Write a story about two people who run rival bakeries but fall in love during the town's annual holiday festival. Lavender and Molasses “Is it missing something?” I asked. “Tastes great to me,” said Sarah. “No, I can feel it. It is definitely missing something.” I walk over to scan my inventory of spices and flavors. What does it need? Peppermint? No, too predictable. Maybe cinnamon? Cliche. It has to be just right. Only noticeable when it isn’t there. I have got to figure this out. Livy's Confections hasn’t won the Baker’s Cup in three years. I can’t survive another loss. I’m already on a 2nd mortgage. I need a win to put us back on the map and bring in revenue. The phone rings. “You’ll never guess who needs to borrow some Molasses.” Sarah said almost sarcastically. I roll my eyes and make my way to the front desk. “Are you just trying to see what I am up to this year?” I said in a smart aleck tone. “Liv. Can I call you Liv? Or do you prefer Olivia?” Nate questioned. Nate is the owner of Crumbs Bakery downtown, also known as the reigning Baker’s Cup champ for the last three years. It seems like his shop popped up overnight and almost put me out of business. I have spent the last few years perfecting all new recipes and making sure I take home the victory tonight. “So you come to me in a time of weakness?” “Listen, my normal guy Ralph is sold out of Molasses and there isn’t any within a reasonable distance for me to go get. I only use the best.” he said. “So you want my Molasses? Are you saying you trust I purchased a high quality Molasses?” “Liv. I seriously am graveling at this point. I can’t complete my cupcakes without it. I am lining up nicely for my fourth win. Hell, I’ll even make sure to thank you in my speech when I do win.” he chuckled. “You know, for someone that needs something from me, you sure aren’t doing a great job at getting it.” I said. I look at Sarah and shake my head. I can not believe this guy. Needing little ole me to help him. I guess I could say no and make it easier for me to win. But then I hear my father’s voice in my head. This could be my moment to be on top where I belong. It’s not cheating, it’s just not helping my rival. “How about this? My sister’s wedding got called off this weekend. Too bad for her, but great for me because she has given me all of her wedding flowers to use on my cakes. So, if you help me I will give you six dozen pieces of lavender. I have no use for it. Lavender and Molasses don’t go together anyways. So how does that sound?” he asked. “I don’t think that will benefit me, being I don’t specialize in wedding cakes.” I said. “Yeah, but don’t you like lavender? I tried one of your cookies a few months ago and I tasted lavender, I’m certain of it.” he said. That’s it. I lit up like a light bulb. Lavender. I need lavender for my cupcakes. “Wait, you tried my cookies?” I asked. “Alright, don’t get a big head about it. It was my niece's birthday and I didn’t know you did the desserts. But yes, it was actually really delicious.” he said. “Fine, you can have your molasses and I’ll take all the lavender you got.” I said. I told Sarah to hurry over to Nate’s shop and get back quickly. We only had a couple hours to get everything done and set up at the festival. I ran back to the kitchen and started reworking my cupcake recipe to incorporate the lavender. I had so many ideas spinning in my head. I haven’t been this inspired since my dad worked with me. I feel the pep in my step. I feel the fire burning inside of me. I can do this. I can win, I just know it. We make it downtown and it is packed as usual. It is the town's biggest event of the year. Everyone and their brother comes to this festival. The main stars of the show are the sweets provided by all the local bakeries and shops. There are vendors set up everywhere. The air smells so sweet and salty at the same time. The perfect mix in my opinion. “Hey, they are ready for your entry.” Sarah said. I handed her a dozen cupcakes that were definitely made with love. Well that’s it. This competition will determine if I can keep my doors open for another year. As I am pacing back and forth I smell a strong scent of cedar wood and mint. I turn and see Nate standing next to my table. He throws a quick wave and bops his head back to get me to come his way. “I just wanted to thank you again for helping me earlier. We were able to finish our cupcakes and they turned out better than I expected. I think another trophy is calling my name.” he said. God could he be any more arrogant? Nate stands there all confident and cocky, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And I hate to even admit this, but damn is he cute. Stop it. Stop it right now. I can’t think this way about him. I can’t think this way about a guy that shares similar interests as me. A guy that is painfully single like me. A guy that has a smile that could melt all the ice cream in Big John’s ice cream parlor. While he stands there boasting about how great his cupcakes are and how he has to put in more shelves at his shop for the awards he’s accumulated, I can’t help but be in a trance. I’ve never noticed the scar on his lip. Or how his eyes have a little bit of green in them. I was always so busy hating him, or rather envying him and his success. While dazed out and hooked on to all the soft hitting insults from Nate, I forgot that we had a competition to attend. “Liv, it’s time babe.” said Sarah. Nate walks with me to the stage while we wait for them to announce the winners. “So you never told me what you needed the molasses for.” I said. “Ginger Molasses Cupcakes,” he answered. “What did you end up making?” he asked. “Lavender Honey Cupcakes.” I said. “Well now if you win, you will have to add me to your thank you speech,” he said. The main judge makes her way to the mic. My hands are freezing and clammy. I have them squeezed together trying to calm myself down. Winning this award will give me the publicity I need to keep my doors open. As I stand there hanging on to every word the announcer says. Waiting for her to announce the winning bakery. Nate grabs my hand. I turn my head to look at him. “I may or may not have slipped one of your cupcakes before you entered. You got this kid.” he said. I smile and give him the look of relief. In the middle of the trance I was in, Sarah comes over and shakes me. “Livy you won!” she yelled. I stood there in shock. I was so completely smitten by this guy, that I didn’t get to hear the announcer call Livy’s Confections as the Baker’s Cup winner. Nate squeezes my hand and then begins to clap. I make my way to the stage, shaking the hands of many people in the community and taking pictures with the judges and answering questions about my entry. I scan the audience for him. Where’d he go? After getting the trophy I made my way down through the crowd to get to his table, but his staff had already packed up and left. I thank Sarah and the crew for all their help and tell them to get everything back to the shop. “You’re not coming with us?” Sarah asked. “We will celebrate tomorrow.” I said. She gives me the look. The look that she knows my mind has been any and everywhere since Nate showed up tonight. But she cracks a smile of approval and tells me to go. I’ve never been in Crumbs Bakery, but tonight is a night of firsts. The door is locked. Of course it is Liv. I don’t even know why I am here. I see a head pop up from the back. It’s Nate. He greets me at the door. “Come to gloat I see” he said. “Maybe a little.” I said. “All jokes aside, you had the winning cupcake out there. I’m still kicking myself about the lavender.” he laughed. “You know, I’d love to collaborate together on something. Maybe your sister's next wedding?” I ask. Nate laughs, it was genuine and so cute. Where are these feelings coming from? “I am totally on board, as long as we can make lavender and molasses work,” he said. “I think we can make anything work.” I said. “Can you make Saturday night at Big John’s work?” “Ice cream for dinner?” I ask. “Dessert always comes first,” he said. There I was. Standing in another trance. It felt like we were in a movie or a romance novel. The reader, waiting for the big first kiss. Who will make the first move? “What was in those cupcakes by the way?” he asked. As I start naming off the ingredients he slowly walks towards me. Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Butter. Honey. “and lavender?” he asked. He is standing right in front of me. Our movements are in sync and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. Nate pulls my face towards his. There’s that little speck of green in his eyes again. If he wasn’t holding me, my legs would give out. Apparently weak in the knees is a real thing. His lips meet mine. The sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted. I guess lavender and molasses do go together after all.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Image: ** - **Bonus Constraint: A character overcomes a fear.** This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. **Remember, you do not have to use the entire image.** You can use any part you like (i.e., the title, theme, subject, setting, etc.). The bonus constraint is not required. **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **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 some feedback on the thread.** 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.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live 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!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Third:** - Submitted by u/nobodysgeese - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/TheLettre7 - **Crit Star:** - u/Prof_Bloodsoe - **Crit Star:** - u/TheLettre7 - **Crit Star:** - u/katherine_c *Note: Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit on r/WPCritique, but in order to receive Crit Credits, you must have made at least 1 post on that subreddit or have linked your accounts on our Discord.* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


I wrote this because my in-law's dog is getting older and I was feeling a little sad about it. Let me know what you all think.    I am new. My eyes will not open. It feels warm as mama covers me. Her fur feels like a warm Blanket. That’s how I’ll remember it when I learn what a Blanket is. I *think* I am a good boy. My brothers and sisters are packed in tight around me. They smell like home. They feel a lot like mama. They are making noises. Its loud. I soon realize that I’m making the same noises. Something in me aches. It ends up being my tummy. Oh, I was hungry. Thanks mama. Time passes. I struggle and struggle. Eventually, my eyes *do* open. What a remarkable world! Mama is the most beautiful thing in it. I meet Blanket for the first time. It’s warm, just like mama. One day, a tall and beautiful creature enters. It towers over even mama! It doesn’t have fur all over its body. Instead, it just has fur on its head. Its head fur is really long. It stands on two legs instead of laying or sitting on all four. It’s silly. The tall and beautiful creature comes to me. It speaks in words that I cannot understand. I am taken from mama. I’m sad. Blanket comes with me though, so I know I’ll be okay. I say goodbye to my brothers and sisters as we leave the only room I’ve ever been in. I find out that the tall creature is my new mama. She’s pretty, but different from mama. She rubs my ears and though I do not understand her words, I know she is telling me that I am a good boy. I like this. I meet my new mama’s children. They are adorable. They’re bigger than me, but they somehow feel smaller. Instinctively, I know that I will protect them. They are my new brothers and sisters. As time passes, I grow quickly. Before too long, new mama must hold me with two hands. It still feels good when she strokes my nose. My new brothers and sisters haven’t quite figured out how to pet me like mama does. I am a good boy. New mama and my new brothers and sisters put down hard blankets. For some reason, they become angry when I need to relieve myself even though they do it all the time in the house. They even have this big magic water drinking bowl. No sharing with me though. They call me “Jake.” That must be my name. I am a good boy. New mama slowly becomes just mama. I still have Blanket. Old mama is still the most beautiful thing in the world, but I don’t remember exactly what she looked like. Sometimes, when I smell Blanket, I remember a little bit better. I find out about ALL the wonderful things in the world like “treat,” “fetch,” and “walk.” I love them. I also figure out that mama and my siblings won’t be as mad if I relieve myself outside. I want them to be happy. When I need to go, I just give them a shout. They don’t understand my words because they still don’t speak my language. They’re silly. It seems that they get the point, because they start to let me out when I ask. Time passes again. I’m fully grown and so energetic. I thought I would be a lot bigger, but mama can still pick me up. She takes me to another place where I get stuck with needles. It’s awful. She makes me go back sometimes for some reason. I can never tell if we are about to go on an adventure or go back to the needle man. I get more and more walks. Lots of petting too. I love my home. I lay quietly in my snug little bed next to Blanket. A new adversary has appeared. She is white and fluffy. Looks like a treat to me. When I start to treat the new adversary like a treat, mama scolds me. She spanks me for the first time. I didn’t even do anything. I guess I have to be nice to fluffball. The adversary and I vie for mama’s attentions. It turns out that mama has enough attention for both of us. The adversary grows larger. I find out that her name is Princess. We become friends of necessity. She tries to sit on Blanket. We are not friends that day. She never quite reaches my size, but her place in my heart continues to grow. I’m not so young anymore. I still get excited to go on a walk, but it doesn’t excite me like it once did. My siblings are so big now, almost as large as mama. They are my home. Some of them are nearly as good at fetch as mama. The youngest boy is always a good begging target. All it takes a single whine and he drops at least something. It is a beautiful summer day. I can tell that its summer because it feels nice and warm. I get to go outside without having to ask twice. Summer is my favorite time of year. Sometimes it does get a little warm though. My siblings occasionally give me the honor of laying in their laps. It’s harder to keep up with mama than it used to be. My siblings begin to leave. Over time they return, sometimes with partners. I have never had a partner. Sometimes, this makes me sad, but mostly, I am happy. I’ve had mama. She’s never changed. The years have passed, but mama is the same. She is my fondest protector and the one who I also protect. I don’t move so well anymore. My days of fetch are behind me. Still, I have my companions, Blanket and Princess. At times, it’s like they’ve always been with me. On occasion, I walk into a wall. Mama always has a concerned expression on her face when this happens. We visit the needle man more often now, but curiously, he has almost become a companion in his own right. An especially beautiful and sunny day comes and goes. Today was not such a good day. I re-live days as a pup when I did not know what to say to get to go outside. It means that sometimes, I must relieve myself inside the house. Shame. Mama never scolds me for this anymore. I remember when I could not open my eyes. Now, the other side of aging closes them. I look into mama’s beautiful face one final time. Old mama is a faint memory now. I sit, cuddled with Blanket. Princess nudges me, letting out a purr. I wish my siblings were here, but all is well. As I let out my final breath, I know one thing for sure: I was a good boy.


Deputy U.S. Marshal Roger Kelly’s chair creaked as he tipped the glass to his lips. The dark liquor inside left a trail of fire down his throat before it took up home in his belly, spreading its now dull warmth up through his chest and arms. He lowered the glass back to the table, placing it gently without a sound. Across from him, the man who called himself Aquila banged his own upturned glass down on the scarred wood surface with a thunk. “Don’t drink bourbon, Marshal?” he asked without a smile. “Only with friends,” answered Kelly. “Well, shit, I should be honored then.” Aquila brought two fat fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. The barkeep, a timid little shrew of a man with a curled mustache and balding pate, scurried over to their table. “Bring us the fucking bottle,” said Aquila, tossing the words out as if they were coins for payment. He brought a rolled cigarillo to his mouth, puffed deeply from it and exhaled a plume of thick smoke which drifted about the flat brim of his hat in a gray cloud. “Me and my new friend here are gonna have us a few drinks and chat.” The barkeep nodded urgently and rushed off. Kelly shifted in his chair. It creaked. His leg was tight. They weren’t the only ones in the saloon. Aquila — whose real name was Francisco Antony Sangino, Kelly knew — never traveled alone. A rabble of similarly grim figures surrounded him, dressed in leathers and cloth stained two shades darker by hard wear and long days lived off the land. A glance alone told of the violence these men were capable of, but Kelly didn’t work on mere appearances. He had seen the resultancies of their line of work firsthand. The Praetor Gang, they were called, a self-fashioned moniker undoubtedly cooked up by Aquila himself. It was a tad too bookread, in Kelly’s opinion, but he supposed in some way or another that actually made him respect the man sitting across from him a bit more. At least he knew history. History, though, had a tendency to bend towards the brutal and Aquila and his Praetor Gang meant to carry on that black tradition. They had crisscrossed the New Mexico and Utah territories, setting down on towns like a bloated, darkening cloud. They were robbers, bandits who took what they thought theirs and woe to those who stood in their path, but where other gangs were motivated by those baser human instincts of greed or even pride — understandable, in a way, if not to be condemned all the same — the Praetor Gang had a wholly distinct engine which powered it: Justice. Or so they called it. Those that stood before Aquila likely disagreed, Kelly would bet. For the Praetor gang, justice was meted out with a particularly heavy hand. Where other towns were left stained by gunfights or knifings or swinging pairs of boots from the local gallows when a gang passed by, the Praetor Gang’s work had its own unmistakable trademark. They were crucifiers. The barkeep returned to their table and placed a tinted bottle of brown liquor upon it with shaking hands. Aquila showed him no acknowledgement. He only took the bottle up in one of those large hands of his and poured, eyes never leaving Kelly’s face. When both glasses were filled, he set the bottle down and took one up, lifting it toward Kelly. “Salute,” said Aquila, still unsmiling. Kelly thumbed his own glass. Never a big drinker, even in his younger days, he could already feel the effects of the first shot. “You know, I’m a bit embarrassed here,” he said. “I generally speak more clearly. I suppose the badge,” Kelly shifted his coat, revealing the silver star pinned to his chest, “lent a bit of an authoritative candor to my speech, but over the years that may have dulled somewhat. My apologies. Let me be a bit less ambiguous.” Kelly leaned forward, chair creaking angrily. “I ain’t your fucking friend and I ain’t here to drink.” There was a bit of rustling from Aquila’s men, but the big man who sat across from Kelly remained nonplussed. He downed the liquor in his hand then brought the glass down hard on the table. He then reached across to grab Kelly’s glass. “Well, I suppose I know why you’re here, Marshal,” said Aquila as he threw back another shot. “And I suppose you know who I am and what that means for you.” He shifted his own coat. Kelly saw the glinting handle of a revolver there on the man’s hip. “I know who you *think* you are.” Kelly showed his own hip and the Colt resting there. A cramp ran up his thigh. He wished he was a few years younger. “Some righteous, vengeful arm of the Lord reaching out over the West. You think what you do lines up with divinity?” “I think there’s a rot that’s setting in across this land and we’re cutting it away. In a sense, Marshal, I think we’re doing your job for you. Doesn’t that fancy star of yours give you the right to bring outlaws to justice?” “Yes, sir, it does.” “Then why am I out here finding vipers under every rock I upturn?” Aquila scooped up the bottle once more, eschewing the glass this time and taking a long pull directly from its mouth. “You look like you’ve been at it for some time, Marshal. How many outlaws have you laid low? Because we’ve cleansed town after town of wickedness, both on that side of the Rockies and this one.” “And left a trail of corpses nailed to crosses behind you. I wouldn’t personally refer to that as ‘cleanly.’” One of Aquila’s men stirred. “I suppose hanging men is an act of clemency?” he blurted. He was a tall man, broad as a bull, too, with blond curls spilling out from beneath his hat. He stepped toward Kelly, full of menace, but a simple raised hand from Aquila halted him. “You’ve caught us at the end of a long stretch of riding, Marshal,” said Aquila. “And tempers can run hot when eyes grow heavy.” He took another pull from the bottle and then wiped a palm across his beard. “I have no outright quarrel with you, personally, recent rudeness aside. But, as I see it, this conversation ain’t going down any roads pleasanter than the one it’s on now. So, that being the make of this situation, I suppose there’s only a few options afforded us. “One, you use your authority to officially deputize us as members of the U.S. Marshal Service and allow us to carry on our work with the full weight of our benevolent federal government behind us.” Aquila’s men laughed heartily, squaring their shoulders and preening about as they pinched at invisible stars on their chest, doffing a hat to one another with smug, mocking faces. Aquila raised his hand again and they quickly fell silent. “Two, you apologize and extend a formal note of gratitude as a federal Deputy U.S. Marshal and lawman to myself and my men for doing so much of your work for you.” Now Kelly laughed. “Three,” Aquila continued, ignoring him, “you lay that star of yours down, walk right out of here and avoid even the smell of me coming down the road for the rest of your life.” Kelly dropped his smile. His leg ached intensely. Aquila brought both his arms onto the table between them. They looked like cords of wood, thick and heavy. He lowered his voice to a whisper. The saloon was quiet enough to hear a mouse’s sneeze. Aquila’s rasping voice filled the dusty air. “Or, of course, there’s the obvious. I shoot you dead and take that pretty star of yours for myself.” Their faces were close. Kelly’s wrinkled and tired, whiskers white as snow; Aquila’s streaked with grime under a beard of jet coal. The men looked on, unmoving, as the two squared off. Behind the bar, the little mousy man with the curved mustache trembled. “Can’t say I’m eager to oblige you on any of those proposals,” said Kelly. He did not whisper. “Though I must say I’m a bit surprised you didn’t offer to nail me to a cross. That being your wont and all.” For the first time since he sat down, Kelly saw Aquila blink. “You may be a salty son of a bitch, but you ain’t done nothing worthy of crucifixion,” said Aquila. “No, a bullet will do just fine.” He skirted his coat farther back behind his waist. The revolver lay bare in its holster. Kelly followed suit. His leg had begun to shake. He tried not to let the tension show in his jaw. The two men sat, inches apart, eyes trained on one another’s. All else was quiet. Kelly spoke. “I have a proposal of my own.” Aquila’s brow wrinkled a fraction of an inch. Kelly took that as openness. “Loathe as I am to admit this, I’m not quite the draw I used to be.” “Your days of tracking down outlaws should have ended awhile back then, Marshal." “Maybe, but I ain’t finished.” Kelly moved his hand up, slower than slow, from his side. Aquila watched him with eyes like chips of flint. “I may not be as quick as I once was, but I’m quick enough still when I need to be. You’re a younger man than me, though, and your draw is likely mighty quick.” Aquila nodded as his men chuckled behind him. “Right, then I propose the following on the grounds of equity: We place a single pistol here between us. Each of us place our hands, palms down, atop the table. My hands are still quick enough for that, I think. What do you say?” What could have been a smile danced under the dark forest that was Aquila’s beard. “I say you’re a crafty old bastard.” The men laughed again. “But I also say yes.” Quick as lightning, Aquila unholstered his revolver. The smile was undeniable now as he saw Kelly’s eyes grow wide at the speed of his motion. He placed his revolver down between them and then spread his hands wide across the tabletop. Kelly brought up his own hands and did the same. His leg was trembling something awful, convulsing and jittering. A knot like a tree stump had burrowed itself into his thigh, but he paid it no mind. He saw only Aquila’s hardened face before him. The air left the room. A graveyard’s stillness descended. Neither man moved. A finger twitched. A flash of movement across the table. Kelly kicked out his cramped leg, shifting all of his weight to the side. The chair screamed beneath him, splintering like he knew it would, spilling him to the floor. A gunshot cracked, shattering the stillness. Smoke filled the empty space. Kelly hit the ground, hard, but his hand was still quick enough, indeed. It found the familiar curves of his Colt, freed it, fired. A spray of blood exploded into the air. Before Aquila toppled from his chair, Kelly had gotten off two more shots. One buried itself in the chest of the blond man, the other passing through the neck of another of Aquila’s cronies. Kelly rolled onto his back in time to see another man reaching for his belt. His Colt blared again, erasing the man’s face in a red mist. The rest of the men stood shockstill. “Make a move and I will put you down,” Kelly called out. His leg was numb from holding up his weight, but he got it beneath him all the same. “Now,” he said, standing, “I know you know at least a bit of history to be riding with a man who names himself and his posse after Roman legions, but I’m gonna test you now on biology. What happens to a snake when its head’s chopped off?” The assorted men looked at him queerly, unsure. The metallic smell of blood hung on the air. “I’ll tell you what happens,” Kelly answered for them. “The body twitches and moves for a while, as if it’s still alive.” He hardened his voice. “But it ain’t. It’s dead.” Kelly swept his arm out over the floor of the saloon, which was strewn with the bodies of Aquila and a trio of his men, leaking their lifeblood into the floorboards. “The Praetor Gang ain’t got no head, so as far as the U.S. Marshal Service is now concerned on the matter, it’s dead. If it sprouts a new head, well,” he clicked the hammer on his Colt. “I’ll chop that one off, too. We understand each other, gentlemen?” Heads nodded. “Alright,” said Kelly as he fell bodily back onto the chair that Francisco Antony “Aquila” Sangino had sat, numb leg now regaining a bit of its old sensation. “I suppose I will take another drink then, after all.


“We’re live in 2 minutes”, said the voice in my earpiece. The restroom cabin door opened and an employee wearing a tight wetsuit came out. “Good morning”, I said, washing my hands. He ignored me. As he walked to the door, a small piece of paper dropped from his backpack. It read *Tank 3, Good luck.* What the hell. “We go live in 20 seconds”, the voice said as I rushed back to my station. They turned the broadcast tv on. “Good morning everyone!”, my colleague said through the screen, “I’m Alice and today we are live at the National Aquarium, where our anchor Peter will talk to the President. Pete, tell us how’s it going over there.” “Good morning, Alice!” I said, “this will be the President’s first public appearance after last month’s assassination attempt. We’ll not be allowed to speak to him in person, only through the—” “Sorry Pete” Alice interrupted, “the president has just arrived. Let's take a look”. The place looked like an arena. There was a raised platform in the center and three big water tanks surrounding it. Employees in wetsuits were standing on the platform feeding the animals. Four secret service agents scan the crowd for threats as the president walks behind with a woman— probably the host. All the action could be seen in real time from the big screen hanging in the center of the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen” she says, “the president of the United States of America!” The arena vibrates with energy. Chills ran down my spine as I saw the man from the restroom on the platform. That wetsuit is definitely not his size. “Mr. President” she said, “let me introduce you to our little pets. In Tank 1 we got the orcas...” The man seemed lost, out of sync with the others. “…in Tank 2, the adorable dolphins...”, she continued. He could be a newbie, still learning the job. But what about the the paper? *Tank 3, good luck?* “…in Tank 3, the most loved and feared of them all—the great white sharks! Don’t you get too close to that edge Mr. president!”, she said, chuckling. No. “Now, joining us on the screen” she said, “please welcome Mr. Peter Sierra from the Daily Bulletin. Hi Peter, can you hear me?” A drop of sweat fell from my forehead onto the microphone, making a loud thud. “Mr. President, it's an honor to…”, The words vanished as I saw the man from the restroom put his fish bucket down and turn to president. The agents were still scanning the crowd. “Are you alright Peter?”, the president asked. The man started walking towards him. “We may be experiencing some technical issues…” the host said. The man was running. His arms stretched forward. Oh my— “Mr. president, GET DOWN NOW!”, I shouted as fast I could. The crowd gasped so loud I could not hear the sound of the body hitting the water. In a heartbeat, a massive shark’s jaw emerged, sank its teeth on the body and disappeared underwater, leaving only a trace of dark, red blood. “You just saved the president’s life” said the voice in my earpiece.


In the darkest tunnel beneath the enormous facility wandered a light-headed woman. She did not remember where she was, who she was, nor why sand how she had gotten there. Her only hint was the ripped lab coat she was wearing, which had the capital letters “BCRI” engraved on it and then a hole beneath it, as if it had been half cut and half ripped out. She went to clear the sweat from her forehead with her hand, and there, she noticed that her forehead was bleeding. “What happened to me?” she asked the empty darkness that engulfed her. She then continued to walk around, holding on to the wall for balance and trying to overcome the fatigue, the hunger, the thirst and the urge to give up. The farther she went, the more she thought that she would die without knowing who she was in a dark, mysterious passageway. And then, just as she was giving up hope, she saw it: A door left ajar with light coming from inside the room. She hurried inside and dragged herself onto the chair that was in front of a computer screen. A half-eaten sandwich and a cup of water had been abandoned at the side of the desk, and she made quick work of eating and drinking them as fast as she could. She did not know when the last time she had eaten was, but one thing was for sure, it had not been recently. After she was done with her meal, she then looked at the computer monitors in front of her, which showed a background with the same letters on the lab coat, “BCRI”. She then looked up on the search engine these letters, trying to understand what they meant. As soon as she clicked enter, most of the first results were news broadcasts, others were articles, but they all had something in common - they all blamed the BioChemical Research Institute for the widespread toxic chemicals that had spread to most of the planet in their cheap and supposedly revolutionary fertilizer. An article by an acclaimed journalist mentioned in part, “Most of the affected become sick, and with the appropriate medications could be saved. If the medications are not available, then they will suffer in great pain until their life drains away. In a few select cases, the people exposed are not harmed and are asymptomatic. On the other side of that coin, although rare, some have been killed for even the smallest exposure. As unfortunate as this may be, the head of the BCRI Dr.Larenson, the person that is to blame for all this, has not been found. She personally created the fertilizer that was to save the world, as she many times claimed. Instead, she destroyed it.” At this point, the woman understood that she was in a place connected to all these horrific events. As disturbing as that was, she wanted to know more about this terrible doctor that had bought so much pain to so many. She simply searched the following: “Dr.Larinson BCRI”. The first search result was a picture from a scientific conference that had taken place less than a year before. The doctor was clearly labeled in it, and when the woman saw it, she remembered. She remembered every project, every idea, her dream of saving the world, and how her pride destroyed it all. As she screamed and sobbed, she wished she’d given up in the dark hallway, where she innocently walked as an empty slate.


#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. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be 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 With NanoWriMo in full swing, I am curious about your writing goals and what you hope to accomplish as a writer. So let’s chat about that a bit. - **What are your goals as a writer?** - **Everyone has a different idea of what success looks like. So, what things do you hope to accomplish and what does success look like to you? Is it traditional or self-publishing? Gaining an online following? Getting accepted into magazines? Something else?** - New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? **Introduce yourself in the comments!** What do you like to write? You can check out previous Roundtable discussions on our ! *** #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.


The sound of shelling and gunfire rings throughout the trench. Soldiers scream for their lives as they suffer the wrath of man’s cruelest creations. Uniform and language blur into one as the war machine rages. In the chaos of the inferno, one’s identity becomes second only to their innate instinct to survive, and in the hellish landscape of battle, it is kill, or be killed. Thick black smoke bellows through the narrow corridors of the trench, as flames engulf all that they touch. Thick splatters of blood paint the walls of the trench, and the squelch of wet mud tangled with the distorted remains of mangled corpses can be heard underfoot. The resulting cacophony of sound is both deafening and blinding. Disoriented men stumble through the smoke and mud, thickened further by the blood of our fallen comrades. The finest, most stoic of us are reduced to the likes of children as we call for our mothers, cowering from the onslaught that we find ourselves entwined with. Injured men crawl and flail, helplessly grabbing the ankles of those still standing, hoping for some form of divine intervention. However, their fate is now in God’s hands, as they are left for dead in the cold, wet trench, some even drowning, as the unforgiving, relentless sludge fills their lungs, it's hardly the ‘glory of battle’ we were promised when joining. The smell of smoke, decay, disease, and filth fill my nose, as the metallic taste of my own blood, and the earthy, gritty taste of dirt fill my mouth. It is almost impossible to breathe, as the air becomes hot and thick with toxic smoke, and the exploding bombs knock the wind out of my chest, like a cruel beating drum. A repetitive cycle. Boom. Boom. Boom. The order for a retreat is shouted down the line. As men turn and run from the slaughter, the horrific choir of weaponry continues to play as the order is relayed. Many men fail to hear the orders over the ear-piercing sound. If they are not deaf, they are in no conscious state of mind to comprehend the order, frozen and shocked by the horrors in front of them. Human beings were not designed for this level of bloodshed. As the retreating men fall like dominoes, cut down by relentless machine guns, a low yet powerful tremor can be felt throughout the battlefield. Through the smoke emerges 5 beastly machines, monotonous in their tone, relentless in their advance. Unphased by traditional deterrents such as barbed wire or entrenchments, they continue their march, mercilessly rolling over injured men, burying them deep into the all-consuming dirt. Our men, no, our boys, could not have possibly imagined such devices, used to inflict such cruelty. As we watch our friends be desecrated without remorse by the ever-advancing enemy, we are helpless in our resolve. Many men accept that these are their last moments on Earth. They say goodbye to their families and pray that God watches over them in their absence. They make peace with themselves, accepting their fate before they are brutally gunned down in cold blood, for this is no place for remorse, prayer, or reflection. The front is a barren, godless wasteland, for if God were real, surely he would not allow such cruelty. There is no humanity here. As the trench is overrun by an insurmountable enemy, I take one last look at the sky. A small sliver of the delicate, blue, French sky is visible through the mat of grey and black clouds separating us from the rest of the world as if we were within some form of hellish, twisted arena. The sky reminds me of home, where I would seldom admire its beauty, however now, more than anything, I wish I could be back on home soil doing nothing but exactly that. I look at my hands, covered in thick, black dirt, and blood of unknown origin. Is it my own? Or that of the enemy… Perhaps my comrades? I am not sure, nor will I ever know. It’s amazing how intimate killing can be, yet ever so distant at the same time, never truly knowing your enemy. You see a uniform, and you kill the wearer, as if you were some primal hunter praying on another animal outside of your pack. None of that matters now though. I stand still, waiting to return to the land from whence I came.   **2 September, 1939** It has been 21 years since The Great War ended now, yet the memory still lingers in my mind like an ailment, unshakable, relentless in its persistence, almost as if it were the enemy itself. As I bathe, I watch the water drain, finding myself lost in the trickling sound. I see flashes of memory before my very eyes, memories of my friends bleeding and flailing like wounded animals, eerily reminiscent of the trickling I hear before me now. Whilst I am forced to endure the psychological torment of my own mind, I see the water draining start to become filth ridden, resembling the same drab brown colour of water within a flooded trench. I look at my hands, covered in thick, black dirt, as well as viscous crimson blood. As a wave of helplessness washes over me and I am reverted to my primal fears, I scrub harder than ever before. I want to be rid of the dirt.


Jennifer sat bewildered by what she was looking at; there was a golden orb laying neatly on the brown and yellow leaves that covered the wet forest floor. She hardly noticed that her running pants were soaking through and she'd completely forgotten about the sharp pain in her ankle that brought her to her seat. It looked, magical. Well, not magical, obviously. She wasn't one to believe in all that mystic nonsense. Still, there was something very peculiar, alluring, even magnetic about this... thing. "You alright?" a man asked from behind but, Jennifer barely moved. "Take a look at this, Mark." she said. "Alright, what are we looking at?" Mark asked as he sat down next to his wife. Jennifer motioned to the orb. Mark looked at her and smiled "The leaves, babe? They're beautiful but, are they worth soaking pants?" She turned her head and looked at him in disbelief. "No. The orb, right-" As Jennifer turned back to look at the orb it was gone. "I swear..." she faded off. "You OK?" Mark asked. "Yeah, sorry. It must have been the light or something." Jennifer stood and winced, remembering why she'd fallen to the ground in the first place. "I'd like to amend my previous statement, I think I sprained it again." Jennifer let out a groan. "You want front seat or back seat?" Mark smiled at his wife. Jennifer jumped onto her husbands back and kissed his head before lightly tapping her heel into his thigh "Giddy up, good steed!" she playfully commanded. "Hey, this bronco will buck you right off" Mark said in his best serious voice. "Less talky, more walky" Jennifer leaned her head down and whispered "please..." and off they went. By the time they reached the trail parking lot, Jennifer's ankle had began to resemble a grapefruit. Mark helped her into the backseat. "Walk-in or wait?" He asked as he grabbed her a blanket from the trunk. Jennifer let out a sigh "Wait. They'll just tell me to R.I.C.E it. Besides, I'm exhausted. I just want to go home." "You're exhausted? Well ain't that a bitch." Mark joked. Jennifer smiled. "I know. At least you'll get the radio to yourself." she offered. Mark smiled back. "Sounds good, babe. Get some rest." Mark began the drive home as Jennifer drifted off to sleep. She suddenly found herself in a vast emptiness. There was blackness as far as the eye could see except this small, rapidly growing golden light. Jennifer began to panic as the golden speck quickly grew into the golden orb and then into something much larger. She tried to scream but nothing came out. She tried to run but her body was stuck in place. The orb came to a stop mere inches from her face. It was now hundreds if not thousands of feet in diameter and had a heat emanating from its surface that nearly burned her skin. "Babe. Come on. I need a little help." Mark said as he shook her awake. Jennifer opened her eyes to see they were home. "I had the craziest dream" she mumbled and climbed out of the car, into her husband's arms. "It was about that orb from the forest" she continued, half asleep. "I have no idea what you're saying, love." He carried her inside and laid her down in bed. He grabbed a few pillows to elevate her foot. "You really are tired, huh?" he asked with genuine surprise. Jennifer raised her arm and motioned him over. "Thank you for carrying me, my stallion." and gave him a kiss before collapsing back onto the pillow. Mark smiled and went to the kitchen to make some food. As soon as she fell asleep, she was back in front of the orb. It felt like and eternity as the orb slowly closed the gap between itself and her face then, it touched her. Jennifer shot out of bed and jumped right onto her feet before promptly collapsing onto the floor in a squeal of pain. Mark jumped out of bed. "Are you OK? What are you doing?" he asked, hurrying over to his wife. "I... what time is it?" she was panting and out of breath as her eyes searched for the clock. "Uh, it's two in the morning, babe." Mark could see the panic in his wife's face and held her for a moment. "It's ok. You're here. We're here. Just breathe." Jennifer took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted. "Yeah. Sorry. I had a bad dream and must've forgotten about my ankle. Consider me reminded." she turned and kissed her husband. "Thank you. Will you help me..." Mark picked her up and put her back in bed. Before he'd walked over to his side she'd fallen back to sleep. There was no longer a void in front of her, there was only the golden orb. It covered her eyes, she could feel its heat over the whole of her body. She tried to move and could but, it was everywhere. She couldn't escape the gold nor its heat. "Babe. Babe." she opened her eyes to see her husbands smiling face. "If you don't get up, you're going to be late for work." he said. "I made you breakfast." Jennifer rolled over and looked at the clock. "No!" she nearly yelled. She'd overslept by almost an hour. She sat up before collapsing back down. "I am... sick day" she barely managed before dropping back into sleep. She could feel the orb coursing through her veins. Suddenly, a booming voice echoed in her mind. There were no words but she understood the meaning. "Jennifer! Are you ok? Hellooooo? Jennifer?" she shook her head and was saw her manager staring back at her from the laptop screen. "Uh, sorry. What was the question?" Jennifer stuttered. She was trying to make sense of how she'd gotten to her desk and why she was on a call with work. "Your project. The board wants a presentation Friday. I'm sure they'll have lots of questions but, my only one is are you excited? I guess your speechlessness is evidence enough." "Yes. Yes! Thank you, Marge. Uh. I am thrilled. But, do you think you could email me the specifics of the meeting? I just have to run." Jennifer said, still a little shaken. "Of course. Congrats again and let me know if you want to do a dry run or two." Marge offered. "Thank you so much. I will. Bye." Jennifer shut the laptop and tried to recall the last fifteen minutes but drew a blank. "Want a sandwich?" "Jesus!" Jennifer shouted, startled by Mark's presence. Mark chuckled. "Congrats! Seriously. I knew your hard work would pay off." he walked behind her and gave her a long embrace. "You're going to kill it. Want to celebrate now or after?" Jennifer was still trying to get her bearings "Um. Sandwich would be lovely. And a glass of ice-water, please. And always after. You know this. There is too much to do between now and then." She closed her eyes for a moment to think. ... tbc edit: tbc if you all like it. I don't write much but love a good story. Seeing if I can make one so, feedback appreciated.


The air was getting stale, harder to breathe. The main engines of the ship had shut down. Propelled through the vast unknown of by a storm of sorts. Sylvia didn’t quite understand how it happened, some mystery of deep space. Thirty days, and another twenty or so since departing the little spaceport she had called home for the past few years, Sylvia found herself sitting in the pilot seat of the sleek cockpit. She would stare at the displays, hoping something would jump out at her, but nothing ever did. The dim lights hummed gently, and the small amount of recycled air being pushed through the vents echoed throughout the ships tiny metal passageways and down into the cargo bay below. It was enough to drive a person insane over time, that and the intermittent beeping of the distress signal on the ship’s dashboard. Illuminating the various switches and controls every five seconds with its bright red light. Every five seconds. Every five goddamn seconds for the past thirty days. The heating systems were the first thing to go after the engines. She noticed this a few days ago and started wearing a cot blanket over her pilot’s overalls like a cape. Combat boots became a necessity to stop her feet from sticking to cold grated metal flooring. Sylvia’s head was feeling it the most, shaven so that the metal implants on her crown and forehead could interact with her helmet and help with tactical manoeuvrability in combat. A common practice for naval space pilots.   *“Is this ship going to be my tomb? Am I going to be rescued? Maybe there will be another ship out here, drifting like me…”* These thoughts seemed to be the only things that kept her going some days, they helped keep her mind active, even if some of them sent her into an anxious panic. With little oxygen left, the power reserves sounded like they were about to die at any moment. She prepped her space suit in the cargo bay, making sure everything was connected and ready to wear when the engine finally stopped, and the oxygen tanks ran dry.   Sylvia was lightheaded. Her heart was pounding. Fast. Faster than she had ever felt it beat before, like it was coming out of her chest, but something was constricting it at the same time. The amount of combat she had seen and still her heart hadn’t beat this fast before now. Her eyes were swelling with tears and her knees buckled under her weight. She fell to the ground and into the foetal position. The cold metal floor against her face. The thought of dying in space, the thought of never seeing her parents or her little cat again daunted on her. Like her future had already been set. She lay on that floor for hours, to the point that the panic subsided, and she felt calm about the situation. Letting her thoughts drift away from her inevitable doom. Eyes, heavy from exhaustion, she drifted into a deep sleep. Making sure to rest her head on the blanket to avoid becoming one with the floor. She wanted to get up and lay in her cot, but her body wouldn’t move. It was still recovering from the shock.   A slow thumping sound stirred Sylvia from her slumber. THUMP…THUMP…THUMP… Disorientated, she looked around and tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. It was nearly impossible with the echoing sounds of the reserve engine overclocking. Chugging away as it kept the last of the support systems online for a little while longer. She donned the fluoro orange space suit and screwed on the white helmet. Double checking that everything was intact and sealed, she made her way back up the ladder chute to the flight deck. The red light on the dash was solid, illuminating the room with its glow. She froze. This meant only one thing…contact. With whom or what she did not know but the thumping sound increased in pace, almost in tune with the thumping of Sylvia’s heart.   She kept what little she brought with her before departing in a small quarter behind the cockpit. Tearing open the locker at the foot of her cot and discarding the top layer of clothes, she found the energy pistol that was tucked away under the belongings. One magazine, that’s all she brought with her. Sylvia never intended to use it, it was a precautionary measure. “Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it,” her drill sergeant would say to her in basic training. Sylvia quickly checked over the gun, making sure the barrel was clear and the magazine slipped in with ease. It had a nice weight to it considering how bulky it was in her small hands. The first time she used one the recoil almost sent her off her feet, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.   Flicking a switch on the main console, the shutter of the cockpit window ground open. The first time she had looked out into space for a few weeks, it would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the bloodied space suit thumping on the window. The visor cracked, the same fluoro orange of her own suit. *“Is this another pilot?”* Sylvia thought to herself. It took her a few minutes to get through the airlock, being cautious and closing the inner cargo bay door before opening the large, vaulted door that led to the outside. To the void of space. Attaching a wire from her belt to the ship, she made her way around the tiny vessel. Trying not to lose her grip on the railings, remembering a few weeks ago when she did exactly that and almost threw up in her suit. Heart still pounding, she didn’t want to be out here too long. The mysterious space suit was in sight. She grabbed another wire from her belt and attached it to the other suit, being careful not to push it off the ship. Getting the suit around to the airlock was no problem, it floated with ease. Once she was inside the ship it was a different story. The deadweight, a body was inside of it. Sylvia dragged them through the airlock and propped them up against the wall next to the ladder. The inside of the visor was covered in blood, making it hard to see who, or what, was inside. She unholstered the energy pistol from her hip and cautiously proceeded to nudge the suit with her foot whilst pointing the pistol at its seemingly lifeless form. No movement. Not even a slight reaction from it. Sylvia holstered her pistol and started to unscrew the helmet from the suit. It was the same as her own, bit worn and bloodied but the little details were all the same. Her heartbeat got faster, she was trying not to breath too heavily, trying to preserve the oxygen in her own suit. The helmet finally came undone. She slowly pulled it off. The human face underneath was familiar… it was her own.   Their nose broken; the doppelgangers face was covered in dry blood. Sylvia was frozen in place, helmet still clutched in her hands. Was she dreaming, was this some warped reality caused by the past month of loneliness? The doppelganger opened their eyes opened, an ocean blue, just like Sylvia’s. She was expecting them to be black, like some sort of creature from the depths of the warp. The doppelganger was calm, unlike Sylvia, as if they knew exactly what was happening. The doppelgangers mouth opened, but it took a moment for the words to form, as if being in space had frozen the ligaments in their throat. “Hello.” Sylvia was visibly shaking; she couldn’t control it. Not being able to grasp the fact that the voice she was hearing was her own, that the person in that fluorescent suit was indeed herself. *“I must be dreaming.”* Before Sylvia could respond the doppelganger leapt up, foaming at the mouth, blood spurting from in-between their teeth. The doppelganger tackled Sylvia to the ground, grabbing the helmet from her and smashing it into Sylvia’s. It took a few hits to make a dent in the thick plastic visor. Sylvia reached for her pistol, as she drew it the doppelganger slammed down on her hand if they knew exactly what Sylvia’s next move would be. Sylvia dropped the gun, the pure shock of her hand hitting the ground loosened the grip. A swift jab in her ribs and Sylvia momentarily lost her breath. The doppelganger got to their feet and picked up the energy pistol. Sylvia noticed a tear in its suit, as if an energy bolt had grazed it. *“How did this thing last out there with a hole in its suit?”* “This was you,” the doppelganger aggressively shouted, pointing the gun at the torn suit. “You did this to me, and I don’t know why, but now I understand. This time,” they pointed the pistol at Sylvia, “I… won’t… mi—” In a moment of pure instinct Sylvia hurled the doppelganger’s helmet at them, knocking them off balance. The pistol let out a squeal and an energy bolt pierced the air, tearing a hole in Sylvia’s suit, scorching the metal floor beside her. She jumped up and ran to the airlock control, smashing open the emergency release lever and slamming it down with all her might. A sinister laugh came from behind. The doppelganger had affixed themselves to the ladder with the wires from the spacesuits belt. “Goodbye, Captain” It cackled. Both the airlock doors opened simultaneously, abruptly sucking everything out of the pressurised ship like a vacuum. Sylvia tried to grasp at the lever, thinking it would help hold her in place, but it snapped under the sheer force of the pull. Her body shot out of the airlock like a cannonball. Her helmet once again colliding with the frame on the way out, forcing her face to smash into the visor and crack it from the inside. She looked back at the doppelganger, but they weren’t there. Sylvia checked her belt, the pistol still safely latched in the leather holster.   She was floating. Her nose bloody and pulped from the blow it took against the visor, oxygen very slowly seeping out of the space suit from the tiny crack in it. Her ship becoming a small white blip in the distance.   She was alone. Floating through the darkness.


With a mix of panic and desperation, I rushed to apply pressure to the wound. But hope quickly fled as I looked up to see a man made of only bones, standing 7 feet tall, with a scythe that radiated power and a cloak that was darker than the void itself. as he extended his hand, I inched away only to back into a tree. "please I don't want to die" I begged, but despite my pleading, the man cloaked in shadows still approached. With adrenaline coursing through me like the blood on my shirt, I grabbed the nearest tree branch and crashed it over his head. I honestly didn't expect anything to happen but to my surprise, I saw the scythe-wielding specter fall to the ground and groan in pain. knowing that this was my only chance at life, I immediately ran the other way. clutching the wound in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding, I formulated a plan as I made my escape. The only idea that came to mind was to run home and find something to defend myself with, so that's what I did. Looking back was a luxury that I couldn't afford so instead I said a prayer while trying my best to dodge the trees ahead of me. my house came into view and it started to feel like I could actually cheat death. While unlocking the door I fought the urge to collapse from exhaustion and finally took the chance to look behind me. no one was there? I knew I lucked out but I didn't think I'd be this far ahead of the guy. I let out a sigh of relief as I opened my door to see the grim reaper sitting on a chair with his arms crossed. I was at a loss for words, except for one. "fuck" The reaper wagged his finger in disappointment while he met my gaze with cold, empty eye sockets. "Let me show you something, Eric." I followed him into the bathroom, unsure of what was next but confident in the ending. "look in the mirror Eric" I did as instructed and saw myself as a rotting corpse. bits of skin hung off my face like ropes from a tree and flies buzzed around my still-bleeding wound, hungry for what little I had left. "I was like you once, alive. I don't remember when though, when you're like me time is like a comet. too fast to keep up with, always flying forwards until it one-day crashes. The first time I crashed it was from a heart attack at the ripe age of 60 and when I saw the reaper at my door, I hid. I started to rot, just like you and the stench was so unbearable I passed out. When I woke up, this is what I looked like. nothing but bones. That'll be you too one day Eric, just a black bag of bones holding a scythe wandering the earth harvesting souls that taste just like yours. Is that what you want?" I held my own gaze in the mirror as I watched my left eye start to liquidate. "no, it's not" The reaper tapped his scythe on my chest and felt something indescribable as the earth itself cut to black.


Note: As you will see the character's here are partly taken from League of Legends. Right now I have no own creation to take their place, nor do I know if I want to change that. Since I will probably never really publish this story, I wanted to share it with you lot. To get some feedback.  Alone he wandered through the forest. No moon, no stars were seen. The distant howling of wolf and owl were his only company. The wind tore apart his cloak, making him look like death himself roaming the woods. A deep wound stretched itself across his belly, a reminder of the attack he had just barely survived. And without help, it wouldn’t be long before he would die amongst those trees. After a while his feet would carry him no longer, and he sat down leaning against a moss-covered rock. The clouds slowly revealed the moon, but it still was a dark night. It was almost new moon, for a human the light was not enough to tell the difference between friend or fiend. He closed his eyes too tired to fight the urge to sleep. Soon after, he could hear a gentle humming. In midst of this emptiness, the voice of a woman was laughing and humming. It sounded almost carefree. The sound was easing and yet terrifying at the same time. A deeper, husky voice accompanied the one of the woman. Sometimes it was humming, then it would shift to a solemn giggle. And then again, a whistling could be heard. The humming grew louder as it came closer, and the man decided it would be best to just stay there. Two pairs of blue eyes appeared in the darkness, the bigger one showed an opened mouth so that one could see the glowing, bright blue throat. Then everything vanished, no sound, no glowing, blue eyes. “How one dies, shows how one lived.” Suddenly a figure stood in front of him. The face was hidden behind a black mask, the body was covered with white fur. And even if it was human, the creature which belonged to that womanly voice had a long, wavy tail. Behind her the bigger pair of eyes approached, his jaws open. He had the form of a great, black wolf slightly smaller than a horse and wore the same carved mask. Their eyes showed no emotion, even as the voice spoke softly. “Panic not when death is near,” the woman stretched out her hand. “Depart in peace.” “No!” The wolf called full of emotion which was missing in the woman’s voice. “Run, flee…” The woman took her bow and placed an arrow on it. Realizing what would happen next, the man raised his hands. “Wait! I can not die now, there is something I need to do.” “Death does not let you say goodbye, every being must meet us. Choose now, my arrow…” “…or my teeth.” Wolf finished the sentence. “I will not die before my deed is fulfilled!” He answered with determination. Wolf stepped towards him. When he stopped, their faces were just inches apart from each other. The man would have expected to feel a shiver or an uncomfortable feeling. Yet what he sensed was, ease and warmth.


*Location: Southern California* “Forty bucks worth of gas at pump twelve.” I said to the teller. “That all?” The teller asked. I thought for a moment and said “And a pack of Marlboro, if you promise not to tell my wife.” “I don’t make many promises.” The teller said. “But that one, I can keep.” I should clarify where we were and what I was doing. My family and I (aka my wife Jade, our thirteen-year-old son Ricky, and our eight-year-old daughter Deven) were driving towards Anaheim to take the kids to Disneyland. Even though the sun was starting to set, we were nowhere near any places to crash that wouldn’t be roach motels, so we decided to just power through for another hour to get into Los Angeles County. We could’ve already been there, but Jade wanted to go through a more remote route to pass a “hidden gem” natural site out in the desert she heard about on Instagram. Anyway, our last stop that night was a Native American reservation to get enough gas to make it all the way to the city. “You know, it’s a full moon tonight.” The cashier commented as he got me my cigarettes. “Yeah, I heard.” I replied. “Things get weird around here whenever there’s a full moon.” He said. “There are myths of an old curse, a supernatural disease that white settlers passed onto our people generations ago. They say it manifests every full moon, and that our land isn’t safe until the sun rises. If I were you, I’d drive far tonight; if the myths are true, you may regret being here once it gets dark” He then scanned the cigarette pack and said “Your total is $48.56. Paying with cash or card?” \_\_\_\_\_\_ When I went back to the car and started filling up, my wife immediately noticed something was up. “You okay?” She asked from inside the SUV. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I said. “The teller was really weird, that’s all. Said there was some kinda curse around here on full moons.” “Calm down, tourist traps love to tell ghost stories to travelers.” Jade said. “It brings in money. Back in New Orleans, my sister and I couldn’t go to a single bar without being told about all the ghosts that were haunting the place.” “Yeah, that’s probably it.” I said as I waited for the car to fill. \_\_\_\_ After getting gas, we hit the road again. Unfortunately, about ten minutes or so after leaving the gas station, we got a flat tire and I had to pull over. “Aw fu…” I started to say, before remembering my kids were in the car. “Fudge. Aw, fudge.” I then said. The kids looked worried, but I said “Relax, we have a spare. It’ll be a bumpy ride, but it’ll get us into town.” As I started changing the tire, I heard some kind of growl, almost like a dog’s howl but much louder. I reached into the trunk, and rummaged through it to find something I was desperately hoping I never unpacked after our most recent family camping trip. “Oh thank God.” I said to myself after I found my bear spray. It wasn’t much, but I figured it would stop whatever animal was out there. I continued trying to repair the tire until I heard it again, but much closer. I got in the car, locked the doors, and rolled up the windows. “Jade, check to see if the 9MM is still in the glove box?” She opened it and said “It is.” “Good, keep it close.” I saw that the kids were scared, and said “Don’t worry. It sounds like there’s some kinda animal loose, but that’s all. If we just stay in the car and…” Moments later, we felt something crash into the side. Then, there was a horrible sound of metal being scratched. And then, it jumped onto the hood. I shined my phone flashlight at it, and what I saw horrified me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was not expecting the monster I made eye contact with. It had a human-like torso but had the face and paws of a wolf. It roared when I shined a light on it, and then used one of its paws to smash through the window. Before it could enter the car, I shot it with bear spray. It retreated in pain, and Jade fired a shot that grazed its shoulder. The monster then fell off the hood, and ran off. “What the Hell was that?” Jade asked. “Shit, I don’t know.” I said. “But we’re getting out of here.” I got out of the car, lowered the car jack, and quickly tried to reattach the new tire. However, when I heard the monster growl again, I simply got back in the car, and decided to take a chance on a car with only three functional tires. I turned the car around, and slammed on the pedal to get us back to the reservation. Sure their hotels would be crap, but at least we’d be safe from that thing. “Jade, we gotta call the police.” I said. “I’ve been trying.” She said. “But I’m not getting any signal.” Just as I thought we were getting away, the car stalled. “Oh no.” I said. I popped the hood, and used my phone as a flashlight. “The battery terminals are damaged.” I said. “That thing must have ruined them when he jumped onto the car.” “What are we gonna do?” Jade asked. “I don’t know, I really don’t.” I said. I thought for a moment and said “We’ll continue on foot. Hopefully someone will spot us.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ We walked for over an hour in the dark, sticking close to the road in case anyone was there to see us. Unfortunately, there were none, it appears we were alone that night. And then, we heard a familiar noise. “Shit.” I muttered when I heard the monster’s roar. “KIDS, GET BEHIND YOUR MOTHER AND ME!” I ordered. Jade had the gun, and I had the bear spray. We were both out of our depth, but never underestimate two parents trying to keep their kids safe. “IT’S COMING!” I shouted when I heard the beast running towards us. Jade fired two shots, but both missed. I then shined my flashlight at it, and saw that the light alone was enough to keep it at bay. “JADE, IT HATES LIGHT!” I shouted. Once we had it on the run, Jade fired another shot (one that grazed its stomach), and I hit it with another round of pepper spray to the face. Jade tried one last time to shoot it, but missed again. I then grabbed the gun, ran up to the beast, and hit it in the face. Unfortunately, the beast retaliated by slashing my chest. At first, it seemed like all hope may have been lost, until a car came approaching with its high beams on. The monster was so frightened by the light that it just ran off. When the car got closer, I could see that it was a Tribal Police cruiser. “You folks alright?” He asked. “We need help.” I said. “We were attacked by…a bear.” "A bear? Okay." The officer said, but I get the sense that he knew I was lying. "I'll radio for help, once we get you to the rez we can get you to the urgent care." \_\_\_\_\_\_ We spent the night in a crappy motel across the street from a casino. First thing in the morning, we called for a ride to bring us into the city. While we were waiting for our driver, I realized that I lost the pack of cigarettes I bought the day before, so I went back to the gas station to buy another. Believe me, I needed a smoke break more than ever. I walked right into the gas station and said “Another pack of Marlboro please.” “Welcome back.” the cashier said as he turned to grab a pack. “You look like you had a rough night.” “You do too.” I said, as a joke at first. But as I approached the counter, I could see that he looked worse than I did. He had a black eye, almost like he was hit in the face. And I could see some kind of bandage underneath his shirt, around his shoulder, right in the area where Jade shot the beast. At first I couldn’t believe it, but I also could see what looked like blood underneath his fingernails. He clearly caught onto what I was thinking, and said “Like I said, strange things happen in these parts when there’s a full moon. Don't say I didn't warn you. Your total is $8.56.


“Make sure you don’t pick a squeaky one,” he says as he continues forward into Walmart. I give a few carts a rudimentary test drive, avoiding any that make any kind of unpleasant noise, knowing it irritates him and ruins our shopping trip. Well, makes the shopping trip even less bearable. “If you’re good, I’ll let you pick out a treat!” he says. I roll my eyes at him and make my way to the shampoo aisle. “How are you on shampoo, soap, deodorant?” I ask. “Uh…” he says, hesitating, “shit, I think I’m fine?” “Andy, I told you to check before we left.” I say in an exasperated sigh. “I know, babe, I forgot…” “Well, if you end up with smelly armpits this week that’s on you.” “Don’t be sassy.” he says with a shit eating grin. “Come on, let’s move on.” I say, directing him to the pet supplies. “How are we on dog food?” We continue on like this for twenty minutes, picking up items we need, filling up the cart and stressing about the total. “Close your eyes, babe, we’re passing the books…” he says dramatically. “You said I could get a treat!” I exclaim loudly. “Fine, fine, pick one out.” He throws his arms up in a conceding motion, as if he would ever deny me the purchase of a book. I make quick work of it and pick one of the titles on my “to be read” list and grab an additional one, trying to sneak it behind the first book. “That appears to be two books, sweetie.” he says with a raised eyebrow. “Well, what if I read the first book super fast, I’ll need a second one as a runner up…” I explain. “Besides, one is ten dollars and the other is seven…” “Are you worth seventeen dollars?” he asks, bringing his hand to his chin as if contemplating my cash value. “You’re going to hurt my feelings!” I say, lightly smacking his arm. “You’re worth the world, baby.” he says with that infuriating grin I’ve grown to love with my entire soul. “That’s what I thought.” I said. “I’ll settle for seventeen dollars, today, though.” “Deal.” We make quick work of picking up a new pair of tennis shoes for him, a package of earbuds for me, and get side tracked looking at baby clothes. “Look at how freaking cute this is!” I holler as I hold up a onesie with dinosaurs on it. “Okay, that’s incredibly cute.” he agrees. “I can’t wait to have a little baby to dress up, I’m going to be ridiculous with it, I just know it.” I say. “Someday, babe.” His voice is full of love as I look over and catch him staring at me with those warm, dark chocolate eyes. I can’t help but smile as I think hopeful thoughts of settling down and having children with this man. “Someday *soon*, I hope.” I say. “Someday.” We make our way to the cleaning supplies aisle and grab some more products we’ve either ran out of or are about to run out of. “How are we on toilet paper?” I ask. “You’re the one who uses the most, I don’t keep track of it.” he says. “Oh, well, have fun wiping with your hand from now on.” I say with a glare. “Another sassy remark? You’re gonna end up bored with just one book.” he threatens. I let out an obnoxiously loud laugh and check myself, not wanting to be one of *those people* in the store. “I’ve missed that laugh,” he says. “What?” I ask, confused. Surely I’ve been laughing just as much as I usually do. “Nothing,” he says. “What else do we need?” “We’re onto groceries now. Let’s go get a pack of water and start back in that corner?” I ask. He gestures in front of him, “Lead the way, beautiful.” We argue over how many energy drinks he can get and whether stick butter is better than tub butter, how much cottage cheese is too much cottage cheese and which creamer to get. “Why *wouldn’t* we get the Rice Krispies creamer?” he asks me as if it’s a no brainer. “It just doesn’t sound good, babe. Let's get something we know we both like.” “That’s boring, baby. Let’s try something new!” “Fine, get it.” I cave. “Why don’t we get a small bottle of the Rice Krispies one and then something you like, too. That way you aren’t stuck with something you don’t like.” “Deal.” It's my turn to flash a huge smile at him. If there’s one thing I love about this man it’s his unwavering ability to make sure I’m happy and taken care of. We pick up a few different kinds of lunch meat, a few tubes of burger, a package of chicken thighs and a few other meats for the week. “Remember the time we panic bought like eight packages of cheese?” he asked. “Yeah, that was ridiculous.” I say before chuckling loudly again. “I didn’t think we were ever going to get through all of that.” “It’s always something,” he says “If not too many packages of cheese we get too many things to drink or too many snacks.” “We’re hoarders.” I joke. We then begin weaving through the dry goods aisles, picking out cereals and snack crackers, spices we’re low on and baking goods, a large bag of rice and a few cans of veggies. Both of us weave around each other in a delicate tango as we pluck items from shelves, careful not to bump into one another, laughing when we do. “It’s warm in here.” he says, handing me his flannel. I slip it on, reveling in the fresh warmth. I take a deep breath and smile as the notes of cedar, mint and *him* invade my senses, making me feel at home. “Looks good on you, baby.” “What can I say, I have good tastes.” I say. “In men or the flannel?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders and round the corner into the frozen food aisle. “Ouch!” I holler, jumping at the sharp pinch to my left buttcheek. “Andy, we’re in the store!” I holler. “Well, what did you learn?” he asks. “I’m not even sure?” I say. He replies by pinching my butt once more. I laugh and attempt to return the pinch to his posterior, laughing harder as he dances out of reach. I pretend to be preoccupied with a box of frozen corn dogs, waiting for his guard to be dropped. I “compare prices” on another box of the frozen foods as he steps beside me to see what has my attention, just before I reach over and give him a good pinch. “Ouch, babe! I hate being pinched.” he complains. “Well, what did we learn?” I mimic. “That’s it…” he says. He backs me up against the frozen cooler door and tickles my sides until I’m begging for mercy, gasping for breath. A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I scope the area to see if there’s any onlookers, relieved when I don’t see anyone. “I miss you.” I say to him. “I’m right here, baby.” he leans in and kisses me before wrapping his arms around me. “I’m always right here.” Emotion clogs my throat, I chalk it up to being overly grateful to have him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I say. “Lucky thing for you, you’re stuck with me.” He kisses the top of my head. “Forever.” I smile and blink rapidly to clear my vision. It must be close to that time of the month, stupid hormones. Finishing up the frozen foods on our mental checklist, we continue to the produce section. We grab a few pre packaged salads, some garlic, onions and potatoes for a soup we have planned to make and some fresh herbs. “No, you don’t need to get any lemons.” he scolds. “You never use them, we pay for them and then they turn into science experiments on the counter.” “I want them for water!” I protest. “If you *used* them I’d be all for it, but you never do!” he counters. “It’s wasteful.” “They’re like sixty cents!” “Put a book back and you can get ONE lemon.” he jokes. I roll my eyes and put three lemons in one of the plastic produce bags. “Ooh! Look at these goodies!” he says, rubbing his hands together. He hands me a package of mini muffins with candied pecans baked into the dough. “Do you deserve these?” I ask, mimicking his raised eyebrow. “Yes. Yes I do.” he says. I laugh and continue to the bin with tomatoes and avocados. The store’s radio system comes to life with one note repeated softly a handful of times, I smile as I realize what song is playing. *When there’s nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son? One more son.* *If you can, hold on. If you can, hold on. Hold on.* Andy begins to belt out the first verse of one of our favorite songs by The Killers, completely unashamed and with absolutely no inhibitions. I feel my cheeks flush with heat, not nearly as self confident as he is. I begin peeking around us, checking for onlooking eyes or anyone outright gawking at us, at the scene before them. “Sing with me, baby.” he says before crooning into the chorus. “Andy, we’re in the store…” I say. “It’s fine baby, it’s just us.” he says, grabbing my hands to pull me into a dance. It’s just us… It’s just us… My head begins to spin, confusion insidiously creeps into my expression, muddling my comprehension and mental stability. It’s just us… “Andy…” I begin to question. “Shh baby, it’s okay.” he says before continuing to sing. It’s just us. Most shopping trips are full of stress, tension and dread for me. I hate running into people, zigzagging in a wild path to avoid being hit by carts or hitting others who stop without warning. I hadn’t felt so much as a second of annoyance or stress this entire time. Come to think of it, I hadn’t *seen* so much as a single person, not a single employee. It’s just us. Confusion takes the wheel full force as I spin in a slow circle, checking to see if there’s anyone else in the store. Was it closed? Did we break in? It’s just us. I glanced at the deli, no workers. I glanced at the checkout lanes, no workers. I glanced down the long aisle leading back to electronics, no workers. I glanced out to the parking lot and saw cars, but no shoppers or loiterers waiting outside of the doors or walking to their vehicles. I saw *no one.* It’s just us… “Andy…” “*If you can, hold on.”* “Baby…” “*If you can, hold on.”* Tears well up behind my lower lids, my eyes pricking with a burning sensation, threatening to spill their contents at any second. It’s just us. “You’re not…” I choke on emotion clogging my throat. Andy grabs me and pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders as he rests his head on top of mine. I always love being held by him like this, his six-foot-four height surpassing my five-foot-five greatly, my head nestling between his pectoral muscles comfortably. Nothing has felt more like home than when he holds me like this as I breathe in the scent that is uniquely him. “I love you, sweetheart.” he says softly. “I love you, too.” I sob. It’s just us. The song slowly fades as it finishes, silence wrapping its cruel void around us once more. It's just us. “You’re not…” I try once more, taking a deep breath, knowing my next words are going to collapse everything. “You’re not actually here, are you?” I ask. It's just us. “I’m with you, always.” he says quietly, placing another kiss on top of my head. “You know what I mean…” I say. “I do, baby.” he says. “I’m so sorry.” I inhale deeply, the breath going nowhere, and let out a shuddering sob, not ready for this to be over. I cling to Andy as tightly as I possibly can, fervently praying for it to be tight enough to keep him with me forever. “I’m always with you, Allie, always.” he says once more. “Any time you close your eyes I’m right there.” The sobs are painfully ripping through my chest at this point, threatening to suffocate me. “I love you so much.” I say, plead. “I love you so much, too, beautiful.” he says. “I’m never far…” he says. I feel him place one more kiss to the top of my head. I release my arms and wipe my eyes, desperate to find some relief from the chasm ripping my heart into two. I wipe my wet hands on my pants and reach out to embrace Andy once more, panicking as my arms close in on nothing. I open my eyes and blink rapidly, hoping to will him back into place in front of me. “Andy?” I holler, panic gripping my voice in a chokehold. “Andy!” I spin in a circle, selfishly praying he’s playing a prank on me, hiding behind the bin full of avocados or in an aisle out of sight. I take off in a dead sprint, checking up and down every aisle, screaming his name as loud as I can, my throat raw from sobbing and screaming. I run through the entire store twice over, frantically searching every aisle, hiding spot and shelf. I look down and am comforted only briefly as I realize I’m still wearing his flannel. His scent no longer lingers on the fabric but feeling the soft material cover my arms and torso brings enough comfort for me to drag in a ragged breath. I sink to my knees as the depression takes over me once more, a process I’m painfully familiar with by this point. The shelves around me slowly disappear and morph into nonsensical things, a tree house, a dog house, a large cardboard box. The integrity of the dream slowly falling away after my realization. I wasn’t here grocery shopping with Andy, I wasn’t anywhere with Andy. I’m at home, in bed, unsure of what day it is as I’ve lost track. *If you can, hold on.* It’s been days- weeks? months?- since Andy passed away in the accident, taking him from this world and my life. I had no idea how long it had actually been, grief cripping any and all sense of normalcy and functioning. My eyes slowly open, damp with tears that had escaped from my dream and found their way into real life. My lungs struggle to fill with air, my chest heavy with sorrow. I wrap the flannel around me tighter, squeezing my eyes shut, begging to restart the dream. I know better than that. The dream comes and goes as it pleases, never allowing me to manifest it when I need it the most. Whether we’re grocery shopping, making dinner or going for a hike, the beginning is always bliss as I look into his eyes unaware of real life. The end always cripples me as it disappears from my subconscious. *If you can, hold on.* I know Andy is with me, always. From the random breezes that dance through my window on cool fall days to the rays of sunshine that kiss my skin as I read in the reading chair he got me, to the warm cups of tea in the eclectic mugs he always gifted me to the random wafts of his scent that come from nowhere. I know I’ll never truly be without him, not entirely. I know I should be grateful for that, welcoming of that fact, even. I feel selfish when I beg and wish for *more*. *At least you can still smell him from time to time, at least you remember the color of his eyes, at least, at least, at least.* I don’t want “at least”. I yearn for the future that was stripped from us, from the what-if’s and maybes, to the plans both spoken and yet to be spoken, for the somedays. I glance down at the ring on my finger on my left hand, the shine in the diamond either mocking me or pitying me, I haven’t decided which it is yet today. We hadn’t made plans further than “let’s get married”. At the time it was more than enough for me, just belonging to him more than being his girlfriend. It was mature, refined, *adult*. If only I had been a little more impatient to actually marry him, I could have his last name as a reminder of him and our relationship. *At least I had a ring.* I take a deep breath and sit up, knowing I need to at least do *something* today. *At least do something today.* I remind myself that Andy wouldn’t be content with me wallowing in despair every day, would be down right furious at even a single tear shed for him. I get up from the bed I shared with him, avoiding glancing at his pillow and make my way to the living room. Reading is a waste of time, I can’t focus on the words on the page, much less the story. I make my way to the couch and turn on a mindless program on Netflix, something about a tattoo competition. I avoid things like sappy romances and cooking shows- a regular tv genre we shared for watching with each other. I make it a total of five minutes before I find myself laying down on the couch, resting my head on a pillow, begging my brain to transport me to another realistic dream with my soulmate. *At least I got up from the bed…* If you can, hold on. If you can, hold on. Hold on.


Kill Count Pre-adventure: Gregory: 0 Brylynn: 0 Tedal: 0 Lubith: 0 Gert: ∞ The group looks determined as they prepare for their descent. Leading them is a small gnome. “The Lizard King has been sending up his lizardpeople through a large tunnel nearby. We don’t have the numbers to meet them head-on, so we are sending in our greatest adventurers through a smaller tunnel to ambush their general. His name is Otel Deraj. He is known for his bowtie and pretentious attitude. Kill him and we will reward you with 5 gold pieces.” Explains the teenie tiny gnome named Jerome. The party leads through the tunnel. In the front stands the gallant holy warrior, Gregory Hillyer. His sword is strong but not as strong as his conviction. He leads the way, torch in hand. Behind him is the eloquent elven mage, Brylynn Flowerlight. She can't cast healing spells so quit asking. She holds her spell book ready for action. Following is the halfling rogue, Tedal Shadowrabbit. He’s just a little guy. He pulls his hood over his head, blending into the shadows. Struggling to keep up is the Obese Dwarf Cleric, Lubith Brownheart. His fat is mere insulation. Sweat drips down his beard dripping onto his heavy plate armor as he pumps his arms to keep up. Behind Lubith is Gert. The ground of the tunnel is uneven dirt, and the roof is unsupported. The tunnel is primitive, like something a badger would dig, not like something made by a gnome. “I’m not used to being underground like this, I don’t feel safe,” says Brylynn. “Oh hush now. Being underground has never hurt anyone,” says Lubert. “Gert,” says Gert. They hike for what feels like hours to Lubith, until they encounter two lizardpeople sweeping the floor. One holds the broom and is yelling at the other sweeping the floor. “Hergthassasssaaasshhhhhhh,” says the sweeping lizardperson once he sees the humans. “Stand back infidel, repent or be slain,” exclaims Gregory. “Gert,” says Gert. Gregory charges first, slashing with his sword. Flying from behind him; a bolt of fire from Brylynn. The fire and sword collide with the lizard, applying a stab wound and burning a hole through his chest. The lizardperson pulls a sword from the broomstick and clashes blades with Gregory. The second lizardperson unsheathes his dustpan, revealing a blade at the end of it. Before the second lizard person could land a hit, Tedal jumps on his back, stabbing him in the head. Lubith follows with his Mace straight to the knees, snapping every bone in the poor joint. “Gert,” says Gert. The swords of the Lizardperson and Gregory cling. Gregory breaks through the bind and stabs the Lizardperson through the chest leading his intestines to fall out. Brylynn puts her hands against the lizardperson’s face and melts it off. The lizard person fumbles back and slashes at Gregory. The other lizardperson fights the grip of Tedal but is unsuccessful. Tedal stabs both of his daggers through the eyes of the lizardperson. Lubith holds his holy symbol in his chubby fingers and says a prayer, shooting a holy bolt of light straight at the face of the lizardperson being ridden by Tedal. The light glides gracefully and incinerates the lizardperson’s face. “Gert,” says Gert. Gregory lands the finishing blow against the Lizardperson with a clean strike. Lubith ends the other with a bash to the head. The party heads to the opening where the lizardpeople came from, seeing a dark stone dungeon. To be continued… “Gert,” says Gert.


"He broke up with me, I guess." I couldn't sleep at night. I was thinking about it for a very long time. I couldn't eat nor could go to work. I called my best friend to my place. I know she is going to hate me. "I know Mike. He won't do this to you, Amy," Tina said. "You are saying because he is your brother!" My best friend Tina and my boyfriend, I guess my ex-boyfriend are siblings. I met Mike through her. "Oh, dear. Why do you think I will side with him? I, myself had a fight with him last night." "Now, what he do this time? Oh, leave it. I don't wanna know. I hate him." I was looking all around my room. I have his photos near my bedpost. should I start cleaning it? Or should I wait? "You think that bitch is behind all this?" Tina asked. "Who? Claire?" I couldn't think of that but this piece fits here. Claire is his ex-girlfriend and I have been seeing her near his workplace and his apartment for the past few days. Not a good sign. "We couldn't forget that they both have been friends before. Good friends actually," I said. "You should give him one more chance. You are making it complicated," Tina said as she walked towards the window. I looked at his photograph. The last night we had a fight. We have been in a relationship for a very long time, and now it's time for us to take our relationship further. And boom...everything went down. I was so happy that finally, we are going to talk about it. You know, how much we wait for this moment. "I think he is really not interested in me anymore. Or maybe, he is having some second thoughts? or he is thinking of going back to Claire." This thought was killing me from the inside. I don't want to even see her around him. I am sure that Claire is after him. She wants him back. But my question comes to Mike. Does he want that too? I could feel my body shaking. I was getting goosebumps all over my body. I really hate this feeling. What if everything I am thinking is true? I looked at the clock. It was getting close to midnight. Now was the time when we used to talk over the phone. His work always come in midway so midnight was the best when we were completely free for each other. Now, I hate this feeling. What the hell has gotten into me? "Are you listening to me?" I looked at Tina. she was silent for the whole moment. What's her problem now? "I think you should see this, Amy." I walked towards the door and looked down. There was standing Mike with a flower in one hand and a ring in another. "Mike, what are you doing here?" I asked. It was freezing outside and seeing him without any coat, I was worrying. "I wanna confess something, Amy." "Okay..." I looked at his sister and I could see her smiling. Did she know all this before? "Oh dear...has the moment arrived?" I said. "Yes, the moment has arrived Amy." Tina smiled at me. "So what you say?" Mike asked. "Won't you bend down to your knees.." He cut me off. "No, I am not. It's freezing. Tell me fast!" "But I thought..." "It was my fault, Amy. I was so scared. You know what kind of a person I was before. Claire and I ... we had things before but not now. Not when you arrived. I can assure you that." "So you are saying that.." "Would you go out to the beach this weekend?" Really? "Oh dear... what you think of me, Amy? I am asking you...