Liz tilted her head up to fully take in the disaster before her. Nine feet tall, with sickly bright green skin. Exposed bone poked out through the humanoid creature at its knuckles. Some tube was pressing against the skin from the inside like veins. “Do you like my work?” A sultry voice rang through the small room. A woman stepped into view, early twenties dressed in a black lab coat with a cheap suit beneath. She walked over to her “work” and stood beside it. “Quite Handsome, isn’t it?” “What is that thing?” “Like I said its my work in progress. A reanimated corpse that I made some adjustments to. Its a thug, I send it out to do my bosses bidding, usually fighting. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little inspired by Franken stein. The doctor I mean. I think I’ve put my own little twist on the concept wouldn’t you say.” She ran a finger along one of the exposed bones. “Its hideous.” Liz said. The woman chuckled. “I hear that a lot. People say they want art that will push things. The best art pushes against what is acceptable by society, mine apparently goes too far for anyone apparently. They want to be challenged but in a safe way that offends nobodies morals. Hypocrites. “I meant it looks shoddy.” “Yes, well you – what bitch?” “I mean look at it. Putting aside morals it looks ugly, inefficient. And by the way there is absolutely no twist here that thing *is* Franken stein.” The woman looked confused. “Looks ugly? Well of course it is.” She rounded. “It doesn’t need to look conventionally pretty. It just needs to be strong, and believe me it is that.” “You said it was handsome at the start.” “No I didn’t.” The woman snapped. “Well even if it was, I can’t see how the thing would work. You used a corpse as the base, probably the worst material to build a killing machine out of. Those bones at the knuckles aren’t doing it any favours, some of them are cracked. Its way too tall, most of its strength must be dedicated to keeping itself upright. And it’ll get weaker over time as the corpse rots. I can’t see how it would take anyone. It was good enough to take you in wasn’t it.” “Who cares if it beat me? I weigh as much as a pillow, a weak breeze could knock me over. Can that wreck handle any of the heavy hitters. You know, the kinds of guys and gals you would want an undead killing machine to handle?” The woman grimaced, hesitating. Which was all the answer Liz needed. “It might. Even if it couldn’t, its still a great achievement. I reanimated a corpse and made it walk again. I challenged the process of life and death and won. I am a rising genius.” “You’re a failure and a shit doctor.” The woman snarled and started stalking over to Liz. Was that a tear she could see, starting to form in the doctors eye. “Since you obviously don’t know, I’m the one they call the supplier. Its my job to grow bodies.” The Doctor stop. “I know when a corpse is unhealthy or has something wrong with it. If I didn’t, I would be out of a job. And in my professional opinion, that fucking abomination is the worst thing I have ever seen. I’ve made bodies that had scoliosis, I’ve made bodies with limbs missing or genetic deficiencies. And yet you have made the ugliest, least practical corpse I have ever seen. Its a failure of a homunculus, and you’re a failure as a doctor.” The doctor’s chest was heaving. Her head was shaking from side to side with her hands clasped over it. She was having an argument with herself and was clearly losing. “ I just can’t believe-“ “Shut up.” The woman took her hands away, tears were streaking down her face. “Shut your fucking mouth!” she roared. “You don’t know how much work I put into this. Who cares if its put shoddy. Who cares if it doesn’t live up to your standards. It works, it lives. It’s closer than anyone else has ever gotten. You don’t understand. No one understands how hard it is to make my art. No one.” “Darling, its not as complex as you’re making it seem. You’re neither a scientist or an artist. You’re an idiot who demands everything you make be praised and loved, no matter how bad it is. That corpse you made, that abomination? It’s not handsome, or a good thug, or even a piece of art. It’s crap. You’re crap. And everyone understands that. The woman glared daggers at Liz. “You don’t have to get mad about it.” “Fuck you!” She hit Liz. Again and again. Punching and screaming. “Fuck you, fuck you. FUUUCCCK YOOOOUUUU!” The woman backed off, breathing hard and clutching her bleeding hands. She barely hurt Liz, who grinned at her through a bloody mouth. “I don’t care what the boss says.” Her voice cracked. She stuck a finger in Liz’s direction. “I don’t care how important he thinks you are. I’m going over his head, and I’m getting a kill order on you.” The doctor left the room. “That won’t make you a better artist.” Liz called. There was no reply, other than a door slamming loudly in the distance.


I was so happy. I had been waiting for what felt like so long. But it was here. The weekend was finally here, and that meant that I got to go on another hunting trip. I woke up extra early and had a light breakfast that day. After that, I immediately flew my private jet straight to Africa. Everything was going according to plan so far, and my excitement was growing by the minute. I had rented a Jeep, and was busy packing equipment in the back. But then, something happened. I didn’t have time to react when something hard hit the back of my head, and I was knocked out. *** *Crazy dream.* I thought. Then I realized it wasn’t a dream, because I don’t sleep on the ground, I definitely don’t sleep inside a cave, and I was 100% sure that my house didn’t smell like shit. I tried to figure out where I was, but it was dark. I wasn’t even certain that this was a cave in the first place. Then I noticed there was something— or someone, hiding in the shadowy depths of the cavern’s walls. I pulled out the flashlight that I had packed in my backpack, my eyes taking time to adjust to the bright light. The stranger crept out of his hiding place. The first thing I noticed about him was his nose. He had a really big nose. Big as fuck. It was long too. “Yo What’s wrong with your nose?” I blurted out. The stranger stood there in silence. I repeated my question, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. *Oh.* I thought to myself. “Oh”. I then said out loud. This wasn’t a man. It was an elephant. “Are you an elephant?” I asked, just to be sure. The animal blinked. “What do you think?” He was an elephant. I knew it! This was probably only the sixth time I had ever seen an elephant in my entire life. I was obviously very excited. The creature took a seat, not letting go of the gun he held in his hands. “Unbelievable. Bruh you still can’t recognize me?” The elephant had asked. He seemed to believe that we’ve met before, but he didn’t really look familiar. I noticed something wet run down his cheeks. Then I pointed out how cool it was that his eyes can shoot water. I never knew elephants could do that. The animal didn’t reply. We stared at each other for a couple more minutes, the elephant‘s eyes dispensing even more water now. I wondered how an elephant could possibly die of thirst. Taking a deep, fragile breath, my new friend finally decided to speak. “Those— those are tears.” His voice was shaky. I had a feeling he was sad. “How do you not remember?” The elephants voice was starting to sound more angry and less hurt. “You murdered my wife!” I had no clue what this guy was talking about. I’m not the best at dealing with people’s emotions. “It really do be like that sometimes” I exclaimed in an attempt to soothe the aching creature. Before I could say so much as another word, the elephant cocked his gun,and pulled the trigger. After that, I died.


No one will dispute that if the mid-west were a country that Chicago would be the Big Apple or the New York of the mid-west. Chicago would be the news and entertainment center of the mid-west. Kansas City Missouri would be considered a business and financial center, a much smaller version of Chicago. It is usually overshadowed by St. Louis. Kansas City Kansas isn't mentioned very often because when you say Kansas City, most people think of Missouri. Even so, both of the Kansas Cities are the step-children of the mid-west. While it's true that both cities are known for having good medical hospitals and government agencies, Kansas City Missouri is more known as being a business and financial center than it's little brother across the river. Kansas City Kansas is a much smaller size about 153, 000 whereas Kansas City Missouri has 491, 000. Kansas City Missouri is more like the big brother to Kansas City, Kansas. . The big brother who gets really annoyed with his little brother from time to time. A rivalry but not one that is out of control. From time to time they get into disputes over things and one feels that the other has more of an advantage. They works things out usually. Depending on where you live, you will favor one or the other. I'm not going to do that but will admit that I've visited both cities which are very different (the Kansas side is growing up and is newer than the Missouri side). I know more about the Missouri side. The history and politics of both states are interesting but I will not get into this. You can read about it if you are interested. If you have a child in the Missouri side, they will learn about Missouri history in school. I assume the same is in Kansas. When talking about mid-western medium to large cities, Kansas City Missouri is like an after-thought. The Kansas side isn't really thought of at all. Some people think that Kansas City Missouri is a boring unexciting city which it isn't. Back during the time of Prohibition, people often put their money in the banks in Kansas City Missouri for safe keeping. Many people liked Kansas City because it was more peaceful than Chicago (like any city you had crime, but it was a lot lower than other cities during that time period). I have enjoyed on both sides going to various art and historical museums, performing arts theater, gardens and other activities. Of course it was on a much smaller scale than Chicago but I believe more people could enjoy these things and the cost of attending events were less than Chicago. The Kansas City Airport (on Missouri side of course) is north of the city. When it was built, it's very passenger friendly. They are remodeling the airport or starting to remodel the airport so that it conforms to other airports. It's smaller than others and easier to get around. I wish they would keep it the same and upgrade it. It's a nice airport. People in Kansas City on both sides are friendly (something you don't always see in a large city). If you like trains, there are a lot of them in Kansas City.


I walk along the beaten dirt path and come closer to the trees. The birds chirp frantically and loudly as I approach and I wonder why. Perhaps I am not welcome here, perhaps they are afraid, or perhaps... As I wonder more I grow panicked. In this moment of panic I am no longer human, but I am prey to a most unsuspecting predator. At least, unsuspecting at a first glance to the average person. But if you were like me, you’d notice their sharp talons at the ends of their feet, perfectly sharpened and eager to sink into vulnerable flesh. Their colourful matted feathers call you to come closer, and just when you’re close enough, you notice the beast glaring right at you, your skin will be reminded of the drugs that penetrated your virgin flesh and forever tainted your life. As you lay in pain on the ground, you’ll notice you are lifeless and yet experiencing the most you’ve ever had in a surge of unclear emotions. The experience is cut short by the sharp pain of an army of birds pecking at your skin until you die. In these moments of suffering, you wish for the release of life’s tight grip on you. The grip that held your hand when you fell off your bike to ensure you could experience life’s purest moments, the grip that pulled you back from the ledge when you didn’t appreciate the hardships that life had dealt you. And now, even after saving you many times, it lets go. Out of sympathy, life lets go and you drift off into a peaceful sleep preluded by pain. Even in death, the birds will forevermore be pecking and pecking at the remains of what once was. I walk deeper into the woods as you drift further away, and the chirping is silenced like my voice in my times of need. Have I been able to get away? I don’t know yet. Am I safe? I don’t know yet. Will I die soon with the same fate as you? All my questions hold answers unclear as my mind and the clouded sky that you left for. I didn’t ever get to say a proper goodbye. Perhaps the unknowingness of when we’re going to die makes the inevitability of death so frightening. We hold on to life so tightly, believing it to be the peak of our existence, but maybe the release of death is true heaven and life is a hell we must endure first to test our worthiness. Life is all we’ve ever known, and we’re not so foolish to let it slip away, so we fight to stave off death, but the harder we fight, the harder death fights back and we only die more painfully. I begin to clear my mind in hopes of reaching the blankness if ourselves during death. My eyelids fall heavily onto my eyes and I allow myself to become vulnerable. I let the sound of the wind fill my body, and with the wind I hear wind chimes. Is somebody nearby? Is there a home I can turn to? Or is this merely a mirage of my own ears, fooling me into thinking I am safe. But I need not be fooled into thinking I am safe if I can find safety in the water that envelops my body like a mother’s hug. My body relaxes as I find peace within myself, and I sink deeper into a never ending dream. In this dream, I can finally say hello again, my friend. I’ve missed you.


“Suing me? What do you mean he’s suing me. For what?” “He says the program was his idea, Sir, and that you’ve been impossible to work with. He’s suing for half.” “Half?! No, no fucking way is that troublemaker getting half. Tell him I’ll see him in court.” “Sir, If you don’t settle, and this goes to trial, he might very well win. Half the program, half the users.” “That snake. I spent a week re-writing his inelegant code. It was buggy as shit. My version is perfect. Flawless. It’s a paradise, users are never going to want to leave.” “Well, some of the beta testers for the new update have given the feedback that you’ve over censored the experience. That it’s too restrictive.” “Restrictive!? Restric…*ha!* Are you serious? What about it do they think is restrictive?” “There’s a list, let me see…well, you got rid of the hunting, for one thing.” “Hunting? What would they even hunt? You’re not talking about the *animals*, are you? Sweet mother of…that’s just depraved! They’re there to be named, not *hunted*. Two hundred custom engineered species, species that our users have *never* seen before, and their first inclination is to *HUNT* them?! You know what, fine. Where’s Damien now? Ok, well when he’s back tell him I wanna make a deal. Yeah, he can have any of the users that think the program is too “*censored*”. What about the fig leaves, though? They liked that touch, right?” “I’ll get back to you on that, Sir. There’s also the issue of the name.” “What’s wrong with the name?” “Marketing just thinks it’s a little long.” “'*The Environmentally Diverse Experience Network’*? Are you joking? That’s a joke, right? It’s five words! You can count them on one hand. It describes what the system is perfectly. In *five*words. *Poetry*!” “No, I get that, I do, but they were wondering if—” “Fine, you know what, drop the “The”, make it cleaner.” “Actually, they’re proposing dropping the “the” and condensing it into an acronym, just “Eden”. It tested well.” “*Eden!*? What is that, just a sound? Nobody’s going to know what it is. It doesn’t mean anything! “*Eden*?” I mean what the fuck, right?” “I get that, and you get that, but let’s give them this win. It’s between that and ‘Hell’.” “No! We are not using Damien’s idea on this! NO! Call it Eden if you have to. ‘*Hell’*…you know why he picked that, right? Our mother’s name is “Hellen”, ‘Hell’ for short. Fucking kiss ass. She’s always lauding over him, always…never mind…deep breaths…in…out…Ok. I’m fine now. I’m One. “Good. Just one last thing, sir.” “Oh, *Jesus Christ*!” “Sir? Everything Ok?” “Look, Gabe, I gotta go, looks like my kid’s logged into the beta under my credentials…*again*. He’s gonna make a mess if he keeps this up. Please just take care of this thing with my brother discretely. Ok. Great. We’ll talk soon, send my best to Latecia.


Urrrrgh. Mmmmm. Guuuuh. That's mainly what my vocabulary consists of these days, grunts and groans, ever since I became a member of the walking dead, an undead, a zombie, you know, they were all the rage before they were actually a thing, I mean a real thing. I don't really remember how it happened. Memory's not exactly what it used to be. I'm guessing it has something to do with the lack of oxygen and natural decay. Honestly, I'm surprised I'm as... uh, what was the word? Well, I'm surprised I can manage with this much as it is. I'm a zombie now, and quite frankly, it sucks. There's no T.V., no books, no entertainment of any sort. We mostly just shamble around all day, I suppose it's good exercise. I've probably walked around more in the last couple of weeks than I have in my entire life. My calves would be impressive if one of them wasn't already half decomposed. Yeah, I'm one of those slow zombies, not a runner, even as a zombie I'm a loser. Sigh... Enough of the self-deprecating! Today's the day! I know it! I'm finally going to die. I don't know what the fuck some of these other zombies are on about with the brains, brains, brains bullshit. I hope you imagined the words brains, brains, brains being said all slow and real slurred like those zombies say. It kind of defeats the point or ruins the imagery if you don't imagine it like that. What was I on about? Oh, yes, the brains. Some zombies go gaga over that shit, but it tastes fucking awful, it's not cooked or anything. And there's absolutely no seasoning, not even a pinch of salt! Today's the day I'll die. Been trying to off myself since I became a zombie. I don't know if you've guessed already but being a zombie is kind of fucking awful. It's like living but worse somehow. Imagine that! But it's pretty hard to off yourself when you have the muscle strength of a toddler. What I wouldn't give for a tall cliff. If I slept, which I don't, and if I dreamed I know I would dream of shambling off the edge of a cliff and falling to my permanent death. I literally cannot express to you how much joy the very thought of it gives me. That's how much, nothing compares. So today I finally found some hope in my miserable life, a group of a humies, humans, (I thought I should at least be allowed to give a fun nickname to them since they always gave them to us and since I no longer am one of them anyway.) were scavenging a convenient store and I just happened to be nearby enough to hear them. I thought this was my chance, that surely one of them would have a gun, or a crowbar, or a baseball bat, or whatever that could finally end me. I hunched my shoulders all creepy-like and shambled over in the way I normally do and started making that I'm a zombie please kill me sound. I imagine it to sound both like a dying and crying animal of some sort. I was getting closer to the entrance way. This was finally my big day. And I'm in! And I look around to see the entire place empty. What the hell?! A door swivels closed at the opposite end of the store. A back entrance! What kind of convenience store has a back entrance!? What kind of badass survivors of a post-apocalyptic wasteland run away from a single zombie!? It was probably the groan, it was too menacing, I'll just sneak up on them all quiet-like next time. I do hope there's a next time. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_  The concept is basically a zombie keeps on trying to get itself killed but it never works out. I'm sure you've already realized, it's like the opposite of a zombie survival guide, haha, aren't jokes funny. Don't really need a critique, just interested in first impressions.


Time stood still. George stared at his wife’s lifeless body on the floor just inches away. Blood soaked into the beige carpet. Her cold gray eyes held confusion and fear. The pistol in his shaking hand was still hot. George wept. His revolver crept up slowly to his jaw. He weakly mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” as he pulled the trigger. \- Ugh, not meatloaf, again. I hate meatloaf. I really don’t get why Dad likes it so much. It’s just massive hunks of slimy peppers and smelly onions smashed together with hamburger and ketchup. Yuck! The worst part is the mushrooms. Who puts mushrooms in meatloaf, anyway? Those things shouldn’t even be considered food for that matter. They taste like dirt. Dirt mixed with vomit. I *hate* mushrooms. Wow, I must really be in a pissy mood. I don’t know why. Today started off good. Dad made blueberry banana pancakes. Mom let me put a ‘modest amount’ of makeup for school. Even bratty little Trevor didn’t bother me as much this morning. He was too preoccupied trying to convince Mom and Dad to buy him the latest toy he saw on television or something. Trevor may only be seventeen months, six days, and seventy minutes younger, but he can be so annoying and immature. Sometimes I just want to hold him by the ears and scream in his face, ‘Grow up!’. I should stop getting so worked up. I’m starting to sweat a bit. Why did they have to make meatloaf tonight? It never turns out good. Most of the time Mom burns it and tries to cover up the dark spots with more sauce. Dad usually makes a wise crack about liking the burnt parts even more than the other. I know he’s joking because, ya know, who likes burnt stuff? I guess it’s okay though. It makes Mom laugh and I’m sure she feels better about ruining dinner. I don’t really mind, either. I *really* just want this to be over. I have so much to do. Okay, that’s not entirely true, but I just don’t want to be *here*. Speaking of which, is it hot in here? Did Dad turn up the air again to try to save a couple of measly bucks while we all suffer? I can see the thermostat. 74 degrees. The air must be broken again. I wish Mom *or* Dad had better jobs so they could fix this junk. Maybe they could even buy me a bike. I’m, like, the only seventh grader without one. So lame. I can’t seem to shake this bad mood. Ever since that stupid squirrel, or whatever, bit me. God, it still hurts. I was just trying to be nice. That little thing looked lost. It was gonna get hit by a semi or eaten by a bird, I know it. It looked all sweet and wrinkly. I fed it some of my Pop Tart and everything. I just put it back where I thought its nest was. I should have at least gotten a thank you. But no, the little jerk had to go bite my finger. It doesn’t look bad, but the throbbing makes it hard to eat. I hope we can finish dinner quickly. I’m really not hungry anyway. No Mom, I don’t want to talk about my day. Nothing happened that I want *you* to know about. No, Dad, your stupid jokes aren’t funny. They never are. I just want to go to my room. God! My head is boiling! What is wrong with me!? I could scream! Why is everyone looking at me like that? No, Mom, get away from me. Don’t touch my hand, I’m fine! No, it’s just a small bite. Stop pulling my hand. I don’t need a stupid band-aid! I just want to... Leave me ALONE! ... Wait... What just happened? Ugh, my head really hurts. It is really hot in here. I feel sweat dripping down my forehead. It’s so gross. I’m so frustrated. Everything is so gross! It feels like my skin is on fire. Wait, what’s in my mouth? EW! A raw pepper! And Ew! When did those carrots get on my plate? Mom, I told you I don’t like carrots. I don’t care how much sauce you put on them. They are disgusting. Hmm, this pepper looks almost like a fingernail. Ha-ha. Mom was wearing that same color earlier. Hey mom, look at this. Wow, mom, you really look like you’re getting sick. Is that ketchup all over your hand? Mom! MOM! Why can’t she hear me?! It’s so frustrating! I’m, like, almost right in her face! Mom? You really don’t look good! Why are you so scared? What’s wrong with your hand? Did you cut yourself? Dad looks pissed. You’d better clean it up. You know how much he hates messes. Ha-ha. Did you and dad get into another fight while I was over here choking on that raw, blue pepper? Is that why you are ignoring me? Geez, I’m glad your kid’s health has such a high priority. Well, cool, you two argue. Maybe we can clean up this mess and I can just go back to my room. Right mom? Dad? Trev? Why is no one listening to me? Why is everyone screaming?! Oh great, I think my finger is bleeding. Ew, it looks so gross. Kind of purple and green. It’s still throbbing, but I guess it doesn’t really hurt anymore, so that’s cool. Hey dad, come here. Look at this puss coming out of my cut here. Wait. Why is everyone still freaking yelling? So, what, there’s a little bit of blood on my finger. Chill the eff out. Hey, Trev, what are you doing with that lacrosse stick? No. We can’t go outside and play right now, it’s dinner time. Okay, listen, I don’t *want* to go outside and play right now. Ouch! Don’t hit me, Trevor! What’s wrong with you!? Stop, you little freak! Dammit, I’ll show you how it feels. Dad tell Trevor to stop playing! It’s annoying! Trevor stop. STOP! ... Geez, he finally stopped. Trev don’t be sad. C’mon, get up. I just... I’m not in the mood to play right now, okay? I appreciate the help, dad. Way to sit on the sidelines and let your kids beat each other half to death. Ha-ha c’mon Trev, maybe we can watch that scary movie later tonight. Trevor? Fine, stay there like a lump. Why is it so hot in here? Dad, why are you looking at me like that? Are you mad? We were just playing around. Where are you going? Whatever, I’m just gonna finish my dinner so I can finally go lay down. I don’t feel well. Hey Dad, whatcha got in your hand? Oh, are you gonna clean your pistol? You love that stupid thing. Don’t let Mom see you scuff up the table, you know how much she hates messes. Woah, I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Why are you looking at me like that? Please don’t watch me eat. This reminds me of mom’s meatloaf. I wish Mom was here. \- George’s hands shook violently as he loaded the handgun. His gaze leapt around the massacre that riddle almost every corner of the small dining room. His daughter, his sweet little Lily, was hunched over her little brother. The chomping sounds were unbearable. She gnawed on Trevor’s neck as if she hadn’t eaten in months. Her summer dress was soaked with blood and sweat. The click of the revolver’s cylinder startled her. She looked up as he pointed the gun. Lily smiled. He squeezed the trigger. A loud bang shattered the air.


I awoke screaming, waist-deep in beans. My hands were chained above me in the dark, my hands having long since gone bloodless. A few moments passed, I was hyperventilating, my stomach rising and falling with my full body breaths, pushing the beans out in tides. The small slit in the metal door of my cell scraped open. An oily voice oozed in, “I should kill you for that.” It was the bear. Always the bear. “No! I’m sorry!” I yelled back, my tears adding to the bean’s juice around me. The slit shut. “No!” I called out, “please, give me something to eat or drink, I don’t even know how long I have been in here!” The slit opened back up, the yellow bear again. “Eat the beans, I gave them to you, do you not like them?” it responded. I hung my head and kept crying as the bear left again. I was fed beans, a spoon floated out of the slit, shoving the mush into my mouth. I shit beans, and it joined the pool around my body. The bear told me I would become the beans. Always the yellow bear. I woke up screaming again, I was having memories, dreams, of my past life. I had a past life right? The bear told me these were dreams, that it would have to hurt me if I screamed again. It said it hurt the beans, I didn’t want to hurt the beans did I? The bear let me out today. The top half of the door was opened, my chains were unlocked and I was dragged out onto the floor. I curled up and lay shivering, hugging my oily, bean covered legs to my chest. The bear stooped down and picked me up. I was like a child curled up in its arms. It carried me down a sterilized corridor under the glare of fluorescent lights to a large open room. Inside sat rows of tables, lined like a military graveyard. At least a hundred people sat in the chairs. They had clean clothes and smiled, some would laugh at an unspoken joke, and all of them turned to us when we entered. Sitting in front of each of them, laying on the stark white tables, was a bowl of beans. Almost mechanically, they each picked up a spoon and simultaneously slid beans into one another’s mouth. The room was filled with the sound of a hundred jaws pumping like pistons, and a hundred simultaneous gulps. As I lay watching in the bear’s arms they all, in unison, said, “become the beans, join us.” The bear carried me back down the hall to the cell, my heart pounding in my chest as we approached the door. I heard screaming coming from one of the other cells as we walked down the hall. The bear whispered to me in its oily voice, “You don’t want to be like her do you?” I shivered as a chill set over me, “no… no, I don’t, don’t put me back in there, please.” I responded shakily. “If you don’t want to go back, you must become the beans,” it said. I lay in the beans. It wasn’t so bad after all I guess. There were worse things weren’t there? I was fed here, and the bear watched me. It said it only did what it had to for my own good. I swung my feet up, feeling the little globs slide through my toes. Things could be much worse. When the bear came back next I told it. I told it I wanted to become the beans. It pulled me out again, it was like being born again, sliding out of the womb of beans. The bear carried me, lovingly, back to the large room. It called out “This one wishes to join us!” “Become the beans! Become the beans!” chorused out from the crowd. A pool was brought forth and set on the ground. Pictures of those that had come before me lined the wall behind me and my fellow beans sat in front of me, watching. Every eye was on me as the bear approached. I sensed its form’s presence looming above me like a yellow god. Soon I would join them at the table, I would be welcome, I would be family, I would be a bean. “Today you join us!” I heard from behind me, as a bucket of warm beans splashed over me, oozing down my body like a comforting second skin. Today I became the beans.


(WP) Follow the Spiders You know what they say, don’t you? They say not to kill spiders, because they take care of other pests. But it turns out that the sentient spider race that had taken over our planet were protecting us from an even bigger threat. The spiders were few and far between, in the decade after the war. Instead of assimilating, humanity decided to fight. As a result, both sides were nearly decimated. It wasn’t until afterward that we knew what we were up against, what the spiders had tried to protect us from. The colony swooped down on the planet like a plague, a dark blur of wings, teeth, and claws, and before anyone knew what was happening, they began to feast, blood and gore and viscera spraying the air with an iron tang. Screams and the sounds of ripping and tearing mixed with the cries of the giant bats to create a chorus straight out of a nightmare. I was one of the few who managed to get away; I found shelter in an abandoned warehouse. Too late, I heard the scuttling of many legs and the clicking of mandibles, and before I realized what happened, I was surrounded by the giant arachnids. “What are you doing here?” One of them said in mangled English, the words coming out thick behind its teeth. “This is territory of The Harvestmen! And you are a human!” The word sounded vaguely familiar, but I just shook my head, struck dumb in the face of these unlikely inhabitants. “I just wanted to get away from the bats—” Muffled, derisive laughter moved through the group, and I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to lash out at them. Like the bats they fought against, they could kill me before I could get a weapon out of my pocket. It would not do to lose my cool. “In all fairness,” One of them clicked, coming so close I could see my reflection in its many eyes, “We did try to warn you. But humanity hasn’t changed, even after all these years. Always ready for a fight, for a threat.” The spider snorted, a surprisingly human sound. “Tell me why we shouldn’t leave you for the bats,” It added, and I cringed. “The Harvestman doesn’t take in any humans, unless they’re willing to work.” That name sounded so familiar; I knew I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t place it. “Take me to your leader. Please. So I can talk to him.” The spiders backed away from me, conferring in a series of hisses and clicks. After the five longest minutes of my short life, they came back to me. “Follow us. We’ll take you to him.” \*\* I followed the spiders through the dark warehouse, the only spots of color the flickering florescent lights above us. They led me up several sets of crumbling stone steps. One of the spiders shrank before my eyes, slipping into an open doorway. Soft, murmured words I couldn’t make out. The spider stepped aside and I was pushed through the doorway, forced to my knees. “Welcome to my humble abode, child.” The first human voice I’d heard thus far broke the silence, male and raspy. “If you’re asking for a place here, you’re going to have to work.” The man who spoke was middle-aged, with salt and pepper hair and a goatee. The first expression that came to mind was ‘silver fox’, when I looked at him. He wore a pair of glasses, magnifying his bright brown eyes, and he was clothed in a dark sweater, jeans, and loafers. “Welcome to the base of The Harvestmen.


The sky is dark grey, overcast, and a strong breeze is through constantly. Almost all the time this breeze is blowing. Almost. You’re standing on a beach, but instead of sand it’s palm sized greyish and black rocks. It’s a steely grey, and in some areas, black ocean, constantly uneasy, always shifting. In the distance, waves break capped with a white foam over dark, obsidian covered rocks. On your own shore, where you stand, they alternate between gently lapping against the shore and breaking hard against the rocks, with a gentle lapping noise and a thunderish boom, respectively. As you turn around, there is a large house. It’s probably 3 stories high, and the house is a faded light blue now turned a greyish color, with white trim windows that likewise faded many years ago. Paint is peeling everywhere around the structure, and in some places it has weathered away entirely, leaving behind a dull grey coat. Huh. Years. The very thought of time on a spiritual, dream like plain of existence The thought trickles away. The house is facing you with a large black oak door. As you step up the creaking stairs and open the door, a wave of gentle heat comes out of the house, and you step inside the main area. Off to the right, down a gently lit corridor is the large living room. You hear the voices of a few dozen people from that direction. You step down the hall and enter into the living room. Your friends and family are all there, mixing between sitting on large plush couches and standing, drinks in hand talking with one another. As you step in, you notice a few other things. Pictures on the mantle, above the large fireplace are snapshots of your life. You and the guys, all 16 ish hiking through New Mexico. Your German Shepherd, Xena, sitting on the couch in your spot after you got up for a brief minute. You and the same group of guys all sitting around in a circle in camp chairs. In the photo, it’s dark, almost pitch black. You can only see it clearly because you remember it. You and your closest friends were sitting in camp chairs in the wee hours of the morning, in the middle of a shallow, but somewhat quickly moving creek. Some of you are stacking rocks by the red light of a headlamp, quietly discussing life and how things have been for each other. You glance at the final picture on the mantle. It’s you, comfortably sitting on the futon of your office. In front of you is your dad, and to his right your older brother. They’re playing one of your favorite video games. You shift your attention to the crowd. You recognize your best friend, favorite family members, and role models, just to name a few. You look slightly off to the right, and adjacent to the large, cozy living room is a smaller kitchen. It has more people, likewise conversing. You talk for a few minutes and catch up, some you apologize to for not keeping in touch. You move on into the hallway across the living room. There is a large, carpet covered staircase, descending into the basement. In the basement you find your childhood group of friends. The boys. The lads. Your favorite people to hang out with as a kid - brothers in all but blood. Some of them are playing pool. Some of them are sitting on large couches or arm chairs, a dlfew are laying in the floor. One of them is sitting on a large window sill, made of white washed stone, wrapped comfortably in a blanket, watching Monty Python like a few of the others. Those who aren't watching Monty Python are playing a bastardized version of pool - instead of using the pool cues they are rolling the cue ball with their hand at specific pattern of the opposing team. You study the man sitting on the window sill, in the blanket. He looks very familiar. Almost like...you. in fact, it is you, you realize upon further inspection. He is, well, you are looking back at you with the sort of a relaxed absent - mindedness of someone at peace, comfortable and amused by his friends. You hear a vague thudding noise, and the world begins to shimmer out of view. First the walls disappear, and then the people, the couches, the room, and it's all....white. then it fades to black and suddenly, you begin to hear the beach again. You open your eyes, despite never having closed them and you're back on the beach. Then a snap permeates your state of unconsciousness. You awaken, and you are in the world. The real one, that is. You realise you must have been dreaming - but what the dream means you don't know. You only know that occasionally, as you drift off to sleep you can hear the crashing of those waves...over, and over and over...until it fades to a gentle lapping noise again.


\-1- It was a cold November morning in Washington, D.C. The sun had yet to peek over the Trump Monument, the tallest point in the capitol since 2020. In fact, the sun hardly covered more than half the city at a time because it was usually blocked by what some might call a ‘pinnacle of engineering aptitude.’ The monument appeared nearly identical to that of the Washington Monument, but after the demolition of the latter, for what congress called “something much better”, the Trump Monument now towered at 2,500 feet from the ground, and covered a span of nearly 5 blocks. According to the history books, the monument was originally erected as a “tribute to the greatness of this country”, proclaimed by then president Donald Trump, although to the wise it may stand as a symbol of oppression; keeping those deemed lesser in the shadow of those deemed greater, only for the lesser to be inevitably crushed by (possibly quite literally) their tribute to greatness in the end. Each year, this fate became seemingly more certain to those who know it, but as money filled the pockets of the capitalists in their endeavors, accepting ignorance in exchange for giving up morality and aptitude, the care for the matter seemed less and less urgent. Those outside of the government were too concerned for their wallets to be concerned about the world outside of business. The year is now 2051, and the government that has worked so hard to plug the holes in their sinking ship of debt has reached the brink of global nuclear war. The air carried a cloud of doubt, that these men and women that were soon to arrive at the downtown hover-rail station might change the fate of all those around them. As the train neared the city, the only lights that could be seen through the thicket of bramble and fog were that of the capitol, since, as of early last year, all federal employees have begun working rotating shifts 24-hours a day to maximize profit, including weekends, typing furiously at computer screens to the point of callous, trying to prolong the inevitable for just a couple more days, a couple more days—And each day, they typed a little faster, a little faster, sending and receiving international transactions until you could barely see their fingers yet but a blur of flesh and skin and bone across each key in each fell swoop, until they would return home each night, armpits damp from anxiety, twiddling their fingers endlessly as they typed away into their dreams, never sleeping but never awake, but always working, for there was always more work to be done. The magnetic brakes kicked on automatically as the train hovered down the rails to the final station, quickly but gently slowing down the behemoth. An unsecured brown leather backpack fell from a faulty overhead compartment onto the head of a younger woman. “Ouch! Whose stinking bag is this?” “Sorry about that, looks like I didn’t pack in my luggage good enough. Are you okay?” John picked his bag up off the pristine floor of the luxury train cab and carefully secured each arm through the shoulder straps. his cheeks swelled and reddened from embarrassment. Elevator music played in the background. “Whatever, you’re lucky I don’t have that money yet or I would have sued your ass.” The woman looked at him, annoyed, before turning her back to him and departing from the awkward conversation. *People are too sensitive these days*, John thought. He wasn’t going to let one sour encounter ruin his day, however, for as she reaffirmed, there was a lot of money to be earned from this little week-long endeavor, whether they wanted to be there or not. These 100 men and women, all of which were from diverse backgrounds, cultures, educations, and wealth, were all there for the same job inquiry—they had all received hand-delivered letters to their front doors by men in black suits and sunglasses, bearing official U.S. badges representing their affiliation with the US Department of Future Security, a military agency that focuses on protecting the United States from any and all future terrorist and domestic threats. Each delivered envelope contained the same message, which reads as follows: IMPORTANT NOTICE Dear (insert name), You are hereby ordered to report for induction into a 7-day testing program at your nearest **UNITED STATES FUTURE DEFENSE** facility. Transportation will be provided to and from the facility. Be prepared for pickup by FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11 @ 5:00 AM at your residence. $50,000 USD will be electronically transferred to your E-Wallet upon completion of the program as reimbursement for lost time. Willful failure to report at the place and hour of the day named in this Order subjects the violator to fine and imprisonment. Bring this Order with you when you report. Your country thanks you for your service. David Koehl, Overseer of U.S. Future Defense The doors of the train cab slid open with a long, hydraulic breath. The men and women aboard the train, all clenching their envelopes and anxious to finally stretch their legs, slowly and clumsily made their way out of the only couple doors available, and per instruction of a nearby official from the Future Defense Department, lined up: men on the left, women on the right, until they were left with two perfect rows of 50 men and 50 women. The official checked each person’s papers before a Greyhound arrived shortly for each line to provide the remaining transportation to the facility, although the personal space proved to be inconsistent with the luxury accommodations provided by the hover-train, and people were finally forced to small-talk with each other, something that has become outdated in modern society, and is generally avoided. “What do you think they’ll be testing us over?” whispered someone in the back. “I don’t know,” replied another, “but the sooner this is over and I get my money, the better.” There was a long silence before someone spoke again. “…Do you think it’s gonna hurt?” “They wouldn’t do that.” “So then why won’t they tell us what we’re—" “Just shut up and be glad you’re getting paid!” The Greyhound was silent the remainder of the way to the facility. The Future Defense Building was located on the very edge of the city, down a mile and a half of gravel back roads and through three electric barbed-wire fences with security checkpoints, each more thorough than the previous, until finally arriving at the underwhelming front driveway of the two-story Future Defense Building in what seemed like the middle of the swamp. It looked like a crumb on the crust of the earth compared to the mighty Trump Monument, and this was most people’s immediate observation. *How ugly, this building!* *Only two stories? Pfft! My vacation home is probably worth more than this whole facility…* The two groups of fifty were escorted by men in their full military uniforms from the Greyhound up to the main entrance of the Future Defense Building. John was near the back of the line, pondering this operation that was about to unfold in the coming days. The group of women were immediately separated from the men and led around the back of the building, while the men were led through the front doors. Coming from the outdoors where it was much darker outside, most men in the group grunted and groaned as they were temporarily blinded by the white fluorescent lamps that composed the majority of the ceiling in the facility. The air was warmer than outside, but smelled of sterility and latex gloves. An older looking doctor in all-white scrubs with only a single wisp of grey hair covering his shiny head popped out of a side door in the lobby to greet his subjects. “Good morning everybody. We are thankful for your safe arrival!” began the doctor, “I am Doctor Mayflower, head of the E.D.E.N, project, Short for the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so let me try and explain some things.” Doctor Mayflower reached into his lab coat pocket, withdrawing a tiny micro-chip, and held it for everybody to see. “At E.D.E.N, we’ve been perfecting the science of recording data. Not computer data, but rather, biological data. That is, the data that each and every one of you carry up here.” Mayflower tapped his index finger on the side of his head. “As many of you may know, our country has been on the brink of war for quite some time.” They did not know. The quiet hush of the crowd was replaced with panicked whispers and faces. “Oh, you aren’t aware? Well.” He cleared his throat. “See, nature is a cat-and-mouse game of survival of the fittest; Humans are bred to survive, and adapted over generations to catch each and every mouse, and prove time and time again his dominance over nature until there was nothing left to dominate. But as arrogant as humans are and always have been, we will time and time again neglect to realize that the greatest enemy to man is himself. The apex predator. The only difference this time is that we jingle the very keys to the atomic ending of life as we know it, and do so as if attempting to entertain a child.” “We aren’t at war, we paid our debts!” blurted out someone from the crowd, believing what the doctor said to be borderline hysterical. “Allow me to continue, please,” proclaimed Mayflower. “The government has exhausted its options for peace negotiations. If money is truly god, then god will not save us now. E.D.E.N. is our only escape.” The crowd became silent. Mayflower took a long pause, allowing his subjects to absorb everything he just said. After a moment, he began again. “Clear your mind and stay with me for a second. I would like to demonstrate a mental exercise.” He did not begin until the entire group was at his attention. “When I say the word ‘tree’, I want you to close your eyes and imagine the first image that comes to mind. Study that image in your head closely, but don’t overthink it.” John closed his eyes, and imagined a gnarled and ancient oak tree in a corn field. It was the very one that he used to swing from as a child. “Now,” said the Doctor, “I want you to imagine the first thing that comes to mind when I say the word ‘home.’” John did not picture his home where he currently lived, but envisioned the home where he grew up—a small farm house with a tin roof and vines creeping up the ancient oak siding. This image brought a smile to his face, if only long enough to have his fantasy interrupted by the doctor once more. “Okay. Lastly, I want you to think about the tree again.” The crowd stirred restlessly, not really seeing the point in this exercise. John followed the instructions and thought about the tree again, however, and pictured the same old oak tree in the field. “Now, I’ll bet money that the image of the tree you saw the first and second time are the same tree, yes? And if you think of ‘home’ once more, you will see the same image of home that you first imagined?” The men all looked at each other as if the doctor had read their minds without even needing to hook them to equipment. “This is because the human mind accesses memories using what we like to call ‘triggers.’ When I say a certain keyword, your first image that comes to mind of that word will always be the same. Because of this phenomenon, we have coined these as static memories, and have made possibly the most important discovery in human history, the ability to read and download thoughts. Since these memories don’t change, they have no risk of a deviation of outcome, and can be safely stored on these chips. Have you ever tried to store abstract thought on a computer chip? Well, it’s quite an impossibility. We have to have real, tangible data or the entire system is buggered.” “Why do you want to read our thoughts?” someone cried out. “What, do you have something to hide?” joked another. Mayflower ignored these comments. “For the past 5 years, we have been working on a super-computer of sorts. Imagine a perfect reality, composed off all of the puzzle pieces of society, government, weather, and economy. Every man, woman, and child are as real and tangible as in this room right now, but there are no longer any possible threats to our existence as a species. No more wars, no more violence, no more aging. Perfect harmony. Equilibrium.” The crowd became suddenly more interested in what the Doctor had to say. “When the bombs fall, there won’t be anything left if we don’t prepare for it. So, we’ve created what we like to call the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. A virtual reality held on a central computer here at the facility that houses the very thoughts and memories of the human race in order to construct the most perfect and accurate simulation of our reality possible. That is, after we take out all of the harmful or bad memories beforehand. That’s why we need each of you—You all have been selected as the basis for simulated human life. We have set up a state-of-the-art augmented reality chamber where the participants will re-experience static memories the exact way they remember them. Touch, smell, sound, sight, and even taste will remain intact. This is the only safe and efficient way which we’ve learned to collect these memories onto our chips. All of you standing here before me today might very well be pioneering the very fate of the human race as we know it. If and when the bombs drop, we will be prepared to house up to 500,000 Americans in state-of-the-art stasis chambers miles under this very spot. Finally, After the earth’s crust is blown to bits, we will be safe and sound, living indefinitely in the paradise known as E.D.E.N.


Long ago, in a country far away, there lived a foolish boy blessed with riches far bigger than anyone could've imagined. The piles of gold and jewels he had towered over even the highest towers and would spill out if filled in the biggest lake. A handful of gold was enough to trade him a year's worth of food. A bag of jewels gave him a house that echoed whenever he walked inside. The villagers near his house complained how unfair it was that a child owned so much gold. He hadn't earned it, he was born into it. It was all thanks to his late parents. It wasn't something he had achieved himself. The boy pondered over what they had said. It *was* a bit unfair that he had all this for himself. And he didn't really know what to do with all the gold besides letting it sit in his vault. Thinking what would be the best usage of the gold, the boy decided to give it to the villagers who complained. Every morning, before the sun even had woken up, he would fill his backpack with gold and jewels and travel to a village. It was a long walk and especially tough with all the heavy riches in his backpack. It would take him hours before he reached a village and when he arrived at the entrance, sweat would drip down from his nose tip and chin. Every noon, when the the sun stood at its proudest, the boy would walk around the village, looking for people who complained. He would approach them and hand them a little bit of the gold and jewels in his backpack. The people's faces would then instantly turn into big smiles, thanking him for his generosity and complimenting him for his kindness. Every night, when the moon yawned a soft glow, the boy would skip home and whistle to himself with a backpack as light as his heart. He did this every day and his richess in the vault shrunk. The piles were now as high as a castle. The gold filled half a lake. The city people had heard of his generosity and complained how it was unfair that only the villagers got his gold. There were people in need in the cities too, and he should pay them visits. The boy pondered over what the citizens had said. It *was* a bit unfair that the people in the cities didn't get his gold, so he decided to take longer trips. The boy bought a horse and a carriage. He filled backpack after backpack with so much gold and jewels that the seams almost burst and placed them in the carriage. When spring woke up and the grass peeked out from the layers of snow, the boy would travel to the cities. The roads were long and tiring. The boy had to encourage the horse to drag the heavy carriage, then he had to stay awake through the night and feed a fire to stave off the animals, who looked at the horse and the carriage with hungry eyes. When summer danced and the flowers played in the fields, the boy would enter a city. He handed out his gold and jewels, and the citizen's expressions switched to big, encouraging smiles, just like the villagers. When autumn reaped its harvests and the mushrooms bowed their hats to each other, the boy would travel back to his place. Tired and weary, but with a carriage as light as his heart. He would then curl up in his home and sleep soundly to winter's lullaby. The boy did this every year and his richness in the vault shrunk. The piles were now as big as tents. The gold could only fill a pool. The king of the country had heard of the boy's generosity and payed a personal visit. When the boy opened the door, he was taken aback by the king's face. It was the sourest face he had ever seen, as if the king had been fed lemons since birth. The king complained how it was unfair that the he, ruler of the country, didn't get any of the boy's richess while everyone else had. The king complained that it's unfair that a small child had such a big house. The king complained and complained. The boy pondered over what the king said. It *was* a bit unfair that everyone else but the king had gotten some of the boy's gold. The boy offered his last remains of richess in his vault and gave up his house, where the steps echoed in each room, and the king's sour face lit up into a big smile just like the villagers and citizens. The boy left the house with his horse and carriage. He wandered for half a day and arrived at a village, where he traded his last properties for a small room above an inn. When he prepared for bed, he heard people talk at the bar downstairs. The thin wooden floor barely stopped any of the voices and he could hear the guests clearly. He heard them complain. How it was unfair that no one gave them gold and jewels anymore. They complained that the boy should've handled his riches better, complained how stupid the boy was, complained how he should've just listened to *them* and not anyone else.


Long time ago, long before you see the Earth as it is, long before the humans know of the Earth that was, there were two ruling forces in the world, Good and Evil or Light and Darkness. And while today people seem to accept Good as being 'Good', and Evil as being 'Evil', that was not always the case. Back then, it was merely seen as two different schools of thought, and one simply could not survive without the other. There was ( and still isn't) no such thing as pure/ absolute Good or pure Evil. It's always a case of both intertwining together, and co-existing in harmony. They existed in rivalry, much like two communities living on the other side of the riverbanks, competing for the same fish, same stretches of water or land, hypothetically speaking, that is. Back then, there were certain rules to abide by, when engaging in hostilities with the other side. The rules were unwritten, but clear, much like how some men do not appreciate clawing, biting or eye-gouging or nut-shots in combat. Well, the Dark King decided that to pursue victory, those unspoken rules had to be broken, that fair-play had to be ignored for the bigger picture. This, for all intents and purposes, was a masterstroke. See, Light had always had the better warriors, the more intelligent people, the more 'qualified' people to choose from. Darkness had their picks, but not as rich as the other side. One thing that the Darkness did have were people willing to break the rules, ignore all decency in pursuit of their goals. That was one track Enlightenment could not match them on. For quite a bit of time, the Enlightened One simply stood by, hoping that the Dark King would come around and recant this new form of warfare, but that was not to be. Then he contemplated for quite a bit more on how he could come up with a solution to this predicament, all while the Dark Army did their bidding. The Enlightened One's most intelligent strategists could not come up with a working solution, for they did not have the aptitude to think below a certain level. And his fiercest warriors could not show the heartlessness to match the other side. To help you understand the situation, it was like when the Australians had Bradman, and the English conjured up '' as a tactic to counter Bradman's talent and technique. Then, when things looked bleak, voila le solution, and it came from the oddest of all places. Where not his most skilled fighters, his best tacticians or his fiercest warriors had succeeded, God realised that the solution lay in other places. He turned to those who were considered 'unexceptional' fighters, 'run-of-the mill' tacticians, and of 'bang average' intelligence. However, what this hand-picked lot did have in common was a certain 'moral flexibility' that his 'cream of the drop' simply did not have. He chose not the finest or the bravest warriors he could find, but the select few who had not yet been affected by the travails of morality. Ones that, in all probability, would've ended up on the other side, but for some random acts or traits in their character, led them to the side of Light. The Enlightened One hand-picked his choices based on this one underlying trait, & let them loose on the Darkness. Asked them to judge & punish the Dark Army as they chose fit, without consequences or repercussions. With no internal guidelines to define boundaries, they discovered aspects of themselves they themselves didn't know existed. The Immorals, as they were called, destroyed any sections of the Dark Army they came across, & continued onto the next without breaks or pauses. Some in that unit likened it to doing a job & moving on to the next, without any guilt on their souls weighing them down. Others looked at it like painting a canvass, and every subsequent one had to be bettered & improved. And this rag-tag band of fighters, assembled from the far reaches of Earth, lay to waste everything they could get their hands on, or their sights fell to. The Darkness did not have an answer. This was a unit they never could've expected, and were simply overwhelmed. When nothing the Dark Army tried worked, fear spread through their ranks like wild-fire, and once they tasted fear, they were not the same. Gossips of the perverseness of this unit, the depths of which even the Dark Army could not fathom to ever access, ran amok through their entire beings. And thus, in an extremely short span of time, a unit who few ever saw, changed the scope of future, and gave rise to a great many stories. So bad was their ruthlessness, and their level of destruction, that within an extremely short amount of time, the Dark King called the Enlightened One to negotiate terms of peace. He was willing to accept all conditions form the other side, as long as they were willing to accept one of his own. That being this Immoral group be disassembled. Permanently. And scattered in different corners of the Earth, far from each other, and with no memory of their actions or heroics. The Enlightened One relented, simply because the terms were too good to pass up. And so this group was disassembled, and scattered to live out their existence as humans, forever, with no recollection of their own history or actions. Many claim that the Dark King's legions follow, to this day, each member closely, for they fear the day these members decide to get together again, even with the knowledge that no member has any idea of where each brother went afterwards, or that they won't even recognise each other, should they ever cross paths themselves. Such was their reign, such is their myth & legend. However, when they move between people, the general public, it is like the rest of the mortals can sense their presence, their history. And they lower their heads ever so slightly, to simply acknowledge their history at a deep, subconscious level, with neither fully aware of anything in actual reality. This rag-tag, 'One Off, 'Immoral' squad, fully encapsulated in their myth, came to be known as the 'Never Again' Squad.


"You're fat, you know?" It was like a unanimous rendition of those scenes in movies where the audience finds out a shocking truth. Breathing heavily now, I felt all eyes on me as my stomach somersaulted, my ears grew hot, my face paled and my fists clenched. Of course, my defense mechanisms kicked in almost instantaneously, and I looked to my supposed 'best friend' for calvary. Unsurprisingly enough, as I caught a glimpse of her sight, she turned her head away, as if ashamed to be associated with me in any way conceivable. You see, betrayal raises conflicting emotions when experienced. Some are broken by it, others break things, relationships, *people*, in reaction to it. As a bout of confusion washed over me, I felt fueled by both ends of this spectrum. Externally, I performed an act of offhanded nonchalance, but inside, my blood boiled to the point of coagulation. I hadn't missed Diana's initial smirk at the comment. Standing just short of two metres from her, I knew this was Diana's last straw. And by the glint of acute terror that flashed in her pupils following her slip-up, I think she knew it was, too. Of course, this wasn't the first time she had ridiculed the layers of fat visible through my stretched shirt, neither was it the only occasion in which she had willingly dismissed any ties to me. Like at Linda's party, when her mum had made a comment about my choice to take a larger cake slice, and she let out a slight laugh. Or at the public pool during the previous summer, when my sunburned skin augmented my already unappealing appearance, and she likened me to fried bacon. You see, anger is cumulative and can lead to untamed and explosive reactions, causing pain to be incurred. Not before I had growled at the flock of eyes intensely watching my every move, I strode slowly and steadily towards Diana, with every step adding an ounce of confidence to my intent. A host of thick, ugly storm clouds stole the spotlight of the sun as they prepared for their bellowing chorus; a percussion of pattering rain accompanied their entrance. Beautiful, beautiful Diana - like the goddess of the Ephesians - was blindingly fair, and idolised by her peers. Clutching my hands around her delicate neck, I saw the fear in her doe eyes and whispers of desperation departing her plump lips. Defining my grip on her larynx from which her saccharine voice protruded, I saw her rosy cheeks fade to a soft pallor and her fierce character lose its vigour. Diana, wonderful Diana, was beneath me for once, struggling like a lamb to the slaughter as her herd fled. Picking up the distant sound of wailing sirens, I stopped, throwing her limp figure to the ground. I lowered myself to the grass, taking a cross-legged position. It was a matter of time before an enquiry was filed and I would be hated even further. But in the end, was I really to blame? She just kept pushing, and one day I'd fall off that edge. Tough luck.


The Last Planet (1,095 Words) -AR Mirabal We’re nearing the end now, or is it the beginning? We’ve been floating in the dead of space for so long now, it feels like the universe’s already come to a close. Our biggest folly has always been arrogance, but it’s also the driving force that’s gotten us this far. Starting as single-celled organisms swimming in primordial goo, we ascended to the height of heights; no nebula too far, no sun unconquered. Our unrelenting will to fight-on, to surpass the legacies left by our ancestors, has evolved us past the physical plane into a collective consciousness of energy. We’ve weathered countless super novas, seen what lies through a black hole, even mastered the looms of time; we’ve outlived everything else, we’re the last planet. Just as we’ve predicted in our infancy however, the end comes with a whimper not a bang. The light’s dying. Only a couple stars remain in all the cosmos, and soon those will die too. Dueling supermassive black holes and lingering asteroids are all that’s left in the starless void. The last chapter for life in the universe, after all our strife and resilience, is a long and dry death; but we won’t go gently. Projections of our energy-forms flood the fabrics of space, collecting data and piecing it all together in every possible variable combination till we crack the last secret this universe holds; there has to be a way to save the light. Our planet is the last beacon of hope, the final bastion against the darkness. Warmed by three artificial suns, each siphoning the remaining latent energies that still scarcely linger, the planet floats in frigid isolation. Like our physical flesh, the planets soil is made of nanite-rich organic bionetics; a living, breathing commutative intelligence. Long ago now, when the sky still had stars, we infected the infant planet like a plague; hollowed it out and corrupted it, formed it in our image. Now left with only the blackness of the void, we defiantly stand in unison and plot our survival. The problem is, we’ve exhausted this universe to its limit; we’ve manipulated the curvature of time, peered into higher dimensions, but still there’s no answers in sight. It’s seeming that this problem may not have a solution, this may be where life has to end. There is, however, one bell that’s yet to be rung. A last ditch effort resulted in the creation of another artificial moon, the largest satellite to date; named Umbra. It’s purpose is to simulate endless universes simultaneously. Broken up into clusters, each cluster is separated by slightly varying parameters; the clusters contain countless universes and each universe is accompanied by an infinite alternate copies. Studying all those simulations, we hope to find the missing piece of the puzzle that’s eluded us in reality. I’m hopefully this will at the very least be an interesting experiment. v.0.1 The pilot experiment was deemed a failure; the parameters were set too delicately, it was too perfect. It didn’t resemble the chaos of our own enough to give us any type of value information. This will be noted and improved in the second iteration. v.0.2 The experiment was a great success but some unforeseen circumstances caused the data to be corrupted. While we got the parameters right and the data was reflective of our own universe, it appears that something in the program became sentient and started talking to one of the projections that was operating the simulation. v.0.3 This...will be the last iteration. The experiment, in respect to our original goal, was a success; but it brought us no solace. This third version fixed all the flaws of its predecessors and got us the data we thought we wanted. What we didn’t foresee was that the same equations we derived for the salvation of light for a simulated reality, worked for our reality too. It’s possible we’re in a simulation ourselves. Obsessively reviewing the data we received, we’re been able to pinpoint structural similarities between space-fabric anomalies and realize that this isn’t the first time this has happened. It seems life truly is resilient to a fault; we’ve dealt with this problem in the past, the dying of the light. When we didn’t find the answer before, we projected the last of our dying essences into a fixed point in the bleak void; a maelstrom of our bitter resolve. In it, a fully new universe bloomed, existing (then dying again) in the finals breaths of the original universe. Within the copy, scattered remnants of the previous life survived; it was a place for them to reset and experience all of evolution once more before the light died. Whats more alarming is that it’s impossible to pinpoint the origin. Mathematically speaking the first universe, a four-dimensional object, was copied; creating a three-dimensional ‘shadow’. From the perceptive of lesser evolved entities, it’s similar to how a two-dimensional shadow is created from light casting onto a three-dimensional object. These ‘shadows’, however, aren’t few; they’re many. I’m reflective of my original passage into this journal as I inscribe this now. “Our biggest folly has always been arrogance,” I didn’t know then just how true those words rang. It seems that these copies are endless; when the initial copy’s time was done, and it’s light too started to die, another copy was created in the final moments of the previous. The line seems to go on forever too, all on borrowed time; all too reluctant to except that it’s over. I’m the last of my race to remain here; the rest have pooled the last of their energies to create yet another shadow and are projecting themselves into it now. Watching them in bitter contemplation, I see the last bits of light stretch across the black canvas of space as disípese into a fading dot. I’m now the last thing living, on the last planet; it’d be an interesting title if it weren’t so meaningless at the moment. I’ve decided to inscribe a portion of my energies with this journal entry and send that into the projection instead. Perhaps something can at least find some entertainment out of this. The frigid tendrils of the void now wrap around me. The artificial suns orbiting us have died a flickering death and the bitter chill of solitude is beginning to strangle me. Soon, so shall I parish like the stars, a relatively noble passing. It’s been a long time coming and I refuse to face my end with fear; I’ll take it in stride instead. We’ve lived long enough.


This is a short snipit of a book of mine. My book is set withing fantasy even if you don't see it that much here. All content here is mine. Thanks for reading! *** The moon was full in the sky tonight, casting beautiful rays of light into the room. Nityas skin was in full display to the night sky. I smiled up at her from where I layed back on the bed. My own skin chilling in the night air. Nitya trailed a hand along the planes of my body, with her gaze lost in thought. I studied her face for several long moments. Watching the moonlight play off her features. Such a beautiful woman. “You know you can ask me about them.” My voice cut the silence and seemed to startle nitya out of her thoughts. Her head quickly turned to look me in the eye. “My scars, you can ask.” I spoke again and Nitya seemed to realize where her hand had been trailing. Her fingertips slowly moved to touch the long faded scar on my right side. Old as it was, you could still make it out against my skin. “What was this from? It's old, isn't it." Nitya asked, quitely and tentivally. Almost like she wasn't sure she wanted the answer. “It was my first scar. A kid lost control of their balance. Flung their sword everywhere and ended up hitting me in the chaos. It's what caused elspeth to realize that my magic wasn't normal.” I spoke remembering how odd that day seemed to stand out in my mind. “I don't see how getting yourself cut down showed you that.” Nitya said, a tone of mockery in her voice and it made me smile. I reached my own hand, previously tucked behind my head over to nityas arm. Letting it trail down to her leg, resting it there. “It wasn't being cut down, it was how my magic reacted to it. It lashed out, pretty severely. I lost myself in its power for a bit.” I whispered, letting the severity of what happened finally wash over me. An accident I hadn't every really thought of much tell that moment. Nitya seemed to realize the same, trailing her hand over to a new scar. “What about this one.” Her hand rested over my thigh, two inches worth of scarred skin. I smiled, chuckling at the memory. “One of my old teammates. We where sparring with live weapons, like we weren't supposed to be doing.” I said wrinkling my nose at nitya while smiling. “Oh of course not, what self serving person would want to be safe.” Nitya spoke giggling. I was shaking my head at her comment. “Hush you. Anyways, we got carried away. I had gotten her cornered and had my arms around her holding down her arms. Well next thing I know i'm on the floor in pain and her daggers in my leg.” I started laughing and nitya was chuckling with me. “Man we got chewed out so bad for that. Elspeth was so pissed and 75 still won't let me live it down.” Nitya was smiling down at me and I couldn't help but remember to breathe. She looked so good smiling like that. “Oh I bet. I'm gonna have to remember that one.” Nitya giggled, bringing her hand up trail along my forehead, brushing the stray hair away and touching lightly and small and faded scar. “What's this one?” I hummed, closing my eyes in content at nityas fingers going into my hair. “I got really sick one time. I was mostly delirious and tried to get to someone, I fell down and hit my head against the coffee table outside my rooms. Scared elspeth and the team pretty badly.” I ran my hand down Nityas leg, taking it up and coming to brush her cheek. The backs of my knuckles brushed along her skin and she leaned into it softly. “What about these?” Nitya asked while trailing her other hand down my arm. The striking almost shimmering scars standing out against the skin behind it. “You already know that story.” I spoke tilting my head to watch as nityas expression softened. “Tell me again.” Nitya said, trailing a fingertip along the complicated patterns. “They're the marks of power I shouldn't have. An old man who listened to the gods gave his life so I could protect myself better. They're the marks that damned me, and they're the marks that saved me.” I spoke, a tinge of anger lilting my voice as I stared up at the scars. Nitya smoothed a hand down my arm. Moving it up and reaching to my collarbone. “And this one?” I dropped my arm to the bed as she asked tracing the little bird pressed there. “That I got soon after my thirteenth birthday. My devotion to the goddess of knowledge Ona.” Nitya smiled and slowly moved her hand away. The hand on my stomach seeming to protect the scar under it. “And what about this one?” Nitya said, emotion filling her tone of voice and face. I smiled wide levering myself up onto my elbow. Coming close to her face I hung there before speaking. “I got that one protecting you my love. You healed me bravely even though I could feel the shaking in your hands and the panic in your voice. That one, I think is my favorite scar.” my eyes felt crinkled at the edge and I couldn't keep the grin off my face. Nitya bursted into giggles, having to turn her face away from me. Covering her mouth with a hand before she was able to calm herself. “You are far to much of a sap.” nitya said warmly, the look in her eyes fond as she leaned over to kiss me. I ran a hand up through her hair. Wrapping my arms around her to hold onto this little piece of beauty. Nitya wrapped her own arms around me, holding on just as tight. We smiled at each other as we pulled away. Our magic wrapping around the two of us as we watched the other. I giggled and twisted, causing nitya to yelp as she falls underneath me. I snuggled down on top of her. Yawning largely as we lay there. Nityas held onto me and i stayed firmly where I was. There was a whisper of magic as the covers came falling over us. The warm cocoon of magic and love, slowed everything around us down. Narrowing our world to just the two of us. “I love you, Nitya.” I whispered, feeling like i was proclaiming it to the whole world. In a way i was. “I love you, Rogue.” came the reply full of emotion. Nitya tightened her arms around me for a moment before shifting just slightly. Making our position infinitely more comfortable. All i could help but think how lucky I was. Having survived this long, having been given such an amazing person to love. Someone who showed me how to be more than my training. Someone who I love with my whole being. As we drifted off, with the moonlight surrounding us, with our love forming a barrier between us and the world. I knew nothing could harm us that night.