about feeling so suspicious. Of course, Ava wasn’t the type of person to run off without a word. I had completely forgotten about sending the email until I got a reply later that day. That reply sent me back to a world of confusion. The professor, Dr. Miller, told me that I had the wrong professor. She didn’t have an advisee with Ava’s name. I read that email is disbelief. Ava couldn’t have told me the about the wrong advisor. She had stories she told about her. I was sure that was her name. I only had more questions that were now coupled with that bizarre episode about the hotel. How well did I know my wife? Was she even in a graduate program? I’d never seen the bills, but she had assured me they were taken care of by a scholarship. What was she doing away from home? How do I even bring this up to her? When Ava came home, I still didn’t know how to find the right questions. I was afraid that just speaking the words would cause my perfect world to break. So, I was cold and distant. It wasn’t on purpose; it was just reflex. I was sure that I just needed to find the right time to bring it up. I was also resolved that this wouldn’t be the end of Ava and me. She was too pure, too good for me. Whatever it was—an affair, a job she didn’t want to talk about, something about her estranged family—I would not leave her. I think Ava really sensed by coldness. She started spending more and more time away from home. Mostly she liked to take walks on the trail down the street from our house, especially in the early mornings or in the evenings. I really started missing our evening movie dates. She had so many movies she had missed out on as a kid, and I enjoyed introducing them to her. Her favorite was Monsters, Inc. I had given her a Sulley plushie as part of her first anniversary present. It usually sat at the edge of our bed. It took weeks for me to get the courage to talk to Ava about her mysterious trip. Every moment with her started to be filled with suffocating anxiety instead of the warmth I had felt before. Finally, I decided that I would take a walk with her on the trail. I thought the pleasant atmosphere of a misty, early fall morning might take some of the edge off. Ava usually got up early for her walks, so I set my alarm for 6:00 am the next day. I awoke, surprisingly, well before my alarm clock. It was 5:00 am, and the sky was a very dark gray. I wanted to go back to sleep but quickly decided to stay awake to make sure I could catch Ava before she headed out. I rolled over in bed in an attempt to get up. That was when I noticed that Ava’s end of the bed was empty, save for the Sulley plushie. Ava was an early riser, but this was really early. My mind again wandered to where she may have gone. However, her care was still in the garage, and her outdoor sneakers were off of their rack. I figured that she must have went to the trail earlier than usual. I thought about maybe trying to get up earlier on another day to catch her but decided against it. No, this would be the day. I’d been putting this off for far to long. I wanted to hear what was really going on so that we could work through it and go back to normal. I got to the trail a few minutes later, needing a flashlight to guide me. Ava wasn’t near the path’s entrance, so I ventured deeper inside. The thick trees seemed to curl around the dirt path, making a canopy above me. The ground was just slightly muddy from the early morning mist. The cold air fully woke me up. I was only a minute into my walk when I noticed a dark goo-like substance underfoot. It darkened some sticks and the ground itself. Curious, I stooped down to get a better look. There was a red tint to the soupy substance. It was blood. It was gruesome to look at, but my first thought was that it was animal blood. Maybe a cat had gotten ahold of a squirrel or chipmunk, or maybe a deer had been hit by a car nearby and had stumbled back into the woods to die. I kept walking only to find that the bloody trail continued. Whatever had happened, it was brutal. I found a clump of hair next. It was wrapped around a large stick that sloped onto the trail. It was long… and human. In the light from my flashlight, I saw that it was golden brown. Ava’s hair… I nearly fall to my knees. I started coughing puffs of gray mist. This wasn’t just a hair or two. It was an entire patch removed. And there was all the blood. No! No! I was screaming internally, fearing that anything I actually spoke would make this situation real. What happened? Was it a bear? We usually had one bear sighting a year. Some crazed murder? Why? Why did I let her walk alone? My only two options were to run back home and call the cops or to try to find her myself. I just couldn’t leave her out here. It may be old-fashioned, but I felt like I was failing my duty to protect my wife. I kept going. The blood and hair clumps continued off the trail. With every broken stick, I was afraid that whatever had gone after my wife would spring out at me. But I knew that time was of the essence. I had to go fast. The next grisly discovery was only meters ahead. There was some gray mass almost glued to a fallen branch. It was sticky blood and flesh that had kept it in place. Realized that it was human skin, grayed due to blood loss. I may have thrown up then without stopping. Something did smell terrible. I nearly fell into a sort of clearing. The trees parted to a grassy plain. I felt strange whirring in the air, stronger than regular win. Some mechanical sound was rumbling the ground. I swung my flashlight around. Something was at the other end of the clearing. It was like a giant octopus, just taller than a person. Its bottom tentacles were larger, supporting its weight. Small tentacles appeared stacked on top of the base. A beak protruded from the thing’s center while two eye stocks grew out of the top. It was standing next to some time of device. It was large and metallic. Something inside the cylinder appearing to be spinning. I screamed completely, forgetting about Ava for the moment. With horror, I realized that I had crept to close to the thing while I was inspecting it. Its eye stocks pointed at me as I turned to run. I got to the line of trees only to cry out again. Hanging on a branch was an entire coat of human skin, dripping crimson. The top was covered with golden brown hair. “Ava!” Behind me, I heard another, animal-like gurgling sound. The monster was making noise as it advanced toward me. It was gaining ground much faster than I was. I looked down as I ran to find something else. There was another one. This was smaller but had the same shape as the first one. Only, whereas the first creature was red and blue, this one was whitish pink—flesh-colored. It came running towards me, gurgling like the other one. My only instinct was to kick it. My adrenaline-fueled kick sent the thing flying into a tree. The thing gave a terrible, ear-shattering screech. The larger monster behind me also shrieked. I felt something large touch my back. It had me. I clawed and punched at the tentacles. Some kind of purplish blood came out, but it still pulled me in. It hoisted me in the air. My feet could no longer reach the ground. It brought me closer to its gurgling beak. Then, it stopped. When I was in full view of the things face, it brought another tentacle to its mouth. It was another metallic device which it placed around its beak. “Nick! Oh, Nick!” That was Ava! “Ava!” I sobbed, forgetting that I had seen her lifeless skin. “Where are you?” “Nick…” I finally centered on the source of the sound. It was originating from the thing’s beak. “You!” I shouted at it, while kicking out. “Stop using my wife’s voice!” “Nick…” I kept kicking until the strength left me. “Nick, it’s me.” “You…” I gasped, my mind beyond hazy. “You…” “I’m so, so sorry Nick. I could never tell you…” “No!” I cried while shaking my head. “It’s not… it doesn’t make sense!” “I can explain, Nick.” I had to listen while the thing spoke. It told me how it came from a race of explorers from galaxies away. Those explorers were scholars, wanting to learn everything about the sentient beings of the universe. They like to take on their form and to live among them without creating a disturbance. They had machines that could craft skin, hair, and all outward appearance. Their bodies, like octopi, could fit into almost anything and were malleable. They could slip into fake skin and live like it was nothing. She told me her story. She had spent years waiting for an interstellar assignment. When a green and blue planet had been marked for study, she had been sent there. She had landed in the wilderness to make sure her arrival was a secret. After that, she had studied the languages and cultures. When she was confident enough, she stepped into their world, wearing their skin. She even picked out a name, one of the most common ones from a baby book she found. What she had never planned on was growing so close to one of the planet’s inhabitants. She had fallen in love with him and, despite any reservations, she had chosen to remain with her mate. “Ava… Ava…” I murmured in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, but it’s me. This is me.” Everything, everything, I knew was breaking apart. “We can go back,” she begged. “I can put on the human suit again, and you won’t have to see me like this again. It’ll be just like before.” It wasn’t just that the words had gotten stuck in my throat. My brain had completely stopped formulating thoughts. “Or, you can run away. I understand. I’ve lied from the beginning about something so important. You can go and never look back. I won’t be angry. I understand.” Seeing that I was calming down, she lowered me to the ground. I remained standing there in awe of the creature before me. “Even if you do leave, I’ve told my people to never intervene on Earth. I’ve told them that there are many kind humans there who should just be left alone and studied from afar. You’ve done so much for your world without even knowing it.” “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure what that meant. It’s just the word my brain centered on to tell me that it was processing information again. Ava. This was Ava. I noticed another set of tentacles. They were the same fleshy ones that I had seen on the little one earlier. “Then… that one,” I gasped. “A miracle!” Ava replied, sounding like she was weeping. “Maybe the greatest one that the universe had ever known. That’s why I’m out here. I need to make a new suite.” I leaned down, holding out my hands to the fleshy creature. Sensing something on an instinctual level, and despite my earlier actions, it slowly climbed up my arms. The top of its eye stocks were hazel, just like mine. On that strange, cool morning, I held my child for the first time.


Seven o’clock and it’s already dark out. The days were getting shorter and colder than John appreciated. Those lovely, long summer evenings were gone. Goodbye to warmth, and happiness, and energy. Hello to depression, lethargy, and despair. As his boots trudged through the dirty but thankfully dry streets of central London, he finally saw his destination. One final glance down at his phone confirmed it. Here was The Last Whisper, and he was uncharacteristically on time. Unfortunately, the friend he was meeting was uncharacteristically early. Which effectively made John (characteristically) late. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette in the gutter, ruminating on his many failed attempts to quit, and the general filth of the city. The bouncer waved him in without checking ID. Beyond the nondescript black door lay the alluring promise of darkness. John fumbled his way up the metal stairs towards the muffled sounds of music and voices. This time, a padded leather door that wouldn’t look out of place in a gentlemen’s club from a Hollywood film, separated him from his final destination. John scanned the room as he entered. It was hard enough spotting someone in a crowded room, let alone a dimly lit one, and that broke out into all manner of different sections. After squeezing his way through more than a few unwelcoming bodies, he finally spotted Luc in a plush velvet chair tucked away in a corner. A little table for two. Fresh drinks were already waiting. “Johnny boy!” Luc shouted, erupting into a giant grin as he stood up to embrace his friend. “How are you doing, my friend?” John smiled as he returned Luc’s very excitable hug with slightly less fervour. “I’m good, I’m good. How are you?” “All the better for seeing you,” Luc beamed back. The old friends sat down and chatted about the weeks they’d just had. John dictated his fairly ordinary week at work to his friend, skipping over the more boring, technical elements, as always. And Luc probed with questions as he always did. They remembered their forgotten drinks, cheersed them, and began a long night of drinking. What started as surface level work chat and whisky cocktails, turned into venting about interpersonal frustrations on projects, and Vespers. (“David is just so inconsistent. He’ll take no issue with these big experiments we want to try, but then get caught up in minutiae for hours.”) From there, the two shifted to pure work gossip and Pisco sours. (“Cassie definitely hooked up with someone from Sales at the offsite last week.”) And not long after that, they were sharing aspirations for the next five years, over some regrettable Amaretto and Coke’s. (“I really want to move to Budapest at some point, and just work there for a year or two.”) “Do you think we’ll still be friends like 10 years from now?” Luc asked, fresh off of ordering two glasses of wine. John paused for a moment. “Why do you ask?” “I guess with neither of us being British, I just wonder if we’ll both still be here in London after all that time. I mean, don’t you feel like you might move back home at some point?” “True, I might. But I also might not. It’s hard to plan that far ahead. There’s already so much that’s happened in the past few years that I never would have expected. It almost seems silly to guess what life will be like 10 years from now.” Luc frowned, seemingly unsatisfied. “What?” asked John, “I mean we might be friends in 10 years. I’d like to hope so. But who knows?” Luc excused himself to go to the bathroom. The two hadn’t known each other long, but it was a friendship that developed fast. They met at work, occasionally being involved in the same meetings. Those small encounters gave way to them saying hello when they passed each other in the hallway. Which one day led to a shared coffee break, when they both arrived in the kitchen at the same time, alone. One coffee became many. Office kitchen coffees became coffee shop down the road coffees. Which became after work beers. Which became weekend coffees and beers. And acquaintances became friends. But for the first time, John couldn’t get a read on his friend. Something was off. But what it was, he couldn’t tell. He brushed it aside and the two drank their wine. Eventually, the watch checking couldn’t be ignored. It was definitively home time for John. Luc half-joked at the idea of another glass of wine, but relented upon seeing the expression on John’s face. The two made their way back through the padded leather door, down the metal stairs draped in darkness, and came out of the nondescript black door into the cold, dirty, but thankfully dry streets of London. “Which way are you headed?” Luc asked. “I’m getting the tube down there,” John gestured. “Ah, I’m grabbing a bus the other way.” A brief, awkward pause buffered the conversation. John opened his arms for a goodbye hug, and questioned if there was an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm in Luc’s response. “Goodnight, pal,” John said, as he began to turn, “I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah…” Luc replied with a weak smile, as he stood watching John walk away.