“Dad says we have to talk to other people too.” I refused to look at my sister, focusing instead on the fat neighborhood cat that had wandered up to me in the yard. He purred and rubbed his orange head against my hand. I smiled, but it was a fleeting one. Leah sighed and took my hand, forcing my attention away from the cat and onto her face. “Ji-lalo,” she said softly after making sure Dad was nowhere to be seen. “Jo-lali.” I wasn’t afraid if he heard us. “We should try.” “Why?” I was being purposely ignorant, and Leah knew it. “You know why he took us away from the compound. We are human, Lalo. We are meant to be around others.” “All I need is you.” I said it in our secret words. “And you, me.” “We’ll always have each other. In the whole universe, there is nothing that could change that. But-” “But what? Mama always said we were born with everything we need.” “Mama wasn’t right in her head, Lalo. She kept us separate from everyone and everything.” “I miss the woods,” I said, ignoring what Leah said about Mama. Mama loved us more than anything. “Don’t you wish we could go home, Lali?” Leah opened her mouth to answer but a shadow fell over the doorstep where I was sitting. I cried out, a wordless sound from neither language, but it was only Dad. He had his arms crossed, and that meant he was angry. Leah immediately ducked her head, but I held mine high. There was nothing he could do to make us give up our secret words. “We *are* home,” he said, and I realized he hadn’t even noticed our special names for each other. “Listen to me, Rebekah. Leah.” He sat down beside me on the step. The orange cat wound around Dad’s ankles as Leah sat on my other side. I reached over and her hand was already there, ready for me to take it. “Your mother,” he began, and I groaned inwardly. Here came the same story he’d been telling us for weeks now. “Your mother had problems. A lot of them. She had a disease in her head that made her take us all away and hide in the forest. You girls remember our church?” Of course I remembered. It was always so scary going to church for the week. There were strangers there, strangers who didn’t understand Leah and me. “Mama protected us,” I said. I would not hear of her sickness. She didn’t seem sick to me. She was perfect. “She kept the others away from us. She let us be with each other. You don’t.” My hands were in balls, angry little fists that I had no memory of forming. “If you really loved us, you wouldn’t make us change!” Leah gasped, and I expected a scolding, but instead, tears began to fall from my father’s eyes. “Rebekah… I love you more than anything on this planet. You girls are my heart and soul. I took you away from that place *because* I love you. Someday, I hope you can see that.” “You took us away from everything!” I yelled, and a man on the other side of the street looked our way. His gaze was too prying, too curious. I stood up and ran inside the new house, back to our room. Without Leah there though, it felt empty. I sat on the floor and wrapped my arms around my chest. Footsteps came from the hallway, and I scooted around so Dad couldn’t see me cry. “I can’t do this anymore,” Dad said. “I thought you were getting better, but you’re not. I’m getting you two some help.” That was when the meetings started. Twice a week, they made us separate into different rooms while a lady talked to us. Her name was Doctor Saltmarsh, and she asked us weird questions about mom, the compound, the woods. Each other. I knew Leah wouldn’t share our secrets, and so I refused too. This woman was a stranger. She didn’t know us. She didn’t deserve to know us. But every week without fail, she was at the new house waiting for us. It took a long time, but one day, I felt something change. Leah changed. “Jo-lali,” I said when she came out of the living room. Doctor Saltmarsh walked out behind her, and I shut my mouth. She didn’t deserve to hear our language, our secret words. “Hello, Rebekah,” she said. “Are you ready for our session?” I looked at Leah. She had tears on her face. Doctor Saltmarsh had made my sister cry. I said nothing, but took Leah’s hands. She held them for a brief moment, but then she pulled away, and I was left alone with Doctor Saltmarsh as Leah walked to our room. Doctor Saltmarsh placed a hand on my shoulder and led me into the living room where Dad was already waiting. He had a pinched, nervous look on his face. I stood in the center of the room, my arms around myself. “Please sit, Rebekah.” I wouldn’t dignify that with a response. They would get nothing from me until I got what I wanted: Mama and Leah. Dad sighed and forced me down into a squishy armchair. I hated it. We never had anything like this in the compound. I couldn’t sit up straight in this chair. “Listen to the Doctor, Rebekah. She’s going to tell you something very important.” I stared straight ahead. My eyes were for my sister alone. They were the same as hers. Dead grass green. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doctor Saltmarsh shoot Dad a look before turning back to me. “Rebekah,” she said again. My name sounded foreign and harsh on her tongue. She wasn’t saying it right. Leah said it right. So did Mama. “We’ve decided we need to take some more drastic steps in your recovery. Your progress isn’t where we would like it. We have decided, and Leah agrees: you will be sleeping in separate bedrooms from now on.” It took me a moment to process what she said. When it finally clicked, I laughed. Leah and I would never sleep apart. Most nights, we even shared the same bed. It was so comforting being close. When we slept, our breath would rise and fall in time with each other. Mama always said that we were one in her womb, and should do whatever we could to be one in life. Dad looked surprised at my reaction. “This is for real, Rebekah. It’s happening. Leah is upstairs moving her favorite things into her new room.” Leah would never do this. Not without being in complete agreement. But even as I thought it, I knew something wasn’t right. Leah had been crying. What if they had forced her? I uncurled my arms from around my chest and walked away towards our room. Leah wasn’t there. My heart racing, I rushed to the empty room beside ours. But it was empty no longer. There was a bed, a table, and a desk that hadn’t been there before. Leah sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes red and puffy. “Jo-Lali,” I said, shaking my head. “They can’t make us do it. We are meant to be together. We were born that way.” Leah sniffled and looked at me. It was like looking in the mirror, especially since I had begun to tear up too. “Rebekah,” she said, and I frowned. She never used that name for me. I was always Ji-lalo or just Lalo. “We have to try. I… I think Dad is right. I think we’re sick, Rebekah.” “Don’t call me that!” I cried. That was what *they* called me. “I am Ji-lalo! Ji-lalo!” Footsteps came from the hall and Doctor Saltmarsh and Dad entered the room. “What have you done?” I hurled myself at Doctor Saltmarsh. “You broke her, you did something!” My fists beat upon her stomach and chest, and she dropped her clipboard. I kicked it away, ready to attack again, but Dad pulled me away. He wrapped his arms around me, pinning mine to my side. “Rebekah, please, Rebekah!” I twisted and writhed, but I couldn’t get out of his grip. Leah was still sitting on the new bed, not looking at me. They ruined her. They made her believe their lies. A fear so overpowering came over me, I stopped struggling for a moment, and Dad was able to pull me back into the hallway. What if I couldn’t bring her back? What if now, I was alone? I had never been alone. Not for longer than it took to take a shower, and even then, sometimes we would talk through the door to each other when the loneliness got to be too strong. “We want you to have your own personality, Rebekah,” said Doctor Saltmarsh. “We need you to thrive and flourish on your own as a little girl, not as a part of a whole. We want to hear your voice.” They wanted my voice? Well, I would give it to them. Summoning all of the willpower I had, I screamed. I screamed and screamed until Leah began to scream too, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Leave them be,” I heard Dad say over my piercing wails. “When they get like this, only they can calm each other.” Doctor Saltmarsh shook her head. “No,” she said. “We must separate them. They are feeding off each other. Take Rebekah to her room please. I’d like to speak with Leah.” Dad nodded, and lifted me off my feet. I refused to stop screaming, no matter how much he begged after he set me down on the bed in mine and Leah’s bedroom. Eventually, he left, shutting the door behind him. I screamed until my throat felt raw and my voice started to fade. Once I was quiet, I could hear voices in the hall, and I slipped off the bed and pressed my ear to the door. A pang of deep sadness and loss shot through me. Leah should be beside me. She always was. Until now. “...working for Leah, the progress has been incredible, but Doctor, what about Rebekah?” It was Dad, his low gruff voice carrying through the silent house. “The medication isn’t working. She clings to her sister. You saw what just happened, surely there must be something we can do.” There was a pause, and I had to listen with all my might to hear what Doctor Saltmarsh said next. “You may not think they’re ready, but I think it’s time, Jeff.” Another long pause, and Doctor Saltmarsh spoke again. “Good. I’ll take care of all the paperwork. They’ll have some of the best care in the state, Dunmore has a wonderful school system.” “They can live a normal life?” “We will start them a grade below where they should be. That will help them acclimate. This is an important step. The girls need to socialize with children their own age. They need to learn proper social cues and how to interact with adults. I recommend separate classes. They depend on each other too much.” “Of course,” said Dad. “Whatever you think is best, you’re the expert.” “I must admit, Leah and Rebekah’s case fascinates me. I am wondering when you feel it appropriate to talk with the girls about their mother?” “Not yet.” Dad’s voice was firm. “Let them have their innocence a few years longer. Please.” Doctor Saltmarsh hesitated. “Do the girls know that their mother is dead? Do they know what you saved them from? They had the poison in their hands when you arrived, isn’t that right?” Dad’s voice was heavy with something I didn’t understand. “Yes. I saved them… but I couldn’t save Carol. She had already…” He cleared his throat. “You know, maybe I’m not ready yet either.” “That’s alright. Trauma like this can take a long time to process, let alone heal.” The conversation continued, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I stood rooted in place. Mama was dead? That couldn’t be true. If it was true, I would have known somehow. I would have felt it. No, Mama was still out there somewhere, waiting for us to come back to her. I rushed to the window and threw it open, half-expecting to see her standing there with her arms outstretched, but there was nothing but some freshly-cut grass and a chain fence. The smell of the grass made me think of summer at the compound. Mama would let us swim in the pond when no one else was around. The grass there was always cut short for us to play in. When Mama had long meetings in the church building, Leah and I would roll down the hills or play pretend in the woods. We played that we were warriors defending our forest kingdom, or that we were animals who could talk. Even now, I longed to run outside and scale the lonely tree in the back of the house. It was as close as I could get to Mama. But I wouldn’t go without Leah. I opened my door to find Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh were gone, and hurried to the other room. The emptiness I felt without Leah was all-consuming, but when I pushed open the door, I saw that the room too was void of my sister. “Lali?” I called, but there was no answer. I went downstairs, and to my displeasure, Doctor Saltmarsh was still here, talking to Dad in the hall. I hid behind a corner, listening. “I know it must be an adjustment having the girls full-time, but really, you are coping so well. I can tell you truly want the best for your children.” “Of course I do. They are my life. You can’t imagine what I went through when I thought they were gone too.” “I know. Here, I’m recommending you to speak to a therapist. He’s a friend of mine. I’ll personally make the call if you want me to.” Dad nodded. “I think that would be best.” They walked towards me, but I crouched down behind a long table, and neither of them noticed. “I will see you in three days,” Doctor Saltmarsh said, and exited the house. Once I was certain Dad was alone, I leapt out from behind the table. “What happened to Mama?” I demanded. Dad’s face turned white. “How long were you-” “What happened to Mama?” I shouted. “Where is she?” I started to cry again. I couldn’t help it. Fat tears splashed onto the scratched wooden floorboards. Dad gathered me in a hug, and for just a second, it felt like Mama was there too. But then Dad spoke. “She’s gone, Rebekah. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I-” The sound that came out of me was like nothing I had ever done before. I fell onto the floor, unable to stand any longer. So it was true. Or maybe they were lying to me, trying to get between me and Leah. They were forcing us apart in ways I never thought possible. Leah came rushing in to the hall when she heard my howl of grief. “He killed her!” I screamed. “She’s dead, he killed her! She’s gone! Mama’s gone!” Leah was dumbstruck, unable to speak as the truth of what I was saying washed over her. She fell too and we held each other for what felt like hours. Dad didn’t dare try and tear us apart this time. After a while of him standing over us awkwardly, he went to the kitchen. We heard him talking on the phone, but he shut the door so we couldn’t listen. When he returned, I couldn’t look at him. He had done this. I don’t know how or why, but he was there the last time we saw Mama. There had been so many people at the compound that day, and this time we weren’t allowed to go off and play in the grass like we usually did. Mama gave us each a cup of soda. We never got to have soda. It was a special treat, she had said, but we were not to drink it until she said so. We listened to a man talk for a while, but Leah and I were more interested in us than him. When he was through, though, Mama told us we could have our special sodas. She even showed us how to drink it, in one big gulp. But that was when Dad showed up. He ruined our special day and knocked the soda out of our hands. After that, I don’t remember much. There were lots of blue and red lights, and strangers. So many strangers. After that day, Dad said we had to live with him now. But I wasn’t going to let him come between me and Leah. Taking her by the hand, I led the way up to our room, and pulled her down onto the bed with me. We were wrapped in each other’s arms. It was how it was supposed to be. But soon enough, Leah disentangled herself from me and sat up. I looked up at her. “I’m going to go to my room,” she said. “I think I want to be alone.” “But we are alone,” I said, puzzled. “No Rebekah, really alone. By myself. Not you.” My eyes filled with tears when I finally realized what she meant. “Jo-lali,” I began, but she held up her hand. “Not Jo-lali,” she said, and her voice was sharp, cutting right through my heart. “I want you to call me Leah now.” She turned and left my room, closing the door behind her. Leah stayed away all night, even going so far as to lock her new bedroom door. I went back to our room and sobbed. I couldn’t sleep, not while this wall of wood and stone blocked me from my sister. She came back to me in the morning though, and her eyes were narrow from lack of sleep. We held each other for long moments, until Dad showed up and made everything worse. “You’re going to school this fall,” he said with no preamble. “I want you to be prepared to meet new kids, so today, we’re going to the park.” I had read about parks. They were places where children played with their parents keeping a watchful eye on their comings and goings. “We aren’t going,” I said immediately. But Leah gave me a sideways look and my mouth opened in shock. “Rebekah, please,” she whispered. “I want a normal life. I want to be a normal kid.” “But we aren’t normal,” I said. She needed to know this, she must see it. “We are us. You and me. We are all we need. Ji-lalo and Jo-lali.” When I said our special names. Leah’s eyes narrowed even more, and she looked at Dad. “I want to go,” she said. The park became a weekly ritual. I hated it. Leah went off and abandoned me to play with strangers. Strangers! Anything she said to them had to be said in everyone’s language. I heard her talking and scoffed. She and I had secrets together. Once, she was playing with two boys and their younger sister. Strangers make me nervous, but I was determined to remind her that I am all she needs. “Play with me, Lali,” I said in our language. Leah ignored me. My heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces. She had never ignored me, not once, not ever. I hid beneath a wooden structure for the rest of the time we were there, and I refused to come out, even when Dad begged. Eventually, Leah did exactly what I had hoped and crawled through the sand to get to me. “Come back with us, Rebekah.” She still wouldn’t call me by our special name. “No,” I said in our secret words. “I’m never coming out again.” Making a face I didn’t understand, Leah spoke our words. “Come home, Lalo. Please?” Satisfied, I nodded. But the next time, my plan didn’t work. Leah refused to crawl through the sand to bring me home, and I felt lost all over again. Dad had to huff and puff his way through the sand and drag me out. There were no more visits to the park after that. I had won. But Leah didn’t see it that way. She didn’t understand that I was doing this for her, for *us*! Days went by, I’m not sure how many, because Leah withdrew from my comfort. Sometimes, she couldn’t help herself and would come crawling back to me with a strange red-faced look about her. There were nights where she couldn’t sleep alone, and I would find her curled up beside me. Those were the only nights I slept. School began just as the leaves were beginning to change. It made me miss our compound and Leah and Mama even more than I already did. Dad bought us new clothes that fit strangely and made the back of my neck itch. We looked bizarre in these. Dad drove us to school on the first day. We were starting third grade. Doctor Saltmarsh was there to see us off too. I spoke to neither of them. The stink I had put up this morning had hardly done any good at all. We were still here. At least I was with Leah. She was holding my hand. Her fear was palpable, but I wasn’t scared. I had her. Once I stepped inside, it was another matter entirely. Endless tiles led in all directions, and the lights were harsh and cold. There were metal boxes covering the walls, each with a combination lock on it. This place seemed alien and inhospitable. A loud bell rang and I screamed, which made Leah scream. “Let’s go meet your class,” said Dad. I shook my head, and Dad looked like he was bracing himself. I decided to let it go, just this once. Strangers had begun to fill the halls, and I was growing more and more uncomfortable. Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh led us to a room. “This is your class, Leah,” said Dad. “Your teacher’s name is Mrs. Kimball. It’s okay. You can go on in.” I tugged on Leah’s hand, but she slipped it out of my grasp. “I’ll see you later, Rebekah.” She walked into the classroom without looking back. Now that I was alone, my panic was starting to set in. “Lali!” I cried. She ignored me, talking to the teacher and receiving a handful of papers. “This way, Rebekah,” Doctor Saltmarsh said firmly. “You have Ms. Emerson. I’ve worked with her in the past, she is very nice.” Dad was shaking his head as we drew nearer to the classroom. “She’s not ready for this.” “Sometimes dropping in full speed ahead is the only way to make progress. Nothing else seems to work, we’re running out of options. It’s possible she will thrive.” I refused to thrive. I wasn’t sure I knew what that meant, but I wouldn’t do it. I stood silent and unmoving as Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh talked to one of the strangers about me. They directed me to pick a desk, but I wouldn’t budge. I won’t let them manipulate us like this. Eventually, I was made to sit down right in the front of the classroom. “We’ll be available via phone if you need either of us,” said Doctor Saltmarsh. “Thank you, Lois.” They left me. Dad and Doctor Saltmarsh. They walked off and left me all alone in the classroom filled with twenty strangers. But I knew where Leah was. I stood up and walked out the door. The teacher, Ms. Emerson, grabbed my arm and shut the door. “Come on, Rebekah, we’re staying in our seats right now. I sat. And remained sitting. When they all stood up to look at the American Flag, I stayed in my seat. When they started playing some inane game with a plush toy, I scoffed and stared straight ahead. When Ms. Emerson placed sheets of paper in front of me, I ignored them. The only time I was myself was lunchtime. I could see Leah then. We sat together and shared our food. It felt normal. Maybe I could learn to survive at the school. So long as Leah was with me, I could get through anything. But then, the teachers sent us outside with all the strangers. Leah left me alone then, and played a ball game with a couple other girls. I stood by and frowned at her, but she didn’t seem to see me. After that, it was back inside, and I was left alone. Dad came to pick us up when it was finally over. “How was it?” he asked Leah, carefully avoiding looking me in the eye, and for good reason. I was livid. “I made some friends,” Leah said, and her voice sounded like it used to when we played together. Happy and carefree. But how could she feel that way when I was so miserable? “Carolina and Melodie! They want me to play four-square with them tomorrow!” “That’s great!” Dad exclaimed, and hugged Leah. Then, as if he was dreading it, he asked me. “How about you, Rebekah?” I didn’t bother responding to him, though I spoke to Leah, softly in our secret language so Dad couldn’t understand. “Play with me tonight, Lali,” I said. “I miss you.” Leah didn’t say anything. We got home, and she went straight to her room, closing the door in my face as I made to follow her in. I understood all too well what was going on. Dad was trying to split us up. Him and Doctor Saltmarsh. It wouldn’t be so bad if Leah wasn’t falling prey to their tactics. But she was acting like she wanted to be apart from me. They had gone too far. “Jo-lali!” I cried at her door. “You have to listen! They’re doing this to us! It’s like Mama always said: strangers are trying to hurt us! They all do!” The door flew open and Leah stood there before me. I was overjoyed for a split second. Then, she shoved me to the floor. “I am *not* Jo-lali!” she cried. “It was a stupid game we played when we were little! But we’re not babies anymore, Rebekah!” I stared up at her like I had never seen her before. Not once had Leah ever laid her hands on me in a threatening way. “I want friends and classmates, like we read about! We don’t have to be alone anymore, don’t you see?” “We were never alone,” I said from the floor. “Until now.” One of Leah’s eyes twitched and she stared at me wordlessly for a moment before spinning around and marching back into her room, slamming the door. Dad appeared and saw me on the floor. “Rebekah, what-” He looked at Leah’s closed door and sighed. “You have got to let this go. Do you understand? I just- I don’t know how to help you anymore. Go to your room. I’m going to call Doctor Saltmarsh.” I stayed in my room all night, ignoring when Dad called us down for dinner, and when he told us to get ready for bed. It wasn’t like I would sleep anyways. I couldn’t. Not without Leah. The next day was a Saturday, so there was no school. I stayed in my room. All I wanted was to be with Leah, but maybe if she saw how much she would miss me when I wasn’t around, she would come to me. She didn’t come all Saturday, or Sunday. She got up to go to church though, I could hear her moving around in her room. I wasn’t going. Too many strangers. At the end of the day, Dad came to yell at me again. “You need to eat, Rebekah. Or at least have some water. Come on.” He held out a glass of water to me, but I wouldn’t take it. I wasn’t hungry. Monday dawned and Dad drove us to school. He didn’t look like himself. His hair was messy and he had a beard. His arms were shaking too. Sometimes Mama used to shake like that. Today, I decided I was going to *make* Leah pay attention to me. She would have to. I went to my classroom without a fuss and even stood up when Ms. Emerson made us look at the flag. But the minute her back was turned, I was gone. I burst into Leah’s classroom. All the strangers turned to stare at me, but I didn’t care about them, despite the squirmy way they made my stomach feel. “Jo-lali,’’ I said. This was how much I cared, I would come to her even amidst my own fear and discomfort. “I love you, Jo-lali,” I said in our words. “I need you back. Please come back to me.” Everyone turned to stare at Leah now, and I knew something was wrong. She had never looked at me this way before. She plunged her hand into her backpack and pulled out one of Dad’s kitchen knives. Leah leapt at me and I put up my arms to cover my face, but the knife sliced through them like paper. Her blade found my neck and I choked on something hot and metallic. “No!” screamed the teacher, Mrs. Kimball, who until now had been frozen in shock. It was hard to breathe, and my arms and neck hurt so much. I started to cry. The tears stung my throat. Then the floor was rushing towards me, and everything went black. \ “They’re not fit to be around people,” someone said. Her voice was familiar. I opened my eyes and found myself in a white room with strangers surrounding me. Over in the corner was Doctor Saltmarsh. Beside her, Dad paced back and forth frantically. “There must be something,” he said. “I can keep them at home! Homeschool. Please!” “I’m sorry,” said Doctor Saltmarsh, and her voice seemed colder than I remembered. I tried to speak, and a horrible pain went through my throat. “But Rebekah cannot cope with the separation of her sister, and after what Leah did, I’m surprised you would even consider-” “She was just upset!” Dad cried. “She didn’t know any better.” “I think you need to look at this.” Doctor Saltmarsh pulled out a recording device and pressed play. I almost leapt for joy when I heard Leah’s voice, but quickly realized that something was very wrong. Leah was laughing in a crazed, manic way. “I’d do it again! I want her gone! Dead! She’s in my head you know. The only way to get her out is to cut her out. Cut cut slice slice. Lalo? Lalo Lalo Lalo, come here!” The recording stopped and Dad was staring at it in horror. “Is her mind totally gone? What happened?” “It seems that she had a psychotic break. We will treat her to the best of our abilities, but there is the chance that she may never recover.” Dad shook his head, his eyes wide and tear-filled. “What about Rebekah?” They turned to look at me and I smiled big. Hadn’t they heard the recording? Lali wants me! She wants me to come to her! I tried to tell them that everything would be okay, but no words would come out. “I’m sorry. Her vocal cords are permanently damaged. She can’t speak. Jeff, I am so sorry. But your only hope now is to admit them to our psychiatric facility. We are the foremost in New England.” “My daughters,” said Dad, and he looked at me. “This is all my fault. If I had just divorced Carol when I had the chance-” “Looking back on what could have been will help nothing,” Doctor Saltmarsh said. “If you’ll come with me, the admissions assistant will help you with the paperwork.” I didn’t care where Dad was going or where he would try to send me next. All that mattered was that Leah wanted me. She was my sister. She was my everything. And I would see her soon, I was sure of it.


On the verge of technological revolution in his small and isolated backwoods village, a young and ambitious aspiring mechanic begins to put the finishing touches on the robot that will get him into the "Androdox Personal Robotics" program. Only a few bits remain to finish his masterpiece, the outer plating to protect the internal components and wiring, and the personality matrix that would bring the bot to life. Seeing as the boy's town wasn't even old enough to be charted on most official maps, the closest of those parts available to him would still require possibly a week's worth of travel. Nothing will stand in the way of his magnum opus, however, so bags are packed, the trustiest available steed is chosen, and the robot is given a name to commemorate the occasion. Dot, is what the droid is to be called. Dot is flipped on for the time being, just to record its surroundings and to keep its joints in motion, wouldn't want Dot to rust up in the creators absence. Dot quickly finds a habit of patrolling the town, in one uniform route that Dot had calculated to be the most efficient. Were it not for the help of a few kind residents, Dot’s still new navigation systems would have had him wander off into the woods several times over by now, but it was no trouble to the citizens, who had become fond of Dot and his parrot like audio replays of their own voices. In the following days, Dot noticed changes in his residents behavior. The organics had been altering their regular routine, far fewer of them coming out of their domiciles as often. Dot began to take count of who he saw in certain areas, 4 guards on the perimeter, 3 elderly running the market stands, 12 that come and go from town each morning and afternoon, etc. 4 days after the engineer left to collect Dot’s finishing touches, Dot had counted 2 fewer guardsmen, and the complete absence of the daily caravan. Dot, not having the program to do anything about the situation, kept on his daily routine. The following morning, Dot clocks in a sudden spike of lifeforms, not in the town, but a short distance up and away from it, on the cliffs and mountains that hid his home for so long. Dot took minor detours in his route that day, as the readings from the outsiders was much different than the townies that Dot was all but used to. The foreign signals moved in patterns similar to Dot himself, efficient, calculated, and minimal to no sidetracking. That very night, the outside lifeforms vanished from Dot’s radar, along with 5 additional that were not accounted for on Dot’s next patrol. By this point, not even Dot’s parroting could do a thing to return the residents to their normal state of being. This had never failed before, but how was Dot to observe this fact, he was but an unfinished robot. Dot obliviously carries on his route, cataloging no change in population, only in routine. Dot had lost track of nearly every resident of his, before finding the majority of them gathered in the large town hall that rested at the far end of the two street city. The occasional guardsmen leaves the town hall, to return with containers of supplies, presumably to sustain the shelter. The population remained as such for several unbroken days, causing Dot to change his patrol path. Dot now only wandered the perimeter of the town hall, occasionally poking his head through a window to get a count of the remaining citizens. Dot noticed occasional returns in the outsiders' life signatures, coming in from the same mountains and hills at first, and slowly encroaching on the perimeter of the town itself. The signals themselves never stayed but for a fleeting moment, but they always returned for seemingly scheduled check-ins. Night fell, exactly two weeks after his creator's departure. The surrounding lifeforms re-appear all at once, bringing with them the residents that Dot had previously lost track of, very considerate! A large gathering of Dot’s regular residents converged with the new visitors, remaining gathered and intermingling amongst themselves for exactly 1 hour and 47 minutes. The visitors departed no later than they arrived, leaving behind the old missing citizens. With everything back in place Dot was able to finally return to his original route, and count the original amount of people in their original places. Not all returned to normalcy as Dot had initially calculated. The cycle of behavior that Dot had observed and cataloged had been halted, The citizens no longer moved on their daily paths, simply standing in their one designated place, day after night, unbothered by storm or snow. The once traveling caravaneers had awkwardly been parked in the center of the city, the animals dragging the carts eventually wandering off on their own. Months passed, Dot remained faithful to his route, and his once lively city of organics and their shenanigans had become still. Dot’s sensors eventually stopped reading his former residents as lifeforms, something of flesh and blood couldn't possibly be so static for so long, it was simply in-computable. Dot eventually came across an obstruction in his pathing, causing his nav systems to flip him around and mistakenly wander down the path out of town, and into whatever the world had in store for Dot. Without contingency protocol to instruct him, Dot simply kept wandering.


The elevator dinged as she passed another floor. Boring orchestral music played softly in the air. At this level there should not be any more stops until she reached her destination. Very few had any sort of clearance above this point. Her foot tapped with nervous energy as she glanced at her watch. This was a matter, she felt, that needed to be resolved before it was too late. It had been a record number of years since the last soulless apocalyptic event had occurred and she hoped to continue that trend. The elevator dinged a final time and the door slid open without a sound. As she entered the dark empty room her shoes echoed with each step. By now she could feel the being’s presence. The room wasn’t so much a room, but rather a dark corner somewhere in the universe. Where the walls of a room would be she could sense the presence of the being surrounding her. She stopped in the center of the darkness and gulped. "Uh, Your Powerfulness, the humans are at it again," she said, clasping her day planner to her chest. "Bending the laws of nature and such," she added. "How is this?" asked an ominous voice. For beings that were supposed to be all knowing and powerful, they sure asked a lot of questions. Had they perhaps been placed on a higher pedestal by those beneath them? "Well, um, you see..." she chewed on the end of her pen as she tried to phrase her response properly. "It seems they are trying to play you. God, that is. They have discovered how to create life through what they call, uh," she flipped open her planner in search of the proper word. "Oh, here it is, 'science'," she finally said. "Cloning to be exact," she added. "Ah, yes," the voice said as if knowing what she was referring to. But she wasn't convinced. After a brief pause the voice said, "And you're here in regards to the souls." For a split second she felt the being was all knowing. How else would it have known why she was there? Then she remembered the name tag pinned to her blouse that clearly stated 'Department of Soul Assignment and Allocation' in bold letters above her name. "Yes," she replied flatly. "The department is in need of a signature on whether or not to assign souls to these ‘clones’ as they're called." She quickly rummaged through her day planner and pulled out two pieces of paper. One page said 'Yes' and the other said 'No' in bold letters above a signature line. The voice groaned and said, "I cannot authorize such a request." "Then who can?" she asked with genuine curiosity. The voice's next words came out slow and almost begrudgingly. "You'll need to consult an Ancient God on this situation. They will likely petition a Reaper for assistance on a matter such as this." For a moment she was quite shocked. She had never worked with an Ancient God. In fact, it was extremely rare for her to even be speaking with a Dimension God. And a Reaper? For something this simple? There was clearly more depth to this issue than she originally anticipated. Her training reminded her to never try and understand the politics of the gods as she tried to reenter the correct headspace. "Uh, very well," she said, attempting to regain her composure. "Can you grant me the proper clearance or shall I submit the appropriate application seeking an audience of such an authority?" she asked a little more confidently now that she no longer sought approval from this particular god. The voice groaned again and she felt a shift of energy. Her name tag now bore a golden rim. It sparkled brightly. "Spare yourself the effort. Your access is granted," the voice said in the same begrudging tone. An ancient looking vault door attached to nothing appeared in front of her. The large spoked handle in the center of the door began to spin. Metal locks popped out of their seats allowing the door to slowly open before her. With a simple smirk she made her way to the door. "Thank you kindly," she said with a slight bow. She walked through the vault door in search of an Ancient God. After the vault door shut, the being was left alone. If a voice could make a sound that meant it was rolling its eyes, that's the sound it made. The vault door vanished.


#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, song, theme word, 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 using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Song: ** **Bonus Constraint** (not required; worth 5 pts.) - Story begins in . This week’s challenge is to use **the above song as inspiration** for your story. You can use the song itself, the name, the images in the video, or . The bonus constraint is not required. You may interpret the media prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you **follow all sub and post rules**.   *** #How It Works - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until Sunday at 11:59pm EST. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them a comment on the thread with some feedback.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.** Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire & Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome! - Nominations are made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback on the thread:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out by u/FyeNite as an example.   *** #Rankings - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/DmonRth   - - Submitted by u/wileycourage   - **Crit Star** (awarded Crit Credit for r/WPCriique): u/katherine_c *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


What does it mean for one to never have to fear death? To never know that dread or quietly building trepidation of the end coming closer and closer? He had been asked that same question, in a thousand different ways, a thousand and more times in his long life. Even with the practice of centuries of answering that question in all its various incarnations, he still did not know how to answer. How could he begin to describe the loneliness, the pain, or the exhaustion? How did he make someone who couldn’t see the edge of forever understand? With those thoughts racing through his mind once again, he tried to answer the young (who wasn’t compared to him?) lady’s questions. “It means numbness,” he stated without emphasis. “Numbness?” She asked, with confusion plain upon her face. “Yes,” he continued, “it means watching the world move on around you. Watching those you’ve grown to know and love, or even hate, grow old and eventually pass from this place. All while you remain, ever constant, stagnant. As the years continue to slowly crawl past you, you eventually just stop feeling and grow numb to it all.” “At least, I wish that were the case…” he finished with barely a whisper. “Why? Why would you want that to be true? That sounds…. lonely.” “Because that would be easier than having to lose them, over and over again.” He answered, profound sorrow written plainly upon his features. “Them?” She asked, her curiosity overtaking her. “My immortality was not curse enough for whatever demented being that enjoys tormenting me apparently.” he answered with a chuckle, looking around him at the beautiful hilltop painted in the yellow, red, and blue hues of the early dawn. “They also decided that I’d have to spend my eternity forever falling in love with and losing my love. I don’t know what we ever did to anger whoever decided to place this horror on us, but as I continue, ever unchanging, my love must constantly be re-born as a new person. When I’ve finally found them again, they’re always different, with a new personality, new likes and dislikes, and no memory of what we’ve been through. Sometimes they’re re-born a woman again and at other times a man, but they’re always them. That same wonderful person I’ve loved through the many long and lonely centuries, in dozens of different bodies and personalities.” “That…. doesn’t sound like it’d be so bad.” She whispered. “It sounds to me like you’ll always have someone to go through eternity with. Why would you wish for something different?” “Because…..” he started, “every time I start to feel that numbness, that lack of caring about the people or the world around me, the peaceful nothingness that might make this prison of endless time pass by with a little less pain, they show up. Bursting back into my life for an always too, too brief period of light. They bring all those emotions crashing back into my life, just for them to be cruelly ripped from arms again after a few brief decades.” He finished as a tear began to slide down the cheek on the side of his face facing the beautiful woman. “Why are you crying?” She asked, her voice full of compassion. “I’d just started to feel numb again……”   This is one of the first times I've shared some of my writing, so any feedback would be appreciated. Let me know what you think.


Far into a great wooden corridor a sickly man was led to a pair of large, ornate metal doors. The soft burning candles framed the entire area in a calming and warm light. It was hard to not notice how immaculately the wax of the candles were tended to. So perfectly burning without a drop out of place. Great care was taken to ensure a welcoming feeling. This sickly man was given notice that his end was near. Every person in this land is given the opportunity to observe last rites with the Silver Sider should they wish. A gratitude given freely and dearly. The maidens and lads of the Silver Spider give nothing but the utmost respect and care to those who seek communion. “Are you ready, sir?” A young woman asked the man. “Yes, please.” The man returned. Slowly the doors were opened with a silent hush. Within the next room a frail young man sat on the floor in a relaxed manner. This was the Silver Spider. His skin was ash white. His hair was long and thin. Surrounding him were many spiders of different sizes and shapes. The young man was whispering to cupped hands. The sickly man was left alone with him. “Welcome, please come closer. You shouldn’t give any mind to my comrades. They mean no harm to you.” The Silver Spider spoke with a gentle and easy voice. The sickly man shuffled closer, careful not to step on any of the tiny legs of the spiders walking on the floor. The Silver Spider motioned the man to sit next to him on the floor. The spiders gave generous space for him to maneuver in his creaking flesh. The man could clearly see the face of this frail being. It was thin and dull with a warm smile. HIs eyes were glazed over in a milky film, obscuring his green irises. “Your lord, I am sorry for the state of my looks while addressing you. I haven’t the energy to-” the man was cut off by a single thin finger placed on his lips by the Spider. “It is all without worry, my friend. I cannot see anymore. Such things have never bothered me and they surely do not now. I want you here just as you are. Please relax.” The Spider grabbed the back of the man’s neck gently and lowered his head into his lap. Slowly stroking the man’s hair, The spider continued. “My friends tell me you are very sick and near death. I am so very sorry you have to feel any suffering. Humble me for a moment, what is your fondest memory from when you were a child?” The man thought for a moment. “My mother’s singing. If she was cooking, she was singing. If I was restless at night, she would sing me to sleep. All of my worries seemed to melt when she sang. That is my most precious memory.” The Spider looked down at the man in his lap, feeling the trembles of his fragile mortal coil. “Sing her song for me” The Spider requested as he continued to coddle the man. The man began to hum a very joyful tune to his best ability. Half way between the memory of his mother and the words he has forgotten, he coughed roughly before falling silent. “What a beautiful thing to remember and hold with you through your life-” This spider said warmly. “Your mother must have loved you dearly.” “She did, so very much.” “You know, something off topic but I wish to know. The spiders make me a new robe of their silk every year with a new design. I am told that each one has been very precious and beautiful. Could you please tell me what the one I am wearing looks like? You are the first person to see it.” The man craned his neck up from the lap of the Spider and studied the intricate lace and shimmer of the cloth. Dazzled by the complex designs and motifs, the man was lost for words. “Your lord, It is beyond exquisite.” The man relayed. “I am so thankful you think so. I can no longer appreciate their work, but I can feel their needle thin legs crawl over my skin. They remind me that I am not alone in my blank world. As do you, in this moment. Thank you for spending this time with me. I wish you a painless and peaceful death.” The man began sobbing as the pain in his body melted into the webs that hung around him. Gently and somberly, the man could feel his soul being unstitched from his bones. The Spider ran his fingers through the man’s hair and hummed a tune ghostly similar to the man’s mother’s tune. “May I lay with you a little longer? I have not been so at peace with my own body in a long time.” The man requested. “You may lay with me as long as needed. You are so very soft and gentle in this world. Please be with me as long as you wish” The Spider responded.


Prohibition I feel the sweat. Moistening my palms, dripping down the back of my shirt. My breath quickens and my mouth goes dry as I knock. Knock four times, as I was instructed. There’s some soft fumbling behind the door, before the shutter slides across to reveal an aggressive pair of eyes. “What” the eyes state, rather than ask. “I… I’m here to… to see Clifford” the words stick in my mouth. The shutter slams back closed and I hear some soft muttering before the lock clicks. The door swings open and a thick arm waves me in. A slam, and I’m inside. It takes more than a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, thick with smoke. I’m brimming with anxiety and excitement. I’ve not been anywhere this… illicit for years. I’m frightened but so tantalised to experience something that’s been missing from my life for decades. “You know the ground rules?” the looming figure breaks my reverie. “Ah I think so” The tattooed tree branch that brought me in points to scruffy writing on a dirty blackboard: No touching, unless invited. No illegal drugs. No wanking. “I, erm, yes. That should be fine for me” “Downstairs then.” As I descend the narrow staircase I notice the dim light is not from bulbs, but tumescent lard candles dripping from black sconces in the wall. “Smart” I think to myself, “no electricity” Further down I travel, until I come to another plain door. I can hear soft laughing and music from behind it. My hands are trembling now. I grip the brass knob and push the heavy door ajar. Immediately I am overcome. The noise of revelling; laughter and loud conversation washes over me. The smell of bacon from the candles fills my nose. I enter and am greeted by the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. “Just yourself, sir?” I nod affirmative, and she walks me to a plush leather wingback with a small side table. Without asking she places a glass down and fills it with chilled water from a fine glass carafe. Next to this she places a small folded card with ‘Fine Libations, New and Old’ printed on the front. “Have a look through this, and when you’re ready to order just call over one of the staff. Do you have any questions?” I glance through the menu. The concoctions all sound delicious, but that’s not why I’m here. “I erm, I’m here… for eh, Clifford” She looks at me, as though waiting for some clarification. “I’m here to see Clifford” I restate. “Very well sir” She briskly walks back to her stand at the door. She seems to be fumbling in a drawer. Picking something out, she walks back. I sip my water. I am too nervous now. The water cools my thoughts just enough. The woman slips another card into my menu. “This is the list of today’s specials.” She says quieter now, leaning close to my face “When you’ve decided what you would like ask only me. I will show you through” With that, she turns, places the smile back on her face and resumes her place at the stand. I gingerly pick up the specials menu. My heart is racing. I am so close. I look at the list. I take a drink of water. I do not want to seem too keen. A list of names. Some masculine, some feminine, some completely new. Arranged in order of price, lowest to highest. I look at the most expensive. There’s no way I can afford it, but curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Reuben – A proud little boy’ it reads. Even if it was in my price range, that’s not what I’m after here. I look around at the other guests. Some couples, a few small groups, but mostly individual people. Men and women. I drink some more water and investigate the specials further. There is a list of extras. I have made up my mind. I start to get out of my chair. The woman from before notices and hurries over. She tops up my water glass. “Have you decided what you would like?” “Yes. Could I get the” this is it “Could I get the…” I glance down at the menu to make sure I don’t make any mistakes “…Could I get Jazz?” My voice is a whisper “And the” I point to the extras list. “Jazz and a bag of meat munchies. Excellent choice, sir. Please come with me.” She leads me to an unassuming door to the side of the room. “Before I let you in sir, do you know the ground rules? “Yes, the ah, the big guy at the door made sure of it” “Excellent news. We cannot be held responsible what should happen to you if you break one of those rules, sir.” “I understand” I say and go for the door handle. She stops me and unzips a pocket on her money belt. “We need payment upfront sir” In my anticipation I had almost forgotten. I pull a roll of notes from the inside of my coat pocket and start counting them out. Fumbling I drop them. Before I can reach down, she has swept down and picked the roll up. Almost instantly she has separated the correct amount out and passes the rest back to me. Gratefully I accept them, and pull a note out to offer her. “I’ve taken my service charge already sir” She opens the door and leads me inside by the hand. We are in a dimly lit corridor, darker even than the staircase earlier. We walk past several doors. Each door muffles the noise of the action behind it but I can still make some things out. Grunting, howling, excited yelps. Eventually we come to a halt. “Wait inside here sir, Jazz will be through shortly” I thank her and move inside. The door softly clicks shut behind me. I survey the room. Not much larger than a cupboard really. Dark, lit only by one familiar smelling candle on a side table. A battered old armchair next to that. I sit in the armchair and wait. I wish I had brought the water in with me now. My anxiety has lifted, I’m in too far now. I know what I want and I’m going to get it imminently. My mind swims with possibilities. What I could be about to do. Remembering the last time I was able to. A knock at the door and my heart jumps again. The door opens slightly, and a man’s voice comes through the gap. “Jazz for you, with a bag of pork rinds” I’m too excited to correct him. The man enters and places the bag on the table next to me. He glances at me with a smirk and says “You’re in for a treat. Jazz is one of my favourites. She’s… enthusiastic.” He leaves, and then I see her. A big white bitch, grinning from ear to ear. She’s carrying a little extra weight and I’m here for it. “Come here Jazz” She rushes in and in an instant she’s on my lap, kissing my face. The door closes behind her. I’m overcome with emotion. I can’t stop laughing! A dog! After all these years! After the bans and prohibition and the horrendous culls, a real dog! I wrestle her off me and get her onto the floor. I grab the pork rinds off the side. I find a big chunk of dried flesh and hold it over her. “Sit… paw… good girl!” She takes the pig snack gently, before scoffing it down fast. I can’t believe this moment. I laugh again, and stroke her head. She moves to lick the snack dust from my hand. This is wonderful! She rolls on her side, inviting me to stroke her tummy. I reach down. Suddenly there’s a banging at the door. It opens and the man from earlier frantically pushes his head in. “It’s a raid! Get out! Get out of here!” Jazz gets up instantly, much more nimbly than you would expect, and bolts out of the door. With the door open now I can hear much more commotion; glasses breaking, doors being knocked down, yelling and screaming. I follow Jazz out into the dark corridor, other doors being flung open with people and dogs running out. Other guests fleeing in each direction, but the dogs purposefully all heading to the end of this corridor. A crash, and I see the door man from before standing in a broken frame, wood hanging loosely from its hinges. He’s bleeding from one eyebrow, cradling a bunch of frightened pugs and chihuahuas in his arms. “Far end! Go! Now!” He yells at me. There’s gunfire behind him. He bolts past. I quickly follow. Looking back I see a silhouette of a man brandishing a club in the doorway. I’m spurred to run faster as he belts a man trying to get past. “We just wanted to pet dogs!” the man sobs as the cop lays into him on the ground. The door man looks at the wall at the end of the corridor. He puts the small dogs down beside him. He braces himself against the sides of the corridor. He raises a foot and slams his boot into the wall. It bursts open. A secret exit! “Everyone out!” None of the dogs hesitate. They stream out of the door, howling and barking into the night. An enormous ridgeback barrels past me and knocks me to the floor. I look up and see Jazz hesitate at the opening. She looks back at me. The cop is on me. He rains down blows on the back of my head. Jazz turns and leaves.


She walked past her room and to his. Standing at the doorway, she leaned against it and smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched as he rolled around in bed, whining for her to come over and give him the cuddles that he was promised for doing such a good job with chores. She watched as his face lit up when he saw her and reached his arms out for her. She couldn't help but let out a chuckle but that stopped when she was brought back to reality by the unusually loud rain droplets hitting the window. It was windy that night. The coldness settled quite well with the silence, giving her the eerie sense of loneliness. She sighed and walked into the kitchen. Going to the fridge, she got herself a bottle of water. Opening the cap, she felt a chill run down her spine. She stopped and looked towards the entrance of the kitchen and she saw him again. She just gave in and decided to enjoy these little..... Moments of flashbacks that she was having. It was all bright and happy now with him right there. She couldn't even hear the rain. She smiled with tears brimming her eyes, seeing him in the memory. He walked to her from behind and scared her once before holding her close. Giving her kisses on her cheeks, he told her how much he loved her and how much he missed her while he was at work. She watched herself (in the memory) turn to him and give him a tight hug. She always did that whenever he had a long day and just needed to relax. She played with his soft hair, whispering to him how grateful she was to have him and how proud she was of him. Perhaps, she didn't notice it then but she definitely did now. The little falter in his smile. She placed the water bottle back inside the fridge and went to the study room. Their work room. She sat down at her desk and looked to the side where she saw him working. Another memory. He always looked attractive when he worked. It was no denying that him focusing was definitely something she could admire for days. Giving her a sweet smile, he reached out and held her hand with one of his own as he continued to work with the other. He was just caring like that. She leaned over to take a peak at what he was doing and he covered her eyes. Whenever he told her that peeking was bad, she would just pout. This always sent him into a mini panic. He would stop whatever he was doing and just go hold her. He knew it comforted her and it really did. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to be in those arms again. She wanted to feel the comfort and warmth again. But she couldn't. She had lost it. Forever. Going into the living room, she could almost hear the words slipping past her lips with no control. She wished and hoped that she could take very single one of those words back but she couldn't. She regretted it and she still does. She remembered how he just had a small smile on his face as he listened to her yell at him for not switching off the lights and fans when they were not in use. Of course, this had ticked her off at the time but now, she knew why. He probably loved it. He probably loved the fact that he would get to hear her yell at him one last time before he would be gone. Regardless, she was mad at him now too. She was mad at him for not telling her and for hiding it from her that he would be gone soon. Very soon. She felt her knees buckle aa she fell onto the ground, sobbing. One of her hands covered her eyes as she let out a heart broken yell into the void. There was no one to tell her that everything would be alright. She didn't even get to say her goodbye. She didn't get to tell him how much he meant to her and how much he did to save her. From the world and herself. She didn't get to tell him how grateful she was that she had met him. She didn't get to tell him that he was the sunshine in her life. He probably didn't wish for it to happen on her birthday. He probably felt so sad and angry at himself too. She felt so useless for not being able to comfort him at that moment of time. She felt worthless for not being able to see it or even sense it. Her nails dug into the wooden floors as she felt the pain coursing through her. One of her hands came up to clutch at her chest. She could feel the heaviness in her heart. It brought her down. She remembered the times he told her to not lose hope but now that he was gone, she had no hope left. He took it with him. Her smile, her laughter, her joy, her happiness, her entire life was gone with him. He was gone. She was not prepared for this farewell.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. Welcome to our new weekly feature. This is a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week we will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion - **What do you like about writing? And why do you write?** I’ll start us off. My day job involves writing in business-speak, which I find both boring and limiting, as you want to be as succinct as possible without any descriptions or emotions. Writing fiction is an entirely different world from that. You can write about anything you want, be anything you want, and just explore. I find it incredibly freeing. Beyond the escape part, I’ve found that I enjoy the whole process, from imagining to research to creation. I write because it makes me happy, silly as it may sound. *** #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


I didn’t sleep well that night. Less than two hundred metres away was a man I had known my whole adult life imprisoned, sleeping on a rough wooden floor. Yet, here I was in luxury. A large bed, a soft mattress, and blankets that felt almost frictionless against your skin. All the physical comfort imaginable had been afforded to me. But mentally, rest was impossible. In just a few words I could walk into Jacob’s office, vouch for Thomas, demand my friend was released and he would be. I was certain of it. Thomas should be out by now. I should have gotten him out. I wondered if I could sneak over, get back in, and sleep on the floor by the cell. Suffer as he suffered. I had spent enough nights with splintered and uneven planks replacing my mattress. One more wouldn’t hurt. However, it wouldn’t help. Another’s pain doesn’t make yours any less. So instead, I compromised, deciding to be as awake and as uncomfortable as I could. No matter my physical surroundings, in my own head I was lying on the hot sticky floor listening to the rats scurry. I lay there listening to the nothingness, and staring at the inanimate ceiling. Everything was frozen. Time refused to move. I don’t how long I lay in that bed, vaguely aware of the shifting stars out the window in front of me, but at some point I heard a noise from outside - a break in the monotonous nothing. It started quiet. The faintest disturbance in the air, but soon it grew into definite voices. Alessia was fast asleep, her face planted into the pillow, her mouth agape. But the voices grew closer, and louder. Slowly I rose from my bed, listening to the calls like they were a Siren's song. I began to detect an anger in them. One shrill cry battling against stronger but calmer heads. I wrestled with tge urge not to investigate until curiosity got the better of me. I got dressed and headed down the stairs. Outside, the guard by the back door greeted me, before his gaze turned to the right where the voices crept around the wall towards us. Without the walls, the screams were crystal clear. The shouts cut through my skin and I could feel my pulse race instinctually. The curious noise that drew me here was now definitely a woman's howls. Her voice a mixture of despair and rage. It won’t do any good. You can’t stop all of us. We will come for you. We will dismantle all we have built.” She appeared accompanied by two guards wrestling her up the path towards the prison. She wore a sleeveless dress, and I could see symbols painted onto her arm - stick figures of animals and patterns of leaves. “You can’t just go back to the way things were. We have to change. We have to turn to the Earth.” “Shut it. It’s over,” one of the guards barked as he yanked her arm. She was momentarily silenced by the forceful jolt. Squinting into the darkness, I recognized his face. He was part of the group that had found us by my old house. “You can lock me up all you want. There’s plenty more of us. Nature will prevail.” I approached them till I was close enough for my voice to carry. “What’s she been arrested for?” The guard looked my way and nodded, seeming to recognize me. “Found her trying to set fire to one of the Council buildings in town.” His voice was steady and calm despite the woman struggling in his arms. “Why?” The woman turned to me, her mouth wide, and her teeth bared like a cornered dog. “Because we need to undo our sins. Undo civilization. Return to nature.” “Quiet,” the guard muttered. The woman ignored him, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Look what technology brought us. These empty shells. These guards. It’s corruption. Nature is the only peace.” “Quiet!” The other guard shouted as he shoved her in the back, knocking the wind out of her. The first guard looked up at me shaking his head. “Her lot have been causing problems all over. We’ve got them though. Sorry to wake you. Have a pleasant night.” He turned his head away and continued dragging the woman away. She continued to holler. Not to be rescued, but instead a final battle cry, a recruitment call to the nighttime so that they may join her fight, replace her in the ranks once she disappeared. But there was no one to listen. Just me, a few guards, and the other prisoners she would soon be locked up with. ————————————————————— As we set off for the Yarmouth Pit the next morning, I could feel the tiredness cling to my bones, weighing me down. Despite a cool summer breeze, I still felt a damp sweat stuck to my skin like leftover glue, and my muscles groaned with each step. Despite not knowing the way, Alessia was out ahead of me, pace setting and dragging my unwilling limbs behind her as we headed to the western side of the island. She raced up the smooth dirt path as it crested at the top of a small hill. She stopped at the top, turning back to me as the morning sun glistened across her face. She looked down with a smug face, her arms folded. “You doing okay back there?” “Yeah. Just tired.” Alessia paused, picking up on my tone. Her smile fell flat “Thomas?” I nodded. Alessia looked out to the sea to her right, watching the waves crash against the rocks below. "What do you think we’re gonna find today?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know. Probably nothing.” As I caught up to her, Alessia began walking again, this time empathy slowing her gait. “You don’t think there’s anything odd?” I shook my head. But out of confusion not denial. “I don’t know. If I were to choose three people in this world I trust the most, it would be you, Thomas and Jacob. Not sure what to do when they disagree.” Alessia raised an eyebrow. “No Xander?” I let out a small chuckle. “Xander did try and kill me when we first met.” Alessia tilted her head back and clicked her tongue. “Oh yeah. Before I got there.” I looked at the path ahead as it curved out to a small headland. “I don’t know why Thomas is in there. I can’t understand it.” Alessia pursed her lips. “Jacob put him there.” “I know But… Jacob. He saved me. If it weren’t for him risking his life I’d still be back in that prison hoping to survive the day. I’d never had gotten out, never traveled the Archipelago, never met you…” I turned to Alessia with a frown. “I owe him everything. Including my faith.” As the path turned left, the new citadel - the Estates - came into view once more behind us. My eyes looked to those homes down on the coast and the hope they contained. A patch of cloud rolled across the hills beside it, the homes highlighted in the gaps between the shadows. The light glanced across the red slate roofs, before brushibg against the wide windows of the upper floors, and rolling across the shamrock colored grass. Somehow the homes were more beautiful than the ones I had imagined at the Citadel. “How you feeling about your speech?” Alessia asked. I turned to take in the whole island anf the contours of the land I knew so well. “This place needs to calm. If I can help with that. Jacob needs it. The island needs it.” I threw my arms up into the air. “I need it.” “You don’t have to give that speech if you don’t want to. We’ll get the information on Sannaz.” I remembered the woman last night, and the path others might take the island down. “I’ve got to do what I can for this place.” I said as I forced my feet to keep moving, breaking from the pensive inaction. It took another hour of walking until we reached the Yarmouth site. The once great pit dug down into the earth, like the claw mark of some ancient god. Where once hundreds of workers could be found either scraping away at the rock or dealing with the output, over the years the lines had run dry. Now Yarmouth was a relic. A lonely place where a handful of workers spent their days digging away, hoping for a fresh vein to make their efforts worthwhile. It was remote, uninteresting and uncared for. And as we approached the office door I was certain that we were alone. As alone as Thomas would've been when he left the documents here. I momentarily paused as my hand grabbed the door handle. I took a quick breath and forced my arm down as the space opened in front of us. Thomas's old desk was in front of him. As I looked at the chair half drawn out from the desk, I wondered when Thomas was last here. At some point, he had sat at this desk and worked unknowing of what was to come. At some point, his life held a routine. It was my actions that had caused that pattern to be unravelled, for the predictable and certain to be replaced with the horror of his speculative imprisonment. Shaking the thought from my mind I walked over to the cabinet at the back of the room, bent down next to the cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer. I could see several stacks of papers. Most were old books. The same type I had used when I managed the pits. But in the far left there was a folder, its sides thick, the front bulging with papers jammed inside, a taut string keeping its contents from spilling out. I lifted out the folder and walked it over to the desk, letting it land on the table with a thud. I undid the string and the lid flew up, the contents seeming to breathe a sigh of relief at being let free. Alessia looked at the stack of papers pushing out. “Any idea how we go through this?” I frowned. “No. Just… go through it and see what we get, I guess.” We began laying out the papers on the table, separating them into various categories. Almost two-thirds of the papers seemed to be applications from islanders, people pleading to be allowed into the Estates. They spoke of their family’s efforts, how hard they strived, and named those who could be contacted to vouch for their work ethic. I only gave each one cursory attention, but still I noticed page after page of people boasting of the extra hours they worked, how they had volunteered to help build the park after the Citadel was seized, or how they’d sacrificed time with friends of family to the greater cause of Pomafauc Reset. Others had taken a different tactic. Merely begged or detailed stories of their own suffering. Then of course there were those that tried bargaining, offering their own meagre house to the Council in return, or suggesting donating funds to causes the Council deemed worthy. After the applications, the documents began outlining the construction proposal for the Estates, the number of homes and the square meterage of each building. There were a few letters of correspondence, messages sent out to the towns to declare the application process open, or clarifying the new open nature of the Estates. Then there was a memo titled “Projected Earnings.” I scanned the document. Most of it focused on the costs, going into detail how to calculate the expenses of the project; totaling man hours, materials and the inevitable setbacks. Then at the end there was one line. “Jacob, I know after our last meeting you asked me to be certain of the return value. As I presented the other day, I can confirm each home should be able to return double its investment cost and more than make up for the downturn in the islands’ exports in recent months.” I stopped and read the sentence a second time. I blinked slowly, trying to take it in, being sure every word was as I saw it. “Have you seen anything about income from the homes?” Alessia turned to me and shook her head. “How would they be making money off the homes? They’re awarded.” I began to feel a sour taste in my mouth and a lump in the back of my throat. I contemplated putting down the papers, walking out the door, and trusting that there was an answer that made sense. But then I looked down at the documents still to be read. I began turning over the last few pages. Near the very end, there was one final correspondence. I immediately noticed Jacob’s signature at the bottom. It was a statement declaring that the winners of the first round of homes at the Estates had been declared. Beneath that was a long list of names. I began reading. South, Willem Naudain, Tess Lombard, Hannah Waverley, Ronald My mind paused, stuck on the last name. Waverley. I had heard it somewhere before. I didn’t know anyone on the island with that name - no colleagues, no friends. Yet it flicked a spark, a little sequence of thoughts that brought me back to Kadear. Yet it wasn’t Ronald Waverley I knew. I had the sound of an Alice Waverley in my head. An Alice that tied to a Waverly. Distant thoughts. Small pockets of memory that I couldn’t make connect. I read on. Pine, Wilbert Panama, Melle Delancey, Michel That name I knew. This time not with some distant connection I couldn’t make out, but as clear as day. “It’s got to be a coincidence,” I muttered. “What?” Alessia furrowed her brow. I turned away from the desk, back to the cabinet, pulling open the upper drawers. I grabbed one of the old large books, and dropped it onto the desk, a thin film of dust dispersed into the air as it landed. Inside was a list of substantial sales; bulk orders from traders on other islanders. I flicked through the pages, skipping over the tonnage and delivery dates, just glancing at names, until I saw one. Michel Delancey. I closed my eyes. I could feel that lump in my throat fall down to the pit of my stomach, and down further until my legs felt like stone. “What is it?” Alessia asked. I pointed to the name in the book. “He’s a massive land-owner on another island, runs a bunch of factories. Used to be one of our major importers.” “He’s got the same name as…” Alessia trailed off. I shook my head. “I bet you if I keep reading that list I’ll find more of them.” Waverley. That name came back to me. Alice Waverley. I could hear the name being shouted by an impatient mother, keen to use every syllable to get her point across. “Alice Waverley, you come down now or we’ll be late.” I remembered the shout. Steadily the picture grew clearer. The woman was right next to me as she called out, but paid me so little attention I could’ve been a ghost. I had grimaced as the noise reverberated around my ears, but I didn’t flinch. It was in one of the homes in the old Citadel. I had ignored my ringing eardrums and continued polishing the cabinet in front of me, certain not to cause a scene. Now the image was crystal clear and all the details came back to me. The who - the mother; the where - the Citadel; the when - I was a prisoner. I could see that family so clearly now. One daughter. Mother and father. He was on the old Council. His name was… Ronald. There was a bubbling in my gut, as bile made of stress and dread began working its way up my throat. Another moment flashed before my eyes. Our first day here, when we toured the Esates with Jacob. The woman who I saw scurrying up the steps to the building. I knew her name. I recognized that face. I looked down at the list of awardees. The very next name. Spruce, Christine. “FUCK!” The words left my lung like a stab wound. I hunched over, clasping myself against the desk. Alessia reached out a hand, placing it on my arm to stabalize me. “What?” I pulled myself back up as I felt my knuckles spasm with the anger. My hands burned, as thoigh the bones inside were trying to leave my body through fury. I stared at my palms, trying to regain my thoughts, my heart pounding against my chest. The rage overcame me again. “GOD DAMN IT!” I bent over placing my face in my hands. “Ferdinand.” Alessia placed a firm grip on each of my arms, gently stroking them. Part restraint, part soothing. “Ferdinand. You’re going to have to explain this to me.” I forced my head out from the sanctuary of my hands. “They’re selling the homes.” “What?” “The homes aren’t being awarded for hard work. They’re real. But they’re just being sold to whoever can afford them. Tycoons from other islanders, people with stolen artefacts, even the old council members themselves.” “The old council?” “Ronald Waverly. Christine Spruce. They lived at the Citadel. I cleaned their homes.” I could feel the nerves in my arm convulse, until my hand shaped into a fist and slammed into the desk. The old wood shook and a few sheets of paper fell to the floor. “But why not just build the houses and sell them.” “Same reason as ever. Keep people working. Keep everyone striving for something and trying to please you." I clenched my jaw and my throat. Words boiled up, pushed out my mouth like steam pressurised by the heat in my chest. "That’s probably the only way they could’ve built those homes in five months anyway. Builders working round the clock believing it could be them on the inside.” Alessia looked to the ground. My mind was racing. “Nothing changed. The old council fell, and everything stayed exactly the same, except now the man conning the entire island was one of my best friends. I’m complicit in it this time.” “No you’re not” Alessia tried to interrupt. I didn’t stop. “I’m part of it. I released him. I was glad when I found out he was premier. And I left the island so he could stay here and do to the island exactly what the people before him did.” “This isn’t your fault, Ferdinand.” I turned away, facing my body back towards the Citadel. I couldn't see it, yet I turned to it like a magnet facing north. “How did I not realize the second I saw Thomas in that prison? How did I accept that for one moment?” “Because you trusted Jacob. Trust is good.” “That trust was stupid.” I spat the words out “What do you want to do?” “This ends. Now.” I looked at the papers strewn across the desk. “Grab the evidence we need, and take it to Jacob. This ends today.” ——————————————————————————— The closer we got to Citadel Park, the more people we saw. And each face brought with it another flicker of anger. I didn’t mind the faces that looked grumpy or displeased. It was the smiles that hurt. The bodies dragging uneven heavy carts across pothole ridden roads, grinning with wide eyes as the sweat poured down their faces. They would die doing this, die pulling that stupid cart, the grin still wide on their face. Slowly all that bitterness that had nowhere to go developed into melancholy. And my feet dragged slowly along the ground. “Do you think I’m to blame?” I muttered, my eyes staring at the dirt. “What? No?” Alessia replied. “If I hadn’t left when I did… in the way that I did. Maybe things would be different.” “You didn’t do this, Ferdinand.” I shook my head, scrunching my eyes shut. “You said it to me. All the way back on Tima Voreef. The truth isn’t enough. You have to build something after. I didn’t see it through.” “You were running for your life, Ferdinand.” I opened my eyes again just in time to see a couple walking away from the park towards us. I stepped around them as they silently marched by. They passed me as though hypnotized, disconnected from my presence. Turning to Alessia, I scrunched my face. “Do I see it through this time? Should I stay here?” I could see Alessia take a momentary pause in her step. “That’s up to you. Can’t make the decision for you. But I will say… I hope you don’t. And I don’t think leaving is wrong.” “I could’ve done more.” Ahead of us I could see more people heading down the path towards us. Their eyes fixed forwards down the hill. Alessia gritted her teeth. “Ferdinand. When you escaped. You came back and freed the others. You could’ve kept running. But you handed them the island to do with what they wanted. You gave them the blank slate. Them screwing it up isn’t your fault.” Part of me listened to Alessia, but I was caught by a growing crowd leaving the park. They all had the same fixed expression on, hollow eyes that were forced forwards, their necks refusing to rotate as though screwed in place. Some instinctual part of my brain, hardwired to the behavior of others, was alerted. There was an abnormality in the air. The mixture of our surroundings not quite right. There were two women ahead of us. They walked briskly, as one held a small child on her hip. The kid was three or four, capable of walking on their own, and large enough that the woman shifted awkwardly with the weight on her hip. Yet she insisted on carrying. “I know it’s the rule of law. I just don’t want my kid seeing it, you know?” Alessia was eyeing up the pedestrian traffic as well, her eyes shifting and focusing on different people, trying to parse a meaning. “First one in a while, I think. Right?” a man said to another. “Yeah. Was starting to worry the Council had gone soft,” the other laughed. I picked up my pace as ahead of me I could see the great arched sign that welcomed you to the park. A family walked out from under the archway. The man had his hand on the shoulder of a young boy in front of him, the child’s face glued to the dirt. The man shook his head, and turned to his wife as they passed. “I guess it’ll be good for him in the long run. See justice served. That crime doesn’t go unpunished. But…” The scaffold. I began running, charging underneath the large archway, weaving between the bodies meandering down the hill. Ahead of me two young women walked idly in gossip, hogging the center of the path. “Move!” They parted, jumping out of the way with, their lips turned upwards. “Rude!” one of them shouted. I didn’t care. I sprinted until my legs told me they could sprint no more. And then I still kept sprinting. I had to collapse the unknown into truth. The limitations of my limbs were irrelevant, a greater physical force propelled me forwards. The prison building grew closer, the walls masking the blue sky. My skin grew hotter, and my eyes stinged with sweat the fear of what lay around the corner. I ran past the building. I stood. I paused. And I wailed. A long desperate sob left my lungs. Saliva spluttered from my lips as my lungs heaved, coughing out every ounce of grief and anger and regret I could find. There in front of me, hung two bodies. The woman who I’d seen brought in last night. And next to her, Thomas. Alessia arrived, keeping a few paces behind, giving me space. “I’m sorry, Ferdinand.” “Give me your knife.” “What… why?” “Give me your knife.” I held out my hand behind me. “Ferdinand, what are you-“ “I’m cutting him down. Now give me the knife.” My tone had lost all respect, all humanity. It simply demanded the world bring me what I need. I felt the metal blade land in my palm. I wrapped my hand around it, feeling the sharp edge scrape at the skin, a small pain that served as a welcome distraction. At the base of the slope, I climbed up the steps to the gallows. Somewhere in the distance, people would be turning to look - confused and concerned onlookers, gawkers, even guards, unsure if they should intervene. But they were all a haze. An indistinct blur. There was only one figure I could see. I wrapped an arm around Thomas’s torso, feeling the heat dissipate from his limp body. Stretching, I reached up, and grated the knife firmly against the taught rope. After three strong slashes there was a snap, and Thomas’s full weight fell upon me. We staggered back, and I fell down, landing in a seated position, with Thomas’s body lying on my lap. There was a look of pain on his lips. But I couldn’t help but notice a small smile at the corner of his mouth, and how relaxed his body seemed. Wrapping my arms across his chest, another convulsion of grief rose from within me. I spluttered his name. I tried to apologise. It was all for nothing. I sat on that stage, for the whole park to see, as I held my oldest friend.


It all started with that damn coffee maker. That damn — she said she *needed* it, didn’t she? I have your coffee maker! Why aren’t you here?! *Probably because she’s dead*, I reminded myself. Dead because of that damn — *shit!* It all started because… Because… “Don’t you like it?” she asked me, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips and scrunching her small nose. Time slowed as I gazed into her large, dark brown eyes. *I miss….*“We don’t need it.” I said. I watched as that spark in her eyes died. Her smile died where it stood and even the sun seemed to dim in disappointment. How had I missed it back then? How had I been so stupid! “I just thought if you could make your coffee at home….maybe you wouldn’t have to leave so early. Maybe I’d get to see you in the morning.” “Ell, I don’t have time for this,” I frowned. “You stole my credit card and bought a damn coffee maker so we can say “hi” in the morning? Give me a break! You’re thirteen now, grow up. Either figure out how to return the thing or find a way to pay me back — end of discussion.” “But—!” “End. Of. Discussion.” If I’d known the last time I was going to see my daughter was right then, with her back turned and tears falling due to my idiocracy I….I would have done *something*. I hope. I was such a screwup back then. Still am, but at least now I know it. That’s the worst part; knowing everywhere you failed to see what is so blatantly obvious now. Knowing you could have been better and dealing with the consequences of having not been. What happened after that? Well, it’s all kind of fuzzy, to be honest. The end of the world wasn’t really what anyone could have predicted. I mean, we know it was aliens so there’s that, but how they did it still remains mostly a mystery. Best anyone can tell, it was some sort of intergalactic hack. In retrospect, maybe we should have expected that our reliance on technology would have been an obvious crutch to exploit in the eyes of any alternate intelligence that might inhabit the cosmos. Everyone blamed the Russians for the wave of strange chaos propaganda and brain-washing material that flooded the web. Ironically, they along with China were amongst the few who had managed to establish a fleet of spacecraft sometime near the beginning of the apocalypse, escaping amongst the stars while the rest of us stood pointing fingers of blame at each other. When the Borgians finally made their appearance things on Earth had already reached a boiling point. All would soon be lost to nuclear fallout as warheads of every size streaked jet trails across the open sky. But with a wave of their hand, the Borgians ended the war they started — rendered every warhead dead on impact. Maybe a thousand people died from the unlucky circumstances of having been in direct line of the physical missiles when they came crashing to the Earth, otherwise, the war was of little note. The real horrors came after — during the Culling. I was at home when the missiles fell, oblivious to the world beyond me like most; too caught up with work and self to notice how absolutely disconnected from reality we were. When the television suddenly pulled a Decepticon maneuver and tore through the wall, I almost shrugged it off at first. *Almost*. I think it was the unexpected warmth of blood speckling my cheek that really tore through my demented psyche. My daughter’s blood. Back then, it was only a spark at best — a brief, easily extinguishable flame growing in my heart. But it was more than I thought I’d felt in a long time. I’d take pain over nothing, I suddenly realized. At least pain was *something*. So like a relapsing addict I seized, and that pain grew; that flame grew. As my daughter died I came to life, and I all at once knew myself to be the vampire that I was. I bore no fangs, nor fear of garlic and crosses, but I carry with me this life of undeath — an inability to live, but now surely an inability to die. I could not face her. Not yet. Not after what I’d done. I destroyed the television — it wouldn’t be the first time. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last in this damned Hell. Life since then has been a bit of a miserable blur. A lot of fighting for my life, that sort of thing. I can’t count the number of times I thought I should have died. I can’t even count the number of people who *have* died. It’s been too many. Anymore it’s just me and this damn coffee maker. For reasons I can’t quite figure it’s the only bit of Old-Tech I’ve found that hasn’t come alive to try and kill me. I’m convinced it’s just another f-you from the Universe. Another reminder of all my mistakes. Whatever the case, I miss you Ell. I wish I could say it should be you out here, but I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst enemy. I really do like the coffee maker, though. It hasn’t served much of its intended purpose, but the red suits me I think. I’m….I’ll be home eventually. I promise.


Two figures walked among the ruins of a town, the rubble still smoking and, in some cases, burning. The air was hazy and gray, thick with a wide assortment of highly unpleasant smells. The figure at the front had an odd lightness to her step, the short-haired blonde meandering down the ruined streets almost as if a tourist. She was dressed in the bright red of an Arturian officer’s dress uniform, a decorated saber at one hip and a polished revolver at the other – though, her chest was conspicuously absent of any medals despite her markings on her collar and cuffs denoting her position as Knight-General. Behind her walked a much more sensibly dressed lieutenant, clad in a professionally-maintained gray field uniform. He seemed far less comfortable than the woman in front of him, having trouble navigating the debris that his superior traversed so effortlessly. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” the woman sighed, a smile on her face. “All these buildings, once standing proud and tall, now collapsed around us, no two buildings fallen the same way… The neat and still aftermath of utter chaos.” “It certainly is a… unique sight,” her aide replied diplomatically. “Oh, no need to hide it if it’s not to your taste,” the woman replied, tucking some hair behind her ear as she bent over to examine a picture frame, the glass front shattered and the picture behind smoke-stained beyond recognition. “Not everyone appreciates every form of art, that’s just the way it goes. Personally, I don’t like reliefs. It’s like someone couldn’t decide if they wanted to make a painting or a statue and made some sort of awful compromise.” “Well, I didn’t want to insult your work,” the aide replied, carefully stepping over a charred arm sticking out from under what seems to have been a tavern. “It’s as much the gunnery teams’ work as mine,” the woman said, standing back up. “All theirs, really. Telling someone to make art is a far cry from making it yourself.” “I suppose that’s very true-” the aide began, before a crumbling and shifting of rubble caught both of their attention. Some dozen feet away, someone coughed, and started clawing their way out from under the rubble. “A survivor?” the woman gasped, her eyebrows rising… before they scrunched back down in annoyance and she started stalking over towards him. “Ugh, it’s like sneezing on a Pordeaux.” The aide watched awkwardly as Knight-General Violet McLochlan pulled out her pistol. He winced a little as the gunshot rang out, and the man fell limp. She sighed, and put her revolver back into its holster. “And it was looking so well, too.” “You know, my father kept a Pordeaux in his study,” the aide offered. “Really?” Violet replied, turning back towards him with slightly-lifted spirits. “Which one?” “Untitled Number Sixteen, I believe.” “Ah, I’ve always been fond of that one,” Violet replied, running a hand through her hair as she contemplated the rest of the destruction around her. “Wonderful interplay of colors.” “Me, too. It always reminded me of summers, for some reason.” “Really?” Violet mused on that, her head lilting to the side as she placed a hand on her hip. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I can see it. That’s a beautiful interpretation.” “It wasn’t the original, sadly. Just a reproduction,” the aide shrugged. “Oh, pffft,” Violet dismissed, waving a hand. “Art is art, copied or not. You don’t need to see every individual line from each brush hair to appreciate it. Not everyone can travel around the world to see the originals in museums or in the halls of whatever rich jerk decided to keep it to themselves, so reproductions are a necessary thing! Art that isn’t shared is a tragic loss to society. Partly why I brought you along on this little inspection, if I’m honest.” “Ah,” the aide said awkwardly. “It’s no matter than it’s not to your taste, or even if you don’t consider it art,” Violet shrugged. “I told you before, every person’s interpretations and tastes are different and valid. I think art would profoundly boring if everyone agreed on what art is. Pordeaux himself was criticized for painting abstractions instead of nature scenes, you know.” “Really?” the aide replied, carefully stepping through the rubble to close the distance between himself and the knight-general. “I didn’t know that.” “It happens more often than you think. Art is like fashion, in a way. Tastes change with the times, and sometimes something that people initially hate becomes the next big style. Personally, though, I think certain kinds of art never go out of style. Nature scenes, for example. Not a lot of people make them anymore, but there are a few who make truly beautiful ones. Have you seen Franleist’s work?” “I’m afraid not, ma’am.” “I’ll show you some next time we’re back at the capital, then. There’s a few galleries in Arturia with some of his work. I’m especially fond of the paintings he does of old pre-godwar ruins. There’s something… nostalgic about them,” Violet mused, staring upwards in thought. “I think I’d like that, ma’am,” the aide nodded, re-evaluating what he initially thought would be an awful assignment, destruction tours notwithstanding. “That said, I think we’ve seen enough here. Let’s head back to the transport, and I’ll file my report." “Yes, ma’am." The two turned, walking back the way they came. Behind them, the survivor’s blood trickled down the rubble and soaked into the ash-covered dirt.