The rain fell through the night like bullets. John was speeding down the road of the rural countryside in his truck. Even with his windshield wipers on the fastest setting, he could barely see 5 feet ahead. Luckily, he had traveled up and down this road for many decades, so he wasn’t too worried about his lack of visibility. John was still annoyed with the rain, though. He had hoped to get out before it started pouring, but had been unsuccessful. His clothes were still wet. John was aware of the fact that he was almost out of gas, but because he knew the area, wasn’t worried. There was a gas station up ahead, he knew. He considered getting some food, but doubted his ability to eat and drive in the extreme rain. This rain was extreme. The weather had been hot the rest of the week, so the air was sickeningly humid. Luckily, John reached the small gas station before he ran out of gas. He mentally prepared himself to step out into the weather. The humidity, combined with the rain, made John feel like he was standing under water. He quickly filled his car with gas, and decided he would treat himself with something to eat, as well as try to wait out the rain. He sprinted into the gas station, and stepped through the automatic doors, soaking wet. If it weren’t for the rain, the emptiness of the gas station would have surprised him. As John walked in, the cashier’s eyes followed him. He browsed through the limited selection of snacks as the cashier silently stared at him. John settled on a nice bag of chips, and went to grab a drink from the refrigerators in the back of the gas station. He returned to the register with his snack and his drink, and noticed that the cashier was gone. John assumed that he must have gone to the bathroom. Five minutes passed, but the cashier didn’t return. John suddenly remembered that this gas station didn’t have a bathroom. Where was the cashier? John decided to continue waiting; maybe if he waited long enough, it would stop raining. After another couple of minutes or so, John decided to just put some money on the counter and leave. Just as he was retrieving money from his pocket, though, he heard a noise. It sounded like a voice. It had come from outside. John didn’t make out what the voice had said. He was surprised he even heard it at all through the rain. John, now sure that the cashier was outside, figured he would go tell him he was ready to pay. John stepped out into the rainstorm. Looking around, he did not see the cashier. Not wanting to get too wet, he stepped back inside. John heard the voice again. It had definitely come from outside. This time, John made out some of what the voice had said. John was certain he had heard “Are you... “ but didn’t quite catch the rest. Realising that this was a waste of time, John placed some money on the counter, grabbed his food, and sprinted through the rain back to his truck. As he started to drive away, he spotted the cashier in his rear view mirror, standing by the door of the gas station. John hoped that the cashier would notice the money on the counter, and drove back into the night. John opened his bag of chips and ate a handful of them. As he reached for a second handful, the bag tipped over and spilled onto the floor of his car. John checked that the road was clear before bending down and scooping some of the chips up. As he popped his head back up, he caught what looked like a hitchhiker on the side of the road out of the corner of his eye. John felt badly for him, standing out in the rain, but didn’t feel like driving back to let a wet stranger into his car. John continued on his journey. Through the heavy rain and the fog, John saw what he thought was another hitchhiker on the opposite side of the road. It was weird that there would be two different people hitchhiking so close together. He sped past, and noticed that the person did not have their thumb out. Now John was really confused. Why would two different people be standing on the side of the road, out in the pouring rain? More alert, John kept his eyes on the treeline. He was fearful he would see a third person standing on the side of the road. Seconds after thinking this, John, indeed, spotted a third person standing on the side of the road. He got a clearer look at the person this time. The person looked like the cashier from the gas station. That was impossible. Lost in thought and fear, John barely noticed that he drove past a fourth person standing on the side of the road. John was shocked. All of the people he had driven past looked exactly the same. Speeding up, he wasn’t sure what was going on, and just wanted to get home. John heard a voice. Through the sound of the car and the pouring rain, John heard a voice. It was the same voice he had heard back at the gas station. It said the same thing it had said at the gas station, too. John heard the voice more clearly this time. “Are you ok...” and then it was unintelligible. John was now terrified. Where did the voice come from? It sounded muffled, like it had come from outside his car, but he was speeding down the road. How could he have heard it? John passed two more people who looked like the cashier. John tried to ignore them. His heart was pounding. John was driving the fastest he had ever driven before. The rain now hit his windshield horizontally. He was full of adrenaline, and question after question raced through his mind. Who were these people? Why did they all look the same? Why were they standing in the rain in the middle of the night? Why hadn’t he passed any other cars? Thunder boomed as John raced around a tight bend in the road. The rain had made the road slick, and John started to lose control of his truck. He flew off the side of the road, and crashed into a tree. John awoke, unaware of how long he had been unconscious. It was raining harder than ever. His head throbbed with pain as he looked out his truck’s window. Twenty feet down the road stood the cashier from the gas station. John had had enough. John opened the glove compartment of his truck in search of his revolver. His vision was blurry from the crash. Keeping his eyes on the man down the road, he rummaged through the glove compartment, pulling things out as he searched for his weapon. He pulled a handful of old napkins, a candy wrapper, and a bottle of pills out of the glove compartment. John panicked. He couldn’t find his revolver, and he didn’t think an old Kit-Kat wrapper or medication would help him protect himself. John stepped out of his truck. As soon as he stood up, he became dizzy, and had to sit back down. The pain in his head was growing sharper and sharper. He staggered towards the man. The man kept staring. Slowly, John made his way to the staring man, yelled at him, asked him why he was following him. John shouted at the man, but the man remained silent. As John got closer, he realized that the man was smiling at him. Smiling, and standing completely still. John continued to scream at the man as he stepped closer and closer. The pain in John’s head was almost blinding. John slipped on the slick pavement, and fell to his knees. He looked up at the man. The man was still there. Still smiling. John got to his feet, and as he did, lightning struck. The lightning illuminated the whole forest and for a split second, John had a perfect view of the man who had been stalking him. The man was wearing a suit. He was standing in an odd pose. His arms were crossed. He had no legs. He was flat with an unchanging expression. There was something next to him. Letters were next to him. Words seemingly floating in the air. They read: Vote for Steven Erikson for Mayor! John’s vision started to fade. John collapsed to the ground, and called out for help. The campaign sign did not respond, just continued to stare, continued to smile. John looked up into the rain, and everything turned white.


I scanned the crowd and saw her. She didn’t blend in with anyone at that party, but that’s part of what made her so mesmerizing. It was mostly boys that she got stares from, they noticed how close her breasts were to fall out of her red tank top. But when I looked at her, I saw her perfectly curled hair falling so gently on her freckled shoulders. I noticed how her smile seems contagious to anyone she’s near. I noticed the faint scar on her upper left arm, and think of the bike accident from fourth grade. Her hand on my shoulder interrupted my internal monologue, “Hey!” she shouted. “What’s up?” I attempted to yell over the music, but my voice was drowned out by the hundred-something teenagers screaming nonsense at each other. She waved her hand, motioning for me to follow her. She grabbed my hand as we slithered through the crowd of sweaty bodies, trying to find a pocket of quieter air. I watched all the jock boys stare her down, absorbing every last second of the view that they could before she disappeared back into the sea of stench. Eventually, we made it to the bathroom. She locked the door and let out a loud sigh while playing with her hair in the mirror. “I’m happy you came tonight,” she grinned, “you make shit like this better”. I just laughed and stared down at the broken tile floor, covered with empty beer cans. “I mean it! I really like hanging out with you Mya,” she said as she plopped herself beside me on the edge of the bathtub. I smirked and continued to stare at the floor scared of what would happen if I looked up. “Yeah, I like hanging out with you too, Case”. Her neatly painted blue fingernails lightly scratched along my thigh, then moved up towards my face. She turned my face towards hers, and as I stared into her hazy green eyes I couldn’t help but smile. “Case,” I started, but before I could finish my thought, her lips were on mine. The familiar taste of vodka filled my mouth, and with the number of times we’ve done this, the taste alone makes my brain spin out of control. She pulled away for just a moment, giving herself enough time to pull the pills out of her pocket and wash them down her throat with more vodka. I pulled away. “You know it scares me when you do that, especially because of what they did to you last summer” She rolled her eyes playfully as she grabbed my hand, pulling me off the edge of the tub and towards the door. She blindly unlocked the door with one hand as the other caressed my face. The door swung open as we melted into the sweaty hallway once again. We trailed along the side of the hallway with our hands against the wall, feeling around for the next door handle. The next room we found was a bedroom, and before I had a second to think she pushed me onto the edge of the bed. She climbed on top of my lap and started kissing my neck. I fell onto my back, letting her soft curls dance around my face and neck, and she kissed me deeper and deeper. I pushed her hips off of me to stop her, “Case I’m sorry but I told you I can’t do this anymore.” “But you like this, you know you do, and nobody needs to know.” she tried to lean in again. “No that’s just it. No one knows we do this. Last summer when you were in the hospital, I couldn’t come to see you, because your parents don’t know who I am. MY parents don’t know who I am. Do you understand how hard it was to sit back and do nothing, alone? Not being able to see someone I love?” “Mya c'mon I love you, you know I do.” “I- I can’t Case.” I turned my head away from her as I stood up off the bed. I quickly scrambled to the door so that she wouldn’t try to convince me to stay. I took a deep breath before I whipped open the door, letting the music and stench surround me once again. I struggled to get to the front door, stumbling over passed-out bodies and empty bottles on the way. I hopped on my bike and started down the dimly lit road. I was probably 20 minutes out when I realized *fuck.* My phone. I turned my bike around and headed back to the house party. The road seemed a little less blurry now. My mind wandered. Thinking about Casey, about us, and if I made the right choice in leaving. Flashes of red, white, and blue snapped me back into reality. Groups of drunk slobs wandered out of the house and into the street, leaving me to swerve around them, dragging out my trip even more. My heart sank when I saw a stretcher being carried down the front steps of the house. My feet couldn’t pedal fast enough as I watched the paramedics lift a body into the ambulance. I got stuck on the outside of the crowd and threw my bike to the ground. I pushed through to the front of the audience, and my heart sank. My eyes filling with tears as I saw the blue, neatly painted fingernails, hanging lifelessly off the edge of the stretcher.


A desperate and destitute farmer turned to God after his harvest failed. Hungry and penniless, he was not able to feed and take care of his daughter. The heavy rains had flooded his fields and ruined his crops. One cloudy day after mass the farmer stood watching the clattering of raindrops on the slate walls of the church steeple. His eyes transfixed on the rough black texture and he became entranced with the rhythmic repetition nature provided. The pastor grabbed the latch on the door after the last parishioners had left the church, taking a moment to ponder at the poor farmer who had steadily refused alms. With a worried look he pulled shut the door behind him, to prevent further wetting of his robes.   The farmer stood exposed to the elements, not paying any mind to the wind and rain slashing around him, wetting his cloak and breeches. He felt weightless in the dark, as if there were no veil between him and God. His internal dissociation brought him closer to the elements, closer to the surface of the slate walls. His eyes widened when he saw her, the pristine shape of the virgin Mary falling off the slate bricks. He felt a comforting warmth fill his entire being, a grogging recognition of the holy, which brought him back to the material world. His eyes watered not only from the rain but now his tears as he uncontrollably sobbed. At a search for meaning his mind began being filled with desperate, blasphemous and irrational thoughts. _Perhaps his daughter would carry the second coming of Christ. It would be her salvation of the suffering she had to endure at the hands of his inept caretaking. He would serve by kindling the conditions that would manifest God’s desire._ It would be his last desperate attempt at saving her from a life of poverty and despair.   At his homestead, the farmer warmed himself by the meager fire that he managed to build and ate a few bites of leek and bean soup with his daughter. After she was put to bed, he pondered his next steps. He felt a strange calm washed over him, as if his goals in life were never this clear. In his limited religious understanding he knew that it was blasphemous to propose his conclusions to the church. The pastor would not help him, and he might even risk excommunication. He decided that with no one else to turn to, he should visit the village witch for advice. He lit an oil lamp to guide him through the darkness, beyond the boundaries of the village, into the confines of the broadleaf forest. He traded the clear night’s sky for a roof of tree crowns. The smell of damp earth and moss and rotting roots met his nose. The chilly night air pricked his skin. He followed the small path that he knew led to the witch’s hut.   There was light pouring out of a small window next to the front door, under the thatched roof. The house was surrounded by a variety of different plants he guessed were used for her medicines. After he knocked, he heard shuffling and the door creaked open. An old woman of small stature stared into his eyes and welcomed him into her home. Inside it smelled of incense and herbs, a cauldron brewing above a log fire emitted a subtle but foul smell. He was nervous, he knew the witch had powers beyond his understanding. He also knew that if anyone found out he was here in the midst of the night, he could be suspected of devilry himself. The witch listened with an understanding look. She explained there could be a way to contrive his daughter’s salvation. She immediately went to work collecting herbs and plants from her garden and combining these in her mortar and pestle. A vial was filled with the resulting concoction. It was to be given to his daughter during a full moon as it would open a connection between the heavens and her body. The witch also stated the ritual would bring luck into their lives. The farmer would not have to fear hunger and despair anymore. Finding what he was looking for, the farmer returned to his homestead with a smile on his face.   At the next instance of a full moon the farmer gave the concoction to his daughter. She willingly took it without question and swallowed the bitter taste down with some water. Nothing of note seemed to happen. The evening went by with hunger in their bellies, as they were accustomed to. The next day the farmer was awoken by a shill scream. He looked over to his daughter’s bed and immediately saw red stained linens. She bled as a woman would do. She was too young for that, he thought. It probably was the witch’s concoction. He panicked; this was not what he had envisioned of his self-proclaimed pious quest. He helped his daughter change the linens. Luckily, she seemed to be fine. He was unsure of what the future would bring. From that day onward his daughter would never bleed again.   The luck of the farmer and his daughter took a turn for the better. Their next harvest was more successful than it ever was. The profits even allowed him to buy livestock, a white sheep that gave them milk and wool. It was a turning point in their life, it was a steppingstone to their future health and wealth. The farmer saw his daughter grow older, taller, and stronger. She turned out to become a beautiful young woman. One day a suitor proposed to wed her, with substantial dowry, and the farmer accepted. With a smile on his face, he saw his daughter leave his home to start a new family. After all these years he never forgot what had happened to them. He saw how his daughter seemed to now be saved from her suffering. It was all he had ever wished for.   Year after year passed. Grey hairs grew in the farmer’s beard. His farm grew more prosperous. He had now even been able to hire farmhands to do the heavy work for him, so he had enough time to spend with his daughter. She led a happy life with her husband, the local blacksmith’s apprentice. She became a devout and pious woman. She learned skills like weaving and knitting. She had already made children’s clothes in the prospect of starting a family. It would not have been for a lack of trying, but she seemed not to be able to bare children. As the years passed the farmer’s daughter grew quieter and sullen. Her body was not capable of that which would fulfill her innermost desires. She grew more distanced from her father and even from her own husband.   One faithful day the farmer sat out on his porch when he saw his son-in-law approach his home. The look on his face was one of panic. His wife had locked herself in their home and was not herself. The two men made their way over to the family home. Piercing crying could be heard outside of the wooden building. The farmer’s daughter cried out: if she could not give life then her life was of no value. The two men tried to break down the wooden door and found that it was barricaded from the other side. With enough force they were able to push aside the bookcase that was pushed up against it. The men found her disconsolate, with frantic darting eyes. They attempted to subdue her, but she managed to wrangle free of their grip and to hastily escape through the opened door.   A chase followed through the town. A flock of geese hurriedly stepped out of the way, honking after the skirts of the fleeing woman. The townspeople looked up from their daily chores to witness this peculiarity that disturbed this otherwise quiet hamlet. The farmer’s daughter plunged her way through a group of workmen, whom had to drop their baskets of wool at her passing. She ran up to the church and entered the nave through the open front door. The farmer followed her and caught a glimpse of her skirts at the stairwell going up to the steeple. When he reached the top, he saw his daughter standing on the ledge of the steeple window, with big teary eyes looking back at him. He tried to utter words, but nothing seemed to come out. She smiled. _This is my salvation_, she said, before letting herself fall.


# 1. The Bet “It’s all in the feet. See? See how much he’s kicking? Can’t conserve a breath like that, no sir.” Maggie looked up at the man swinging from the high branch of Hangman’s Tree. She felt a twinge of sympathy, but mostly anticipation. A pocket watch ticked slowly in her hand. “You’re wrong, it’s the swinging. Puts too much pressure on the neck, squeezes all the life out. Watch now.” Otis approached the hanging man following the swinging death arc with his arm. “And how, pray tell, is he supposed to stop swinging when they kick the bucket out from under him like that?” Around a minute earlier, the lawless men had put the poor bastard to the noose and removed his last lifeline. It was a common practice, but far less likely to break the offender’s neck than traditional gallows. Otis turned to Maggie and scoffed. “Core exercise.” “Core exercise?!” Maggie spat in a futile gesture. “You stop the swing with your abdomen, sucking it in like this.” Otis made a big show of sucking in what little stomach he had. “Stiff as a board, conserved energy, maybe buys you enough time that someone comes and lets you down.” “Oh, he’ll be stiff as a board alright. What do you recon? Under three minutes?” “Under three minutes, hah. No one has gone that quick, not even you.” Maggie rubbed at the black scar around her neck where the rope had cut in. “That a bet then?” Otis laughed, a hollow sound. “Oh, you bet it’s a bet. An easy one at that.” Astride powerful horses ten feet away, the men who strung the noose watched hungrily as the hanged man’s struggle grew more desperate. The leader kicked his horse and cantered closer to the dying man. “This is what happens when you try to two-time me, boy. It’s the last mistake you ever going to make.” Maggie moved closer, feeling a horrible sense of familiarity. “That you, Reggie?” she asked, mostly to herself. A mask covered the bottom half of the man’s face, black to match his hat and horse. As far as gallows theming went, Maggie thought it got the point across, even if it was a bit overplayed. Otis floated circles around the hanging man. “You think everyone is Reggie. Can we keep to the matter at hand?” He glared at the condemned. “Will you hold still for one minute?!” Maggie ignored him, staring down the leader. “It’s him, I’m sure of it.” Otis stopped his pacing for a minute to look over. “Well, if that’s Reggie, he sure is looking well.” “Hate in the veins will do that, keeps you young just to spite all the people who want you dead.” “Well I’m sure there’s more than a few of those. Why do they need to do that anyway?” “Do what?” “Tell the nearly dead why it is they had to die?” “Assuaging a guilty conscience, I guess.” Maggie returned her attention to the hanging man and the pressing matter of their bet. She circled, willing him to die just a little faster. The pocket watch in her hand ticked slowly forward. “Two minutes thirty,” she called out. “Amazing that damned thing still works. The ethereal plane won’t let me fix my damned hat, but you can pull a watch out of your pocket and it still ticks.” Otis’s hat skewed to the left, slumping down over one eye, permanently on the verge of falling off. “Yup, the afterlife’s a bitch, Otis, and it’s about to get a lot worse for you.” She pointed a finger at the nearly deceased as his frantic swinging turned to spastic jerking. “Ah, put him out of his misery,” cried one of the hangmen. Maggie looked up in surprise. It was hard to tell with the mask covering most of his face, but the man who had called out sounded young. “Reggie’s recruiting kids these days?” The leader gave a disgusted snort at the idea. “Shut up, I’m trying to enjoy this.” “You think that’s a pervert thing?” Otis’s eyes widened. Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Really? At a time like this?” “Can’t tell with the mask, but I bet that sick son of a bitch is licking his lips. Criminal and a pervert. This town really does take all types.” “Even after all these years, Otis, I will never understand what catches your attention.” “Nobody deserves this,” called the young man. “Someone, shoot him and end this.” A nervous tremor crept into his voice. “He keeps standing up like that and we’re going to have a second hanging today.” Hangings were the closest thing Maggie and Otis got to entertainment, but one was enough. “I hear you. Look at the conscience on this kid. A little late, I’ll admit, but nice to see in the youth. Maggie, you know this doesn’t count, right?” Maggie shrugged. The horseman in the lead shot a glare, attempting to silence the younger man. “Two-fifty-five.” “Maggie, this shit does not count!” “Maybe you can put that in the rules of the bet next time. Watch his hand.” Sure enough, the young man’s hand moved to his pistol, hesitant at first, but firm when it found the grip. He looked at the leader and then to the dying man. “Fine, I’ll do it myself!” The young man drew his pistol, hardly taking time to aim and pulled the trigger. The shot rang clear across the plains and struck the hanged man dead in the face. At the same instant, the hanged man appeared beneath the noose, looking much like his former self, but suffused by a pallid, green glow and semi-transparent. pulling his hands up in front of his face. “No!” he shouted. Maggie clapped her hands together. “Down to the wire, but that is two-fifty-seven. I believe you have someone to welcome, Otis.” “Maggie, I said this didn’t count.” If Otis’s face could have flushed, it would have. Instead, it remained the same omnipresent ethereal gray that accompanied the dearly departed. “A bet is a bet, and you know what that means.” “You’re a real son of a bitch, Maggie.” “Fair is fair, break it to him gently.” Otis shook his head and walked over to the newly deceased man still holding his hands over his face. “You can put your hands down, kid. It’s too late to block that shot.” “Stay back!” Shouted the man, keeping his hands up. Maggie wanted to savor her victory, but she was watching the horsemen. Already, a scuffle had broken out and the gunman with a conscience was taking a beating. The gun was out of his hand, forgotten in the dirt as two men kicked him repeatedly in the ribs. “You’re lucky I know your pops, or you’d be swinging next to him right now.” The leader landed a savage blow, causing the kid to spit up blood. Meanwhile, Otis knelt next to the newly deceased, trying his best to explain what was never an easy concept. “Where—” the dead man faltered, trying to gasp for air, but finding none. “You’ll get used to that. What’s your name?” “Adam.” The man’s eyes were wide, searching his surroundings. “Well, Adam, welcome to the not-so-great beyond. Name’s Otis, and that’s Maggie.” Maggie continued watching the horsemen as they slung the battered man over his saddle and prepared to ride back towards wherever they had come from. The leader turned, his mask down, no longer needing to conceal his face. Maggie glared at him, willing some force from beyond to let him see her. Reggie, leader of the Hosh Gang, and the man who had hung her, gazed longingly at Hangman’s Tree. “Rot in hell, boy,” he whispered, before spurring his horse and riding into the rising sun.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! ***A reminder for all SerSun writers: I am noticing a significant drop in feedback on the thread. Please keep in mind that feedback is a requirement. You must leave two feedback comments (one comment on two different stories). It doesn’t have to be an in-depth critique, but your comment should list at least one thing the author has done well. Feedback is the main purpose of this feature, and it’s how we all learn and grow as writers.*** Now onto the good stuff... 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. Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting!   ***   #This week's theme is Purity! To continue our monthly theme of ‘morality’ for May, we’re going to look at ‘purity’ this week. This could mean different things for different characters. What does purity look like in your world? What does it mean to your characters? Are they striving to rid themselves of unclean desires or actions? Is purity a godly thing, or more of an earthly thing in your story? Will good v.s. evil cause a ripple that will change everything? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * May 23 - Purity (this week) * May 30 - Redemption * June 6 - tbd (check back later this week)   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   ***   #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story.** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on other stories (2 different stories) to qualify for rankings every week.** The comment **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   ***   #Reminders: * **Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments**, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * **Saturdays I will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see breakdown at the bottom of this post). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. 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/ATIWTK - - u/stickfist - - u/Xacktar - - u/Badderlocks_ - - u/vibrantcomics - - u/EdsMusings   ***   #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. This week, I’ve added a *brand new category* for points. Here’s the breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 6 points - Second place - 5 points - Third place - 4 points - Fourth place - 3 points - Fifth place - 2 points - Sixth place - 1 point **Feedback:** In order to be eligible for feedback points, you have to complete your 2 required feedback comments. - Written feedback (on the thread) - 1 point each, up to 3 points (5 crits total on the thread) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. * *Note: Completing the max for both is equivalent to a first place vote. Keep in mind that you may not use the same feedback to receive both written and verbal feedback points. Your feedback should be actionable and list at least one thing the author has done well.* **Nominations:** Making nominations for your favorite stories will now earn you extra points! - 3 points for sending your favorite stories to me, via DM, by 12 pm Sunday, est. You may send a max of **six** nominations. (The 3 points are the 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.


It had been a month, and my face was starting to itch. I was sitting in the car, waiting for the opportunity to strike, while rain poured and thunder bellowed outside. I reviewed the name and the address on the package. John Smith, the resident of 565 First Avenue, was a divorced parent and a woodcarver. When the clock struck 1, I went outside with the package under a black umbrella. Water splashed under my feet, as I reached the blue porch and knocked three times on the door. “Who is it?” A voice shouted from the inside, almost drowning in the sound of rain. I remained silent and knocked three times again in continuous succession. The door opened, and I saw the familiar face of John smith. “Are you John Smith?” He was roughly the same height as me, though a little skinny. In many years of experience, he had the perfect face I had ever seen. His broad but taut face, acne-free skin, flat nose, and skinny lips were rare for a 33-year-old man. Still wearing his dirty pajamas, he was the embodiment of Sunday noon laziness. “Yes, I am John Smith. How may I help you today?” “May I come in? The rain is killing it today,” I said with a broad smile. His eyes showed hesitation, so I stretched my smile a little more. He saw the package in my hands and said, “Come on in.” He welcomed me into his lovely house, which was equipped with a cramped kitchen and a spacious living room in the front. The passage in the middle made way for the two bedrooms and bathrooms. It was an ordinary house for an ordinary man. The sharp smell of cigarettes was in contrast with the earthy smell of the rain outside. “I have a package for you.” “You came to deliver a package in this storm?” “What can I say? We pride ourselves on doing the best in any condition.” I handed him the wrapped box. He raised his eye and looked at the package, inspecting it with his observant eyes. After being satisfied, he shrugged his shoulders and threw the pack on the sofa. “If you could give us feedback and sign here.” I handed him the clipboard. “Do you have a pen?” I checked my pockets and lied, “I must’ve accidentally left it.” “No worries, I’ll bring it.” He left for his room, enabling me to accomplish my intended task. Seeing men and their habitat up close always gave me a new perspective, and this situation was no different. I envied seeing pictures of him and his family laughing and enjoying vacations together. My eyes scanned around, absorbing as much information as I could about him. I saw a mirror right outside the kitchen and grew self-conscious of my slacking face. A black Bombay cat caught my eye as she strolled towards her bowl. She locked eyes with me and displayed the flehmen grimace, as though she had seen a ghost. I ignored her and examined John’s work of wood-carved animals. He came back with the signed form and said, “here you go.” “Thank you for your time. This is a nice owl,” I complimented John with a thin veil of resentment. My wood carving skills, which I had been practicing for weeks, were no match for him. “Ah, got an eye for art, I see. What’s your name?” He asked while glaring at my neck. “Robert Williams,” I replied as I massaged my neck to hide the scratch mark. “What a coincidence, your last customer’s name was the same.” He caught me off guard. I had underestimated his eye for the minute details. No, I had to remain calm. He couldn’t know, or it’ll all fall apart. “It must be a common name.” “Hmm, yeah, I suppose so,” he said, displeased with the excuse I gave him. Lightning struck outside, which made John a little jumpy. I went to the window and pulled the curtain to see the ominous clouds and the raging storm. “The rain isn’t pulling any stops, is it?” “You can stay here as long as you like,” he said to fulfill a mere formality. Thus began his lazy Sunday routine of watching TV. He opened the package while I leaned against the window, observing him. The package comprised a blood orange clock, with the hour hand pointing at 13. There was also a note wishing him for his birthday, which was last week. The late present from somebody anonymous did not thrill him, so he put it on the desk and surfed through the channels, at last stopping for a breaking news broadcast. “There has been a disturbing development in the missing case of Luke Orwell. The police recently found his brutally mutilated body-” Power went out, possibly because of the rain. The entire room turned bleak and silent, except for the roaring of the unstoppable storm. The cat hid under the sofa where John sat, paralyzed from dread, still gawking at the black screen of the TV. He must’ve gone through the signature list and read the recent names. I had to do something before I lose the chance because of my foolish mistake. “Do you have any candles?” “Uh… yeah… sure.” He scoured for the candle and match sticks. In a moment, I heard a match strike, and the pale skin and uncertain eyes of John shined under the burning orangish glow of the candle. He was stepping away from me, scanning the exits to escape. His mind was starting to doubt the decision of letting in a stranger. I had to improvise the plan. He couldn't know that I knew what he was thinking. “If you allow, I would love to see more of your beautiful wood carved animals.” He thought about the decision, and announced, “They’re in my bedroom, I’ll bring the collection.” I couldn’t let him be alone, or he could call someone. “But first, I should contact my employer and tell him that I’ll be late because of the storm. Can I have your phone, mine’s dead.” He clenched his jaws and unwillingly snarled, “Sure.” I stretched the phone, searching for the bars, at last getting one in front of the passageway connecting the bedroom and the bathroom. I kept glancing at the door, making sure John didn’t shut it close. He walked towards the living room with a big box as though possessed by dread. I followed him and gave him back his phone. The entire box was filled with diverse animals, each more distinct than the earlier. "You're the most creative man I've met," I flattered him. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled absent-mindedly. "Isn’t it wonderful, you can morph a block of wood to this," I picked up a figurine, “this little animal. Giving it a new shape, a new mask, a new life.” “Not a mask per se,” he relaxed a bit, talking about his beloved creations. “I like to think that what I carve out was already hidden, deep beneath the surface. I don’t change the essence, just bring it out to the world.” “Forgive me, but I disagree. Everybody wears a facade these days, helping them to be what they want or have to be. From a perspective, that mask they carve out becomes their essence. Live a day in other person’s shoes, and you’ll see that everyone’s the same underneath the flesh. It’s only our mask, what we show to the outside world, which makes us unique, like these animals.” “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he was afraid of opposing me. “I don’t want to impose any longer, but may I have a glass of water.” In an instant, his eyes showed hopes of escaping me. “Just a moment,” he said in haste as he bolted for the kitchen. I stood up to follow him when he turned back, and reassured, “Stay there, I’ll bring the water.” “That’s polite of you, but I am afraid of being alone in the dark.” He went to the counter and filled the cup. He kept on glancing at me over his shoulders, preventing me from getting close to him. As he turned around, his arms knocked over some salt. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He had connected the dots. The game was up. “I am sorry, clumsy hands, I suppose,” he gulped. “It alright,” I said as I bent down and helped him. He stepped back and maintained his distance from me. The longer I waited, the more chances he had of escaping. “If you aren’t feeling great, you should lie down,” I urged in an attempt to search his bedroom and unmask the hidden secrets. “Uh… yeah”, he cleared his throat and announced, “I’ll be back in a minute.” “Where are you going?” “Um… I uh… I’m going to the washroom.” He spun around, pacing away from me as fast as he could. This was it. This was my last chance before things escalated. I grabbed him from his back and threw him in the mirror. His head banged against the mirror, breaking the mirror into shards. “What-” I jabbed him in the gut, and he stumbled back to the wall. "Stay away from me!" He brought out a concealed kitchen knife. "I know how to use this." He swung the blade towards me, like an amateur. I stepped back and evaded his attacks. The shock from the mirror was making him sloppy. Thunderous lightning lit up the room, and I saw John clearly, determined to live and fight, plunging towards me with the knife. I held his wrist, twisted it, and struck below his elbow, making him let go of the blade from his broken arm. I kicked him in his legs, and he collapsed to the ground. He used his other arm to crawl away from me, but I stepped on his arm making him howl with pain. “Shh…” I bent down and put my finger on his hot, burning lips. I held his chin and brought the candle a bit close to measure his jaws. The skin was soft with a bit of oomph, just how I liked it. His eyes had a creepy similarity to my mother, in terror of thinking about what was going to happen next. “Stop trembling,” I threatened in a stern voice, like my father’s. Yes, it was perfect. I made him sit against the wall. I took one of the largest and sharpest shards of the mirror. “Who… Who are you?” “I told you already. I am Robert Williams, though I am thinking of changing the name.” “Why?” He asked me in a shrill, shaky voice. I didn’t pay heed to his question and took his arm. With the shard, I sliced his arms and legs to immobilize him. He winced in pain, and he asked again, shaking with fear. “Why? Please… please let me go.” “More you shake, more imprecise I will be. Believe me, you don’t want me to be imprecise.” “Please, I have a son,” he pleaded, trying to reach for the humanity robbed from me. “I hated my father.” I sliced his arms again, and he shouted in pain. But the deafening storm drowned out everything. I took out my knife, which I had since I was a kid, from my pocket and put it on the ground. John whimpered at the sight of the blade. Sweat trickled down his messy hair. “Take the money, it’s uh… it’s in my bedroom, behind… behind the-” “Shut up. I am not here only for your money.” I held onto his neck and inspected the back of his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I said after seeing tiny shards of the glass in the back of his skull. “I shouldn’t have hit you this hard. But I wouldn’t be a professional if I couldn’t do a challenge.” I took some wet cloth and cleared his face from the neck up. “What do you want? Take it… take everything. Please… just leave me.” “What I want is not yours to give; it is only for mine to take. I am almost ready. Don’t worry, this will all be over soon.” I took the shard and dug it in his thigh. His eyes bulged out, and he screeched in excruciating pain. I took it out and cleaned it with a cloth. “Are you one of them? Those sick… savage… cannibals? Are you going to eat me, you monster?“ “Please, don’t think so low of me. I am nothing like those insane and inhuman criminals. I appreciate the human body and mind, especially the face.” He swung another punch at me with his frail arms in vain. “Being courageous, are we today? Tell me, how’s your wife, John?” He broke down crying, “Please don’t… don’t hurt her. Take my life… my life instead. Don’t hurt her.” “You’re a good man John. How’s John junior handling the divorce? It’s much harder for a kid, you know? DO YOU KNOW?” I cut a massive line across his stomach. Blood gushed out of him and turned his clothes red. Ah, the familiar, sweet smell of fresh blood. “Don’t hurt him,” he whimpered like a dog. “I beg of you. I’ll do- I’ll do anything.” “Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. If anyone has to worry about this situation, it is me.” With the knife, I stabbed his other thigh. But by this time, he had suffered enough. “I don’t enjoy doing this, you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t dream of doing this when I grew up. But, they say what they say, a good son follows in his father’s footsteps. If anything, I am the one who suffered more than you. I was a victim then, and I am the victim now.” I took a moment to consider how much I sounded like my father. He croaked like a dying frog, “No, I don't want… I don't wanna die." “Hey, hey!” I slapped his face as he was losing consciousness. “I like you all to be awake when I do my work.” I clutched his blue face and squeezed his cold cheeks. With a sudden surge of strength in him, he grabbed my collar and whispered in my ears. “You will pay for this. You will suffer for the rest of your life.” I pushed him back and said, “I already am.” I dug my fingernails under my neck and showed him my red, juicy flesh underneath. John averted his gaze and shut his eyes. I peeled away the month-old face and threw it on the floor. “Not a beautiful face, I know. But my mother loved me or at least tried to. My father couldn’t suffer the sight of me, and how did that end up for him,” I momentarily became nostalgic for my messed up childhood. It had been decades since I had seen my face. That ugly, coward, helpless little boy who couldn’t stand up for his mother or himself. “Let’s come back to the present, shall we? This is the last step now, John. Stay with me. Do you have any regrets?” “Letting a sick man like you enter my house.” In his last moments, his fear of me turned into hatred. It was hard, stopping myself from stabbing his helpless self in the chest right there. “Stop saying I am sick. I am nothing but a victim like you are right now.” I took the knife and carved a thin line across his hairline on his forehead. He tried to pull away, but cuts and bruises on his arms and legs were sapping away his strength. “You know, you are the first person who knew what was coming to him, and I admire that. It certainly made things interesting for a change. You can find peace in this that I now know you better than anyone has in your entire life. Your sacrifice will help me endure my trauma, and I will be eternally grateful for it. Do you have any last words, any unfinished task you would like me to complete?” “Go to hell.” He spitted blood and saliva at me. I took a deep breath and remained calm. I wiped the blood off my face. “Very poor choice of words.” With the help of my hours of experience, I carved the entire face and took the face’s flesh with precision. John exhaled his last breath while his eyes stopped moving. Underneath the flesh, everybody looks the same. The stiffness in his body remained. I stood up, admiring possibly the finest work I had ever done. I put his naked body in a bag and started cleaning the house. While I tried on the skin in the bathroom, I heard a phone ring. I grabbed his phone out of my pocket and answered, “Hello. Yes, this is John Smith talking.


For centuries, the Moon watched from her unerring perch. She spun carefully around the Earth that was the center of her universe, gazing with curiosity at the blue and green orb that drifted along with her. She understood her role and carried it out with the utmost sincerity. Sure, she lost her temper a few times. Well, more than a few times. And, yes, there was that one little incident where she kinda sorta let water cover the entirety of the planet she was responsible for. But, couldn’t every woman understand how tenuous hormones were at certain times of the month? She loved Earth, and she felt special. She was the one and only Moon. Unlike the moons of Jupiter or Saturn, she was the lone planetary body caught up in the orbit of Earth. And for years upon years upon years, she meandered along in a month-long ellipse. For Earth’s part, he just resolutely sat. Moon wondered what he had going on down there. He seemed lush and refreshing. The verdant greens and deep blues certainly seemed to suggest a complexity that she could see even from miles away. Yet, after millennia of being within arm’s reach of each other, Moon never heard a peep from him. She was waning. Making herself smaller and less noticeable. She did this every month. Sometimes she was flashier. Sometimes she shrank. Sometimes she shone so brightly she knew the Earth was simply ignoring her ebullience. Regardless, on this particular day, she was waning when all at once a small disturbance caught her attention. A small burst of light and motion seemed to be shooting forth from the surface of Earth. Not only that but it was coming right toward her. This was it. Earth was finally acknowledging her! The little object continued to move in her direction. Then, all at once, it seemed to fall wretchedly short. Instead of continuing its linear path, the object started circling Earth. Moon couldn’t believe her eyes. This had to be the biggest tease that the galaxy had ever seen. In a matter of minutes, the object disappeared. Her disappointment matched her phase and made drifting into invisibility that much sweeter. Still, she carried on. Days and days went by. Earth sent multiple objects into its own orbit. They never made it to Moon, and she was seriously starting to wonder about Earth. How could one planet be this self-absorbed? She rolled her eyes. This was getting out of hand. Determinedly, she decided not to spare another thought to Earth besides the duties she was compelled to uphold. She had plenty to look at from her place in this galaxy, thank you very much. Earth thought he was the center of the universe, hmm? Well, she’d show him. Maybe Sun would even team up with her, and they could show Earth who *really* ran this show. Her plan to ignore him was coming along swimmingly. She spent her days in the company of Mars and Venus. And, if she felt like calling long-distance Saturn was always available. She was always trying to spill some gossip about Uranus. And, the meteoroids were always flying by with little snippets. For instance, Pluto was apparently going through his emo phase. He said he might not even want to be a planet anymore? Without a doubt she had plenty to occupy her days. Earth didn’t even cross her mind. (Except those late nights that she stayed up too late thinking about his curves and the way he tilted on his axis.) Everything was fine. Until yet again, she saw an object blasting through Earth’s atmosphere. She sighed. Not this again. She did her best to look the other way. No reason to give Earth the attention he so obviously needed. She was mostly succeeding until the object was suddenly closer than any had ever ventured before, and it showed no sign of slowing down. Oh, God. She hadn’t had any advanced warning! If she had known she would have made herself more presentable. Filled in her craters a little better or something. Too late. The object was imminent now. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. She hoped Earth didn’t mind a little high tide. She barely even noticed when the object landed with bony legs that jutted into her body. For long moments, the object just rested against her. Then, all at once, a flurry of movement. She was surprised to see the forms that spilled out. Puffy and rotund, stepping carefully across her dusty surface. They looked nothing like the life forms Saturn had gone on about. These three...things were calculating. Gentle. Carefully cataloging what they saw. What they felt. She had never been under so much scrutiny. The attention was a little off-putting but after eons of waiting, she couldn’t complain too much, she supposed. All at once, one of the figures attached something to her person. The most colorful little pendant, standing proudly. Red, white, and blue. A gift from Earth? She couldn’t believe it. At last. He loved her. He really loved her.


#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: **** This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.).   ***   #Last Week I was so excited to see so many stories on the thread this week, and so many unique interpretations on the prompt. It was great to see several of you join in again for our Micro Campfire. While it’s not something I can promise every week for sure at this time, I will host each Monday that I can. If you aren’t on our , come by and grab the Micro Monday role so you can join in on the fun! Okay, onto some spotlights... #Crowd Favorites: - - Submitted by u/\_\_kxtty\_\_ - - Submitted by u/katherine_c #Bay’s Spotlights: - - Submitted by u/pathetic_optimist - - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese   ***   #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 will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I accept nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **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. - 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!   ***   ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - 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.


After almost three decades of ruthless competition amongst the richest people in the world one particular individual, Marco Zælioli, emerged as the first man to break the trillionaire threshold. Impressive about the man was not only that he started from almost nothing, investing at the young age of 18 and that he made his first million by the age of 25, he also was the CEO and creator of the first spacemining agency AND the biggest tech company in the world. His spacemining company owned a huge number of assets such as huge intergalactic mining ships and an almost infinite stock of minerals ranging from precious metals such as platinum and gold to less precious minerals such as hydrogen and carbon. Another special thing about Marco was that he saved millions of lifes during the 2032 climate crisis. Parts of the world had been flooded while others were plagued with diseases and droughts, causing millions to immigrate and creating conflicts at the borders of many nations. Huge immigrant camps were a sad reality during that period wich nobody knew how to adress. Misogynistic politicians further escalated the situation wich reached its critical point in 2034 when one politician suggested to raid the immigrant camps. Fortunately it never came to this thanks to Marco, who showed up just at the right time, opened the doors to his spaceship and gave everybody a free ticket to a new world. A new spacenation was born, of wich he was the founder and president. Most people were transported to the moon wich had previously been terraformed and rendered habitable. However it quickly became selfevident, that to survive the people had to adapt to their new environment, become miners and extract oxygen and water from the lunar surface and other extraterrestrial bodies. On top of that one has to keep in mind that these were all people of different cultures and religions wich led to a huge clash of cultures. Because of this cultural clash and because of the traumatic experiences suffered losing their homes most people abandoned their former religious beliefs while some few went the opposite way of the spectrum becoming more extreme than ever before. However most of these people were expelled by Marcos spacecouncil and sent back to earth. Yes there were some terrible terrorist attacks but fortunately due to the immediate and radical action of the council most unstaible individuals were sent back to earth. This lead to another conflict (we will get to the other great conflict later) with earth threatning to shoot down the shuttles with the "extremists", to with Marco responded that he would see this as an act of war and that he had nukes pointed on all major cities of the earth. He argued that the earthlings were to blame for the climate disaster and that this was part of the price they had to pay. In the end the Earthlings had to give in and accept the troublemaker immigrants also because marco simply had to much technological power (we will come to this later). After a week of intense debate in the 2032 climate crisis summit, held in germany, all nations (exept northkorea) in an effort to stop or at least slow down rising sealevels agreed to a set of terms and conditions wich drastically limited the amount of CO2 emissions per capita, banned the consumption of meat and introduced a new climate tax wich every company had to pay. These actions worked but sadly were too late, as historians would later recall. Millions of people lost their homes and immigrated into space. Thousands died. Some experts estimated that if it wasn't for Marco the world would have been either overpopulated and undernurished due to the lack of land or in a new never before seen worldwar for ressources. Negotiations with the Earth started soon after but the USA aswell as China didnt recognize the spacepeople as a nation and tried to drive a hard bargain on vital ressources such as food wich led Marco and the spacepeople to initially primarly dealing with the EU. This was the first great conflict that emerged between the spacepeople and the earthlings. On top of basically owning space and leading the second biggest nation by population after china, Marco also owned the second most valuable company in the world, wich was actually the company he started with. "Smart Brain Interfaces" was -as the name suggests- a smart glass company wich replaced the smartphone in the early 2030s. With ER technology the glasses could pick up brain waves and brain activity, decode it and use it to take an imput wich would be directly visualized in the smartglasses. It was a genius concept and it didnt take long for people to dump Apple and Samsung for the next big hit. It was a technological revolution and it gave Marco incredible Power from a political point of view. Apple was now mostly a smartwatch company, as smartphones were ridiculed by the masses and regarded as reliques of the past. Infact, the most popular meme of the decade wich racked up more than 10 billion views made fun of smartphone users, wich the meme depicted as "not having enough brainpower to control the smartglasses". On top of the meme there was a picture of a man with smartglasses and a graph over his head performing all sorts of complex brainwaves labeled "big brain smartglass users". In the middle of the caricatures one could see a shimpanzee holding a smartphone in his right hand and a graph over his head showing a flat line without any brainactivity labeled " smooth brained iphone users". Under the two pictures comparing the brainactivity of smartglass and iphone users was a third picture showing Marco during a Smart Brain Interfaces event wearing smartglasses with an off the charts brainactivity. This was a reference to one of Marcos presentations in wich he failed using the smartglasses due to a technical error. This is my first short story and i hope people enjoy it at least a little bit. Upvote if you want to see a part two after this long and interesting exposition. I have some great ideas for the actual story but i don't know if its worth it to continue and i am currently out of time. If i get over 25 upvotes i will do a part two Edit 1: spelling and additional information. Ps.: please drop mistakes in the comments. I am very bad at commas and english is not my main language.


I readied the rucksack on my back, and took the first few steps on my journey across the library. We walked down the aisle of empty shelves until we reached a large pile of collapsed roof. We clambered up the boulders of broken concrete and twisted metal bars sticking between the rocks. At the top, we could see the thin gap between destroyed masonry and exposed rock. I crouched down and crawled into the hole. Beneath me, loose rubble shifted with each step. Above me, unforgiving rock loomed; a whole island capable of ending me in an instant. I continued along the shaft for a hundred metres or so until the tunnel narrowed, becoming only around half a metre wide. I stared at the space, rocking side-to-side, trying to work out the best way through. Eventually, I decided to try a sort of sideways shuffle. I rotated my hips and slid into the thin space. As I squeezed through, I could feel my back scratch against the mass of debris and exposed metal. The further I travelled, the thicker and dryer the air got and with each panting breath, dust scratched the back of my throat. Every inch of my body was being scraped, itched, and probed by the crevice. I continued like this, my spine aching from the strange contorted angle for several metres, until the space widened out again, and I could stretch my back to a more comfortable position. We continued, passing through a couple more tight turns, until we emerged from the channel, finding ourselves on top of one of the large bookshelves. I held out my lantern, casting light into the uncharted space. I could only see so far, but every shelf in range was filled with books. Not a single one was missing. Wherever we were, we were the first. Kit reached down and grabbed a book from the shelf, checking its cover. “Eurgh, poetry.” She flung the book down onto the floor below. “We’re still in fiction?” “I did say this place was big.” “I guess I thought we’d at least be in another section by now.” “Look on the bright side. It’s a different subsection,” Kit shrugged, as she climbed down the shelves. I followed her down. We began walking along the aisles past the ancient books. Some looked damaged, ruined by moisture in the air, or eaten by dust, while others looked almost new as if placed there yesterday, and the Archipelago had never existed. We began scoping out the room for our next route forward. We followed the perimeter, looking for a path over the debris, but to no avail. Instead we would have to head through and under. I found a small crevice heading west. The remains of the library had poured down either side of the aisle, but it left a small space just wide enough to shimmy through. I walked down it some ten or so metres until the space became too thin to go any further. “I could try and peel some of this stuff off the wall, create a wider space?” I called back to Kit. She grimaced, staring at the loose stones around us. “If you do that, good chance you’re going to bury us down here.” She turned around. “We’ll find another way.” “And if not?” I replied. “Then we head back to where we started and try from there.” I bit my tongue, but I was determined not to have to retreat. I was certain there must be a way out of this room. I walked out ahead of Kit, tracing the southern wall. The lantern waved back and forth in my hand, glancing against the wreckage to my right, until suddenly it caught a hint of shadow at the bottom of the ruins. I crouched to get a closer look. Even kneeling, the gap only came to my shoulders. I got down further, lying prone on the floor, the lantern stretched out in front of me. The space continued to shrink, slowly lowering until the clearance was perhaps no more than forty centimeters. However, a small slit continued well beyond the lantern’s reach. “Are you really that desperate?” I looked up to see Kit standing beside me, hands on her hips. “It goes on for a long way. Maybe it comes out in another room.” “That’s a big maybe.” “Got to be worth a shot.” I sat up quickly so I could remove my rucksack. There was no possibility of it and me making it through the gap together. Kit lied down on the floor next to me, squinting at the route. “Fine,” Kit sighed. She sat up and took some rope off her back, tying one end of it around my ankle. I looked at her with a scrunched face. “If you reach a deadend in there you won’t be able to backtrack,” she said, fastening the knot. “If you get stuck, call, and I can try and pull you back.” “Okay,” I nodded. I felt a hint of renewed confidence, Kit’s small act feeling like a blessing. I pulled the rope to make sure it was tight, gave a final confirmatory nod, and began the crawl. The first twenty or so metres passed without difficulty, but soon the ceiling forced me down to my stomach. I inched forward; snaking myself along the floor. I rotated from hip-to-hip, pushing myself off with sprawled knees, as my sweaty palms clasped for purchase on the floor. With each wriggle I could feel my shoulder blades brush the mass above me. My pace was a fraction of even a crawl, but I was making progress. With each outstretch of an arm, with each push-off of my toes, I made another few centimetres. I began panting with exertion; the hot air of my breath bouncing back off the floor. I strained my eyes upwards. Ahead, slowly approaching, I could see a point where the ceiling widened out. I continued on with renewed determination. However, the last few inches were the tightest. I placed the lantern on its side to push it through. With the space so tight, I was unable to free my shoulders, and I had to rely on only my legs to wriggle forwards. Slowly but surely, I slithered through to the other side until my arms and head breached through the gap. With my hands now free, I reached out to the sides and used the leverage of the walls to haul my body through. I caught my breath before rolling over and inspecting my surroundings. I was in luck. The ceiling had fallen, but only as far as the top shelf. Two wedges of concrete slid from either side, but were held up by the other’s weight, leaving the aisle free. I was locked between the two racks, but I could stand, and the route looked clear. “Kit, we’ve got a way forward.” “What’s it like?” the echo shouted back. “Trapped in an aisle. But looks like a clear route west.” “Good work. The bags are too thick for the space. We’re going to have to empty them and do half a bag at a time, that sound good?” “Got it.” Kit set about getting the gear small enough to fit through the space. Once done, she tied the rope to one end of the bags, before securing a second rope to the other, so she could pull them back through to be refilled. I pulled on the rope, listening to the fabric slide along the floor, until they reappeared through the small crack on the ground. I sent the bags back and we repeated the process with the second half of the contents. Once more, I listened to the slow shuffle of the bags grinding their way along the tunnel. The sound drew closer, but then, the rope went taught. I tugged hard, as my greasy hands slid across the fibres. The bags were stuck. I pulled again. Still nothing. I pulled a third time, this time leaning back and using my full body weight. I felt it twitch forwards. One more pull and there was a crack, the sound of stone falling to the floor. The bags were free and I hastily reeled them in. “What the heck was that?” Kit called out. “The bag was stuck.” “And…” “I had to pull it free. Think it got caught on something.” “Yeah, the ceiling. The ceiling that you just ripped a piece out of..” The panic hit me. I immediately fell to the floor, staring back down the tunnel, trying to see if there was still a way through or if the collapse had separated us permanently. My eyes followed the rope as it trailed off into the darkness. My chest tightened, and I felt nausea seeping up from my stomach. I was uncertain if the blackness was a cave in or merely as far as the lantern’s illumination could reach. My breath grew shorter and sharper, as I pleaded for the gloom to relent. Then, I saw a small flicker of light, and straining my eyes, I could see Kit lying down on the other side. My head collapsed to the floor in relief. “Looks like there’s still a way through,” she said. “Thankfully,” I replied, trying to inspect the crawlspace. Somewhere, it had been disturbed. But beyond that brief sound of the stone cracking against the floor, we had no idea what damage had been done. “Pull me through,” Kit cried out, readying the rope in her hand. “What?” “Be quicker than crawling. More fun too.” I raised my eyebrows but complied. I stood back up and began pulling on the rope, dragging Kit towards me. My energy was weakening, and I groaned with each pull on the rope. I stared to the ceiling as I pulled; looking at the debris that was patiently waiting till one day gravity would take over, and the sky could collapse upon us. I listened closely, trying to decipher if each rustle was merely Kit sliding along the floor or rubble shifting, preparing to collapse. I could hear a rock roll gently, and small pebbles scurry. I pulled harder, desperate to end the unease. Slowly, more and more of the rope appeared, until eventually two hands emerged from the small hole. “That was much easier than crawling,” Kit smirked. I reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. She looked down the aisle ahead of us. “Guess we see where that goes.” “Yes… but maybe a break first.” I wiped away the sweat from my forehead. “Yeah. Good idea.” Kit pulled up one of the half empty bags and laid down, using it as a pillow. “Take a nap,” she said, pointing to the other one. “What time is it?” “I don’t see the sun, do you? Ain’t no star to tell you when to sleep down here.” I chuckled and lied down beside her. We turned out the lanterns, and with the library reduced to complete black I fell asleep quickly. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* We had no idea how long we’d slept. When we woke, the island above us could have been a bustling market, or in the dead of night. For a brief moment, time ceased to be a real thing. As Kit and I set off again, we were in our own world. Weather, the turning of the Earth, the coming-and-goings of others, all were irrelevant to us. The next leg of our journey was much smoother. We were confined to our one aisle, but it seemed to continue without interruption. We met a few obstacles. On occasion a large beam had fallen through and we had to either clamber over, or crawl under to get through. However, compared to the previous attrition, things were becoming easier. Over the course of what I estimate were several hours we marched West, and then, when we found a break between two aisles, headed south. We left behind the humanities of literature and religion, and entered into the natural sciences. Eventually we reached another section of open library where the structure was perfectly intact. I climbed up a couple of shelves and looked out over the top; neat metal rows - filled to the brim - stretching off into the darkness. I hurried back down and lifted up one of the books. *Our Changing Earth.* “Do you know where we are?” I asked Kit. She leant down and read a series of numbers on one of the shelves. “Fifty-five,” she thought for a second. “Earth Sciences.” I raised my hands to the air. “Well, this is it then, right? There’s got to be something here.” Kit tilted her head with a half smile. “With a bit of luck.” She looked over my shoulder. “Also means we should be near fifty-seven and fifty-eight too.” I raised an eyebrow. “Biology and botany. Useless to you, but if you want Haddee to not drown you when you get back…” “Okay. So let’s set up here for a bit then? Stay however long we need.” “Sounds good,” Kit said. It’s hard to say how long we remained in that section of the library. Our work was intermittent. We would work a few hours, sleep briefly when tired, and then return. For much of the time I wouldn’t see Kit. She was in different sections, painstakingly choosing the best possible collection of books for Haddee, and cataloguing items to hit on future visits. But every few hours we would return to share anything interesting we’d found, or maybe talk about our lives outside of the library. The rest of the time was spent reading. Given that we are in an archipelago, I initially started with books about the sea, hoping there may be some clues. Momentarily I thought I found the solution. A book described the concern of rising sea levels caused by ice melting. However, my optimism quickly turned to disappointed frustration. The seas would’ve risen slowly, over decades. Given the turmoil we know happened when the Archipelago formed, its formation must have been a matter of weeks or months instead. Furthermore, a map of an “iceless globe” showed the sea levels wouldn’t rise high enough. It would be enough to reduce the continents, but not swallow them. After scouring countless books, I found no other possible clue of what could’ve caused the Archipelago. I had poured over every relevant title I could find, and yet had nothing to show for it. Despite all my hope, geography and geology held no answers. I shuffled back to our meeting spot and found Kit trying to ram an additional couple of books into her bag. “Here, eat this,” she said. Before I could even react, an apple landed against my chest. “Thanks.” “I’ve got a couple of pastries for you to eat afterwards too.” I looked at a number of provisions laid out beside her bag, as she desperately crammed in another thick, plastic-coated book. “What if I’m not hungry?” “You’re bigger than me, you need the energy.” I laughed and sat down next to her. I took a long sigh and lent my head on the shelf behind me. “No luck?” she asked. I shook my head. “Not convinced I’m going to get any answers here.” “Well, maybe it’s time to move on. The yearly periodicals were always the end goal right?” “Definitely.” “Then we head there.” “We won’t make it there if you keep ditching provisions for books.” I nodded to the pile on the floor. “We’ll have enough.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I think I spotted a good route through botany.” “Yeah?” “Yep. Let’s eat, pack up, and I’ll show you the way.” After I had eaten the snacks forced upon me, and Kit had successfully managed to squeeze another three books into her bag, we decided to venture on further into the library. I followed Kit through the aisles until we reached a mound of scree sloping upwards. At the top, I could see a large, flat sheet of metal disappearing over the summit. “Those metal sheets run all over the place, suspended across the ceiling.” Kit pointed to one behind us. The silver grill stretched south across the room, hung on thick cables. “Looks like they used to run wires or something.” “You reckon it’ll go the whole way?” “Worth a shot. Besides, we got way more to carry this time.” Kit looked down at the box full of books by her feet. We couldn’t be certain we’d return the same route. The books were too precious to leave to chance. “Could do with an easier route.” We climbed up the slope of dirt and brash until we reached the thin metal gangway. It was no wider than I was, and the roof was low enough that it would be a slow crawl forwards. But the route seemed unencumbered. We developed a train. I pushed the box of books in front of us. My rucksack was tied to my legs and was dragged behind me. Behind that, Kit dragged her own. Between our crawl and the cargo, our pace was slow. But we made smooth steady gains. The metal pathway hovered above the library. Caveins, that from the floor would be impenetrable blockages, seemed to effortlessly part for the corridor. Every so often a collapse would cover our path. But at this height, the rubble was never thick or firm, and we were able to push aside any impediments, sending the concrete to the library floor below. When we weren’t plowing through blockages, we flew like birds, high above the floor below. Through the grills in the metal, I could see down to the untouched books. We passed over zoology, into psychology, then ethics, and then philosophy. In the space of a few hours we had managed to travel more of the library than we had in the entire time before. We passed over a section of collapsed roof and into another portion of open library. “I reckon we might be reaching the end of philosophy,” I called back to Kit. “Yeah, can’t imagine there’s much more.” I continued on eagerly, watching the books pass beneath me. As we passed the halfway point of the room, I pushed on harder, kicking forward with my toes on each crawl instead of dragging on my knees. The extra force was absorbed into the gangway, and the suspended bridge began to sway gently with each passing push, the cables creaking and tensing with our weight. The sound was a gentle rocking that reminded me of a ship at sea. Ahead, there was a tunnel where the gangway crept over the cave-ins. I kept my eyes focussed on that spot in front of me, watching it draw closer-and-closer. I took a last look down. We were hung four or five metres over one of the aisles. On either side, I could see the tall racks of books that had been left for centuries, and would be for probably many more. Then, with another pace, the drop below disappeared and was replaced by dark concrete that sat just beneath the metal grid. The gangway creaked once more. But this time the sound was different, louder, less like a lullaby and more like a scream. I froze on the spot, refusing to move. Another screech as the whole library groaned. Silence fell, before being broken by a brief popping noise. Kit mumbled, “Shit.” There was a snap. Metal bending and breaking, followed by a loud clattering that reverberated off the walls. My bag pulled back sharply. The rope around my leg slid down my calf, gripping onto my ankle. My leg shot back with the force, before the knot slipped over the end of my foot. A second later, I heard the dull thud of the bag. “Kit!”, I cried out. I tried turning around but the gap was too small. I strained my neck left-and-right, trying to get some kind of visual. “KIT!” No response again. I started edging backwards a few centimetres at a time. With each movement I called out to Kit. Each time, nothing. One more step and my foot landed on air. I hovered it for a moment in the empty space, reaching out for some kind of purchase. I moved back further till both my knees were on the edge of the platform. I reached out a leg: back, side-to-side, down, trying to find something solid. There was nothing. I positioned my hands on the edge of the metal plate, and gently pushed my body off. Tensing my arms, I slowly lowered, until I was dangling from my fingers. I looked down to check my landing, and let go. I dropped a good two metres before my feet landed on the ground and I tumbled backward, landing hard against my coccyx. I ignored the pain and shot back up to my feet. Kit was lying on her back, eyes shut, her head lying on its side, arms outstretched beside her. I called her name and ran towards her immobile frame. I reached her side and leant down, inspecting for signs of life. “Kit, Can you hear me?” My voice was broken, tears threatening at the corner of my eyes. She twitched; a momentary flicker of the eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.” I grabbed her hand and held it close to my chest. Her face scrunched, and her eyes slowly opened. She let out a soft groan. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Her face grimaced with every heartbeat as she slowly pushed herself off the floor. “Yeah. One second.” I placed a hand on her back, helping her up to a sitting position. “What hurts?” “My head.” She held out her arms and examined her legs. “But I don’t think anything’s broken. Just… ow.” “Good.” “Yeah.” She looked to the ground in front of her. “I’m gonna need to rest a while if that’s okay. Sorry.” “As long as you’re okay. That’s all that matters.” I headed to my bag, took out one of the water canisters and passed it to her. She took a sip. “That was… not fun.” “What do you remember?” “Too much”. The browns of her eyes were thin, swallowed by wide, glassy pupils. “I… I thought I was dead.” I sat down beside her and reached out an arm to comfort her. “Like, I’ve done some stupid stuff in my time. But I never thought, never truly felt, I was dead before.” “It’s okay...” “I was scared, Ferdinand,” she interrupted. “I’m still scared. I just feel panic. Here…” She grabbed my arm and held it to her chest. I could feel her heart punching hard against her ribcage. “That.” “I know,” I said. “I was so worried. I was terrified about what had happened to you. I’m frightened too.” She leant forward and pulled me in tight, stretching her forearms across my back. I held her close, feeling her warmth against me, as I let out a long breath. She was safe. Kit needed to rest, so we decided to stay put untill she felt better. I climbed up the collapsed rubble just high enough to pull down the box of books still left on the metal shelf. After, we spoke for a little while longer before deciding to sleep. Neither of us could rest easy. The adrenalin and fright clung to our veins, refusing to relent. I could feel Kit moving restlessly. I was facing away, but sensed her slowly shift closer. She placed an arm on my waist, and leaning in closer, rested her head against my back. I rolled over, and placed my arm under her head, her face resting on my shoulder. I could feel the damp from wet cheeks through my shirt. She stared vacantly at the shelves next to us. I petted her back, unable to conjure any words. She didn’t have any either. After a couple of minutes of quiet embrace, she turned her gaze to me. She whispered a single “Thank you” before turning into my chest, and closing her eyes for the night, finally asleep.  \ Next chapter published 1st June.


The bar sat in a glade in a mist-wrapped pine forest, and the first I knew of it was the blue neon sign cutting through the fog: *Juliet’s.* On one side of the sign was a flashing feathery wing, and on the other, a red-lit pitchfork or a trident. I couldn’t tell you how long I’d been wading through the mist before I found it. But I do know that my death, and my life prior to it, hung on the very distant edge of my memory. Trying to recollect it was like trying to grab a handful of the fog. I could tell you I had a wife and a daughter — but I couldn’t tell you their names or even their hair colour. The bar was pretty dim and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Music hummed, drifted like waves in the background. Bluesy saxophone with a woman crooning in the gaps. The tables were slats of wood. Lights dangled low from the ceiling like orange bowls on threads of string. “What can I get you?” said a woman standing behind the bar. Her face was winter-pale, hair pumpkin-orange. She was drying a tumbler with a dishcloth. ”What is this place?” I said. ”Juliet’s. Didn’t you see the sign?” “I saw it. But... I don’t get what a bar is doing in a forest?” ”Serving spirits.” She laughed at that but I didn’t. ”Want to try a martini?” she asked. “I do a pretty good martini. On the rocks.” I shrugged. ”Sure.” What else was there to say? “You must be thirsty,” she said as she poured the gin. “Bet you haven’t had drink in a long time.” ”I guess I haven’t.” I looked arounds at the empty booths and stools. “Why am I the only one here?” She poured a shot of vermouth into the glass. “I only just opened. You’re the first to find me!” ”Oh.” “Try this.” She slid the glass across to me and it was only then I realised I had no money. For the first time since walking in those woods, I looked down at my clothes. Jeans. Striped tee with a smear of red on it. Blood, I guessed. No wallet or coins in my pockets. ”Relax,” Juliet said. “I don’t charge. I’m not here for profits. And certainly not for prophets.” She only grinned at that one. ”Who are you?“ I asked. ”What do you think of the drink?” she replied. ”I haven’t tried it yet.” ”You should. Before the ice melts and dilutes it.“ She put her tongue out and bit on it. Then she said, “I’m someone who has been above and been below. Someone a lot like you, except you’ve not been above or been below.” “I don’t follow,” I said. ”I used to be an angel. Then I used to be a demon.“ That should have probably bothered me, being inside a bar run by a demon, but it didn’t. Nothing seemed to bother me anymore. The numbness where my heart used to be was everything. Like my heart had been replaced by a wad of tissues. “Oh, now I get the logo,” I said. “The wing and pitchfork. Angel and devil.” ”Exactly.“ “Are you Lucifer,” I asked? ”Hardly,” she said. “I wasn’t cast out of anywhere. I’m just someone who got fed up with everything. You know, before I quit the final time, before I left hell, they tried mixing the entire thing up. Sinners went to heaven to be fixed up, while the pious went to hell for being too pious.“ The song changed. The sound of an old fashioned bass guitar rippled down my spine. “How did that go?” I asked. ”A disaster. But who cares, right?” ”A disaster?” ”At least,” she said, “in my opinion. Because then no one was happy. You died and you got fucked — excuse my french. You tried to live well, you got screwed, you lived the life of a sinner, you got screwed. Maybe rightfully in that case, but still, everyone got screwed. And that didn’t seem right to me. No nuance.” ”So you opened this place?” ”Yep.” ”And... Where is this place? Where are we?” ”Limbo,” she said. “They closed it down for centuries, you know? Because they couldn’t find anyone to run it. So everyone either went to heaven or to hell. Like I said, no nuance. You’re the first soul to arrive here, so that’s great.” ”Why did I come here?” I asked. ”Because I invited you! And I’m going to invite a lot more people.” I shook my head. ”I don’t remember that.” ”How’s the drink?” I still hadn’t tried it. I took a toothpick and stirred it idly. Finally, slowly, I took a sip. It didn’t taste of liquid. Or of alcohol. ”Careful,” she said. “It’s strong.” The drink tasted of memories. There I was at home. Hiding a bottle in cupboard beneath the stairs. There I was filling up a flask before work. ”Shit,” I said. There I was getting in the car. Drinking from the flask. ”*Shit*.” ”I told you it’s strong.” There was my beautiful daughter. My wife. Getting in the car after me. Headlights. Swerved too late. Screech. Scream. Shattered glass- “What the fuck,” I said, gasping, slamming the drink back down. ”Relax,” Juliet said. The drink had filled up my heart as if it had been an empty cup sitting in my chest just waiting for this. And now this poison had splashed into it, this black liquid. And it was being sent through my body, through my veins. This horror and self loathing, pumping through my being. ”Did I... Was that me?” Juliet placed a hand on mine. “Yes. But it’s okay.” ”Why am I here?” I whispered. “I should burn in hell if I did that. ” ”It’s never that simple,” said Juliet. “That’s why I opened the bar. It’ll be packed before you know it.” ”It is simple,” I said. “I killed them.” She shook her head. “It takes a lot of sun to grow a tree tall.” ”Huh?” ”Your childhood. Do you remember that? Your father? Do you remember being bullied at school? Losing your job?” ”What does that have to do with anything?” ”Take another sip,” she said. I stared at the glass. ”*No*. Never again.” “Take another sip,” she said. The way she said it, it was so gentle, so warm, that my body reacted before I had a chance to deny it. I picked up the glass and drank. ”Do you see?” she asked. I saw my daughter. I saw myself walking her to school every day. I saw myself skipping meals after I lost my job, so her and my wife ate. I saw myself having tea parties with her instead of socialising with work colleagues. I saw my wife, her mermaid-tailed dress as she glided across the church. ”You’re not good. Or bad,” said Juliet. ”You’re just a product of your life. Like everyone else.“ She took the glass from me and put it down behind the bar. I didn’t watch as she made a coffee, but I could taste it in the air. ”Here,“ she said. “This’ll suit you better. Why don’t you go sit at a booth? They’ll be here soon.” ”Be here? Who will be here?” ”I’ve invited a lot of people. Because there’s no one just good and no one just bad. Your family are on their way and they’ll want to sit with you.” A blade of ice-cold worry stabbed into my chest. ”*My family?* After what I did? I can’t...” ”You can,” she said. “This bar isn’t here to punish people. Or to reward them. It’s just a place where people can talk and be and help mend each other. And I’ll be here to help, too. So please, go sit down. It’s about to get very busy.