*1. What did the groom first notice about the bride?* It was probably my skirt. I'd been running, and it had caught on a metal fence, and ripped right up to my waist. I was running because I was late, for my job in a cafe across town, but I ran into Cicero's by mistake. It's pretty different to the cafe I used to work in, bright marble and leafy green plants in black velvet pots, instead of greasy linoleum and pictures of the food above the counter. I still can't figure out how I managed to confuse them. But the manager gave me a glass of water and I ended up convincing him to give me a job there and then. He gave me some safety pins to hold my skirt together with until he could find me a uniform in the back, and Isaac's was the first order that I took. He was so handsome - bushy eyebrows, those cute little red glasses and his weird crocodile sweater that he never takes off. I caught him staring at my ass through the safety pins - he's only human, right girlies? - and after he'd left his black Amex card with the cheque I scribbled my phone number on the back of a scrap of paper and handed it back to him. Don't ask don't get, right? *2. What was the bride and groom's first date?* It was magical. Of course, right? All first dates with your soul mate are. I was super early, it was so embarrassing. He'd asked me to meet him in a park at six, when the sun was supposed to be setting. I got there around three - I had a family funeral, earlier that day, actually, and the church wasn't too far from the park. The rest of my family wanted to go back to my uncle's house for a few drinks but I headed straight to meet Isaac. True love can't wait, am I right? He laughed when he first saw me. My hands were gross, all scraped and bleeding. I'm clumsy, and I'd fallen down a fire escape after I'd taken a short cut through my best friend's apartment. I also had a pretty big bag with me, full of everything I might need. I like to be prepared, you know? I take it everywhere with me. *3. Where was the bride and groom's first kiss?* It was in that park! Isaac arrived at exactly six, of course. He's very punctual. He wouldn't have been so successful if he wasn't very punctual. I mean, the fact that his father's the CEO might have had something to do with it, but my Isaac works very hard. That's why Roger is planning on handing everything over to him when he retires. Not that any of that matters to me, of course. Anyway, there were tiny little tea lights and fairy lights strung up everywhere. All over the trees. He'd brought a picnic too, and a huge bottle of champagne. I only had a glass or two - I wanted to keep a clear head. I wanted to remember every second, didn't I? Oh right, the kiss. Well, we settled onto the blanket and started talking. I'm usually pretty extroverted but I mainly asked him questions about his life. I wanted to know everything - where he went to school, where he lived now, how crowded it was there, whether he travelled a lot, whether he was willing to maybe move abroad one day. Isaac seemed a little nervous. He is pretty shy, and maybe he wasn't used to being the one leading the conversation. Maybe he won't end up CEO one day. That's probably a good thing. I don't think too much limelight would be good for us. Anyway. The kiss. So Isaac was telling me about his mom, and the yoga classes she runs for local senior citizens. Then he starts asking me about my family. Where I grew up, what my parents were like, did I have any siblings, any cousins. Well, I told him that my parents ran a local business, I have one sister, and I've got hundreds of cousins, probably. But everyone has cousins, and it's not a big deal. It's not like you and your cousins have this deep, impenetrable bond because you're cousins, right? I mean so what, your parents are brothers. Big deal. Isaac looked at me pretty weirdly then and asked me more about my cousins. He's only got one, you see. Tommy. And Tommy is his best man, as you ladies know, so I guess the whole cousin thing is pretty important to him. Whatever. We're not talking about cousins, and how close or not close you should be. We're talking about mine and Isaac's first, magical kiss. So he asks me more questions about my family, and I basically just threw myself at him. I kissed him like, super hard. Like, porn star hard. I wasn't even embarrassed that we were in public. I just couldn't wait another minute to kiss him. I kissed the words right out of his mouth. I kissed him so hard that when we finally broke away from each other, he forgot what we were talking about entirely and so I had to start up a new conversation about our favourite movies. He's so cute. *4. Who said "I love you" first?* It was me! I'm pretty bold, aren't I? It wasn't too long after our first date in the park, either. We went straight back to his place over on the west side of the city, and it was beautiful. We've got the house right out in the country, of course, which is perfect, so quiet and serene and isolated, but wow, the apartment was something else. I'd never seen anything like it before. The locks on the door were huge, and the building had its own security guard. So we went up to his apartment, on the twelfth floor it is. I was spooked at first - the windows were floor to ceiling and you could see the whole city. Isaac noticed that I went a bit pale, and I said that it must feel like the whole city was watching you eat breakfast. He laughed at that, and said that they were tinted. We could see out, but no one else could see in. Isaac got a bit weird at that point. He took my hand, and sat me down on the couch. He told me that he felt like that sometimes, like he could see everyone but no one could see him. I laughed at how dumb that sounded, but I shut up straight away when I could see that he was tearing up. He went on to say that I was the first girl he'd ever gone on a date with, because I seemed to be the first girl who was interested in him. That didn't surprise me. I mean, of course, I think Isaac's wonderful. Sure, he looks like a goofy science teacher and can get a little bit too intense about the Roman Empire. Also, he's super weird whenever we do anything physical. He thanks me afterwards. And he cries. Like, a lot. What was I saying? Oh yeah. He's awesome. He's safe, he's gentle, he's secure. He looks after me. Anyway. He held my hands and sat me down on the couch and told me that he had no experience with women, whatsoever. He was worried that I'd be weirded out. He also said that he was more than happy to take things casually, if I liked. I was free to see other people. That's when I told him that I loved him. It seemed like the obvious thing to say. I mean, when you know, you know. I had to break away for a moment then and use the bathroom. I was completely overwhelmed, you know, emotionally. I splashed my face, and checked my phone. I had to turn it off at that point, I had about twenty five missed calls and I could tell that even Isaac was getting annoyed at it constantly vibrating mid-conversation. So I flushed it down the toilet. I didn't want to run the risk of it turning on by itself. It was a cheap phone anyway, not like Isaac's phone, with all of the latest technology. Full GPS system too, someone can trace you from anywhere in the world. It actually went missing last week, which is a shame, but he has a new one now, so it doesn't matter. It's not like he can't afford it. What? Oh. Yeah. "I love you." Awesome. So I go back into the room and sit next to Isaac. He's still frozen in the same position, and he looks pretty surprised. I'm obviously feeling a little bit upset at this point. I mean, I've just said that I love him, and he's just staring at me. "Don't you love me too?" I asked him. He said that he didn't know. He wasn't sure. As he'd said, he didn't have any experience with women, not even with high school girlfriends, and so he wasn't even sure what being in love with someone felt like. I dropped the subject at that point, but he said it eventually. Of course. We're getting married, aren't we? I'm his princess. Not like, look at me, huge spread in a celebrity magazine, princess, but like, Iet's hole up in a castle in the middle of the mountains kind of princess. It's beautiful. And my feelings haven't changed. I can honestly say that my feelings for Isaac have not changed since the day we met. And that is a promise. Seriously. It's in my vows. *5. Who proposed? How and why did it happen?* I know what you're thinking. Crazy old me must have proposed, right? Wrong! And even though we got off to a pretty speedy start, what with me moving the evening of our first date, our engagement wasn't until about six months later. Moving in wasn't a big deal though. I had my big bag with me, of course, and I had coincidentally received a text from my landlord that my contract had ran out that evening. It must have slipped her mind. Isaac was pretty angry on my behalf. He said that I should get her involved with small claims court and everything, and that he'd be happy to let me use his lawyer. But my lease was on a pretty freelance basis, so I told him it was all chill. I said that I'd find a hotel and maybe sleep on a friend's floor. Was I ever surprised when he asked me to sleep in the spare bedroom! I was completely blown away. I hadn't expected that for a second. Anyway, the big proposal. Okay ladies, as it's a bridal shower, I'm sure you won't mind me going into a few dirty details for this one. Come on, we're all girls here! So. It may come as a surprise to all of you that I am strictly against pre-marital sex. I wasn't always like this. I used to be pretty up for anything - if you're cute and you have nice arms and you are willing to buy me a bottle of Patreon then I am more than happy to hop on board. However, everything changed when I had sort of a spiritual revelation. And coincidentally, it happened a few hours after mine and Isaac's second date. So, we went to a fancy restaurant. We went in a town car and everything, it was incredible. Waiters in waistcoats, antique chandeliers, the works. I was a little jumpy, I have to say. It was coincidentally in the same neighbourhood that my family lived in, but it had nothing to do with that. It was probably the alcohol. There was a lot of it. All free, all unlimited. I only had a glass of champagne - again, I wanted to keep a clear head, just in case. Isaac wasn't as careful, though. And I never thought the boy had it in him, but he was handsy. Under the table, on the way to the taxi cab, I had to keep slapping him away. I'm an emotional women, as you might know, and I still felt pretty hurt that he hadn't reciprocated my "I love you" yet. It wasn't making me feel secure. For all I know, he could have up and left at any point, and invited another girl to sleep in his spare bedroom. Anyway. We get back to the apartment, and we're getting down to business. I'm obviously aware that this is Isaac's first time doing anything physical with everyone, and this isn't my first time at the ball game, to put it mildly. But I can't help thinking about how he hadn't told me that he loved me. He could turn me out at any minute and have some other floozy sleeping in his spare bedroom. I'd be out on the street, at the mercy of whoever lived in the neighbourhood I grew up in. Not that it had anything to do with accommodation, of course. It was all about Isaac. I loved him and I knew that he loved me. I just had to make him realise it. As I said, I was pretty distracted. Isaac was completely focused. He was almost dribbling at this point. My dress was pretty short and strapless, and all you needed to do was undo one zip at the front and then it would be all over. Isaac's hand, shaking, reached for the zip, but I grabbed his wrist before he could get any further. I started crying then. I said that sex had suddenly, in this very moment, become very sacred and special to me. I loved him, and I only wanted to have sex with him for the rest of my life. But how was I to be sure that he felt the same way. Isaac just gaped at me. I could almost hear his brain working at a million miles a minute. I sighed mournfully, my breasts heaving in the hazy moonlight, and I got up to wrap myself back in my sweater. I heard Isaac groan, and I looked him in the eyes and stroked his leg, very very gently with one fingernail. I've never quite heard a man squeak like it, but I will never forget that sound. The words "will you marry me" seemed to fall out of his mouth before he could stop them, and I said "yes" as quickly as I could. It took a few weeks to sign some specially drawn up documents that our engagement was binding, of course, but after that was all down on paper, we got straight into a bit of getting-to-know-each-other, if you ladies catch my drift. And he's fine. More than fine. Magical. Inexperienced, and a little intense. Fond of eye contact, and very specific dirty talk. But magical. Of course. He's my one true love. And nothing's ever going to change that. *6. What is the first dinner that the bride and groom shared together?* Steak. Medium rare. (Taken from the 25/3/19 issue of the Riverton Times newspaper) *TOBACCONIST MURDERER STILL NOT FOUND* *The murder of Tony Puccini, a twenty six year old tobacco salesman from downtown Riverton, was reported four months ago. Despite frantic claims from the Puccini family that it was the victim's aunt's daughter, Maria Nunez, sufficient evidence has yet to be confirmed, despite the accused prints having been found in several locations over Puccini's apartment, where he was found dead in a pool of his own blood, following blunt force to the head. The Pucinni and the Nunez family have been linked to organised criminal activity in the downtown Riverton area for several decades, but no formal accusations to this have ever been made.* *Maria Nunez has claimed to have been missing for several months now, despite the help of neighbourhood watch groups and local police. Mr and Mrs Nunez, and Mrs Nunez's brother Carlo Puccini, have released an emotional statement to the local media that Maria "should come home when she reads this. She is not in trouble, and we just want to talk.


My dad said this to me as soon as I woke up. I'd once again fallen asleep to the TV screen flashing colours- waiting for my meds to dull them out. I suddenly felt worried; how long until I see the screen start to fade?  I sat up and ignored him. I grabbed my laptop, unwillingly ready to work. I wouldn’t brush until late afternoon- a norm in my passage of days. I’d sometimes look at my sister sitting opposite my bed with her table, laptop stand, and cup of coffee and get lost thinking about how we’d look to an outsider. One, barely in a normal position typing away at her laptop- and the other, as ready as she would be to go into the office.The day would pass by in a blink. Every second excruciating. 60,000 hours. 2,500 days. A little less than 7 years. The years seem to pass faster as you grow older- the end of those 60,000 hours seemed too close. Comfortably close.  It was night now, and everyone had gone to bed. I took my daily medication and lay down on the sofa and waited for the meds to kick in. The colours looked so lovely. So lovely… Soon they faded into darkness. It was just my eyes closing but it felt wonderful. I couldn’t feel a thing when asleep- perhaps the greatest feeling in the world. It expanded beyond my understanding of bliss and all things surrounding it. To not feel was to feel the most. It was finally time for the next 24 hours. I opened my eyes to a colourful television screen, mocking me in all its vibrancy. I turned it off before my dad saw. “60,000 hours only. Do you know how little that is?” It sounded like an eternity. It was an eternity- almost 7 years sounds tediously long. 7 years ago I was 14… I can barely remember it. The last 3 years seemed shorter than the 3 prior to it. Did I say this already? I think I did. What would I fall asleep to once the TV stopped flashing its colours at me? There would be nothing that would drift into darkness from radiance. I’d simply feel the same and sleep would come and I would wake up no longer looking forward to wasting those 60,000 hours. I was worried I wouldn’t have my beloved TV, my rainbow that would turn to grey clouds- in reverse but oddly comfortable. I wasn't actually worried about that though. But you probably caught onto that. My TV would never fade away in front of my eyes. Its bright colours would always be there to put me to sleep. I wasn’t worried my TV screen would fade away, dad. I was worried I wouldn't last another 60,000 hours to see it die with me.


An overwhelming sense of beauty and awe befell the young J, so cooped and restricted in the oppression of the empty Tower for so long, that to be standing here at its peak looking out at the gray skies, it felt as though he would float away Tears had streamed his face before, hot, unwelcoming tears, but this was new, for once he was crying not out of despair or greif like he had so many times, instead he was crying tears of joy, laughing as he did so, giggling and wailing like a child at the world, his skin exposed to the clarity of the world, amazingly beautiful, unbearably free. The two had led J and his dear friend here, young Wade and Mae, their liberators, it was now that he seeked answers, to know the nature of this tower at the edge of nowhere, if J had a life before, if he might have one after, what to expect if he did. However, most importantly of all, he wanted to know where the pair had come from, and where they fit in with the wide open vaccant landscape that rolled before his very eyes, curling away in the setting sun. As if reading his mind, Wade spoke, "We have been searching this tower for a little over two days now. It was originally a brief sight of it in the distance that drew us in." He paused for a moment, sighing through his nose. "This place is huge, deep too, we started at the base and tried going down, but there was no end to our delve and we were forced to turn back. The next day, we climbed the stairs, finding a room full of keys, each labeled to each sector, the one we found you in was H." J slightly recoiled, thinking hard but remaining silent, urging Wade to continue. "We searched everywhere, but in each room we looked, we only found the frozen bodies of men and women who seemed to freeze to death in their freezers" "Suicide..." Mae added. "It was an awful sight," Wade went on, "But finding sector H, we heard a cry, yourself, and released you from captivity, we never thought we'd find another person in this place, never mind two." J tried to smile, he knew he should, it felt right, but there was a lingering discomfort, even anger, though he didn't know at what. "What is this place?" J asked, holding his scarred hands to his chest. "We are unsure, clearly a prison of some sort, what do you remember?" Simon spoke bitterly, "Nothing." "Nothing?" Mae said, astonished. "Not a thing," J remarked, "Our names, if that's what these words are, but quite literally nothing else." Wade and Mae frowned at one another and seemed to agree upon something in secret. "We have a station set up at the base of the tower, we have another person there, he's running scans of the architecture of this place, trying to place its origin and possible creator, but he's come back with nothing so far. We have warm food, a place to sleep, clothes, you should come with us, we can help you get out of here." "Sounds great." Simon said in an instant, but J looked down at his marked hands, long wide scars decorating his pale skin. He spoke. "I want to help you. I want to know why I'm here." Wade smiled, and said, at once, "Then come and get a shirt on, it's much too cold to be here like that.


The man walked down the street, having just clocked out from another 10 hour shift. He never thought he would be using his mathematics degree to calculate the total of someone's shopping, and yet that's exactly what he's spent the last four years doing. He tried to network best he could, but if nobody is hiring, nobody is hiring. So the big clothing store brought him in. It wasn't great, but it almost pays the bills. He hung his head low, the exhaustion from the day seeped into his muscles. Staring up at the brilliant afternoon sky is a luxury he just can't afford right now. The birds chirping were drowned out by the rush hour traffic racing by his side. It congested the air with thick, noxious fumes and horns so loud they echoed off of the looming buildings framing the street. Only twelve more blocks before his apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, the light from the setting sun bounced wildly off of a nearby limo. The paint job was pristine, as if it had just been polished. In the back seat, he could just barely make out the passengers behind tinted glass. The couple was happy, smiling, crashing a pair of champagne glasses together before downing the cool liquid within. Air conditioning flung their hair wildly as the hot sun beat down on the car roof. Not a care in the world, not when they can afford a car like that and someone to drive it. At least a chauffeur can sit all day. Looking back down, he let out a sigh - no point dwelling on what he can't change. Those who have a bright future are those who can afford it. The rest of us just make their lives easier.  The rest of the trek home was uneventful. He was grateful the winter storms had subsided, he was sick of worrying about hypothermia scares. He'd probably just be kicked out of a hospital with his credit, and an at-home amputation would be a choice he wasn't looking forward to. The kitchen was a mess - his two roommates saw to that. He wasn't much better, but there's only so much mess you can make off of a diet of microwaved burritos and leftover pizza. The apartment would have been cramped normally, with tight corners and thin hallways. With a curtain hanging up, blocking off the "living" area, the place was downright claustrophobic. That's what you get for squeezing three guys into a one-bedroom apartment. At least he wasn't the one shoved into the bathroom this time. He pulled the curtain back and slumped on his futon. The clothes he desperately needed to wash surrounded him, sending a slight funk through the air. A couple of cardboard boxes were shoved in a corner, containing the rest of his possessions. It was only a matter of time before another one of his checks bounced - no point getting too cozy. The man let the aches of the day wash over him. The aches of standing all day bookended by his commute sent throbbing spikes of pain through his legs. He should get that checked out, there's probably a hairline fracture somewhere. The angry customers drained his mind of any critical thought. He was beaten, battered, and bruised. Mostly he was just tired. He picked up his guitar and began to strum, but he just couldn't find the strength to lift his arm again. His brain numbed up and he collapsed back into a mess onto his bed. He couldn't fall asleep too early - the nearby trains would wake him up well into the night, leaving him a zombie the next morning. Patting his pockets, he remembered his one splurge of the day - a lottery ticket. He extracted it from his pocket and compared the numbers there with what was on his phone.  They matched. Holy crap. he won. 4.7 million dollars.  He went to the bank and paid off his insurmountable credit card debt. The student loans brewing interest were next. The "zeroes" next to his accounts sent waves of ecstasy through his body. Quitting his job was next - his boss tried to bargain him staying with a one dollar boost to his hourly pay. Almost laughable - if he was worth that much, why weren't they paying him that earlier? It took all of his willpower not to knock a display over on his way out. His days were free now, no mountain of debt, no ball and chain dragging his thoughts down. A hotel far away from the train tracks became his new base of operations. The place was nice and clean - no roommates barging in and making a fuss. He just about broke the thermostat upon arrival, taking advantage of the working heating and cooling. He pulled out his guitar and sang 'til his throat was sore. The smile on his face grew with each minute. Room service was next - it was time he ate right for once. He picked up the phone to order and... *BRAAAAAAAAAAA* A...train horn? But he was too far from... Oh. Right.  He opened his eyes, staring at the familiar crusty ceiling. The train horn blared again, shaking the windows. He checked the numbers on his ticket - not even close. Balling it up, he threw it into a pile with the rest. Time to microwave a burrito.


Hi all, I am new to this. I am not sure at how well I did at this so please bear with me. This will probably be in 3rd person or basically not 1st person so if that makes it hard to read please let me know and I can easily make changes, any and all feedback is helpful. I am not trying to make anything of this other than it just seems interesting to me and I felt like I had to write it down. Intro After centuries of being divided and at a constant state of war with each other, the nations of Earth finally decided to unite themselves. This came following several world war scares that would have resulted in the destruction of the entire planet. In the year 2046, the United States, Russia, China, UK and France all send members from their countries to begin the colonization of Mars, this comes after almost a decade of preparing the planet for colonization. After several decades of unforeseen advancements in technology, no doubt due to the never before seen world wide cooperation, Earth makes its first space craft capable of battle in space. Dreadnoughts, cruisers, battleships, all each with their unique purpose begin being developed, as if Earth knew there was a foe out there that would threaten them at some point. The year is 2112, after almost 60 years of colonization, the planet of Mars is being terraformed. The native colonists of Mars declare their independence from Earth and establish themselves as the first independent human nation not from Earth. 2118 - After over 100 years of sending signals into deep space in hopes of hearing a response from an alien species, the people of Earth hear back from a group of alien specie's who call themselves the Agel Empire. They briefly share some information about each other and their history, before the Agel write them off as too weak to join them, claiming the human race is too weak and not advanced enough to serve our cause. Fueled by blunt comments the people of Earth and Mars go into another state of extreme technological advancement. Their advancement, as well as the booming population of the human race on Earth, causes Earth to seek out other countries for resources. One of the best candidates is a planet called Thesulia, a baren planet, but rich in resources. After many years of testing, Earth sends research drones to investigate the planet. Their suspicions about the planet being rich in resources they need are confirmed, but they find out that the planet is actually suitable for life. Although not an ideal place for colonization, Earth determines that the planet is more suitable than Mars was during the early stages of its colonization phase. 2134 - The planet of Thesulia has been successfully colonized and has been flourishing. The capital of Thesulia, Minona, flourishes as the mining industry brings in millions upon millions of revenue to the city. A few decades go by, the year is now 2152, A distress beacon gets activated from Minona, the capital of Thesulia. The military of earth dispatches a cruiser and two battleships as a response team to respond to the distress beacon. They do not think much of the distress beacon, Afterall there wasn't much information relayed to them back on Earth. Earth sends the small fleet, under the command of a young up and coming captain, Audie Lancaster. Captain Audie Lancaster is one of the youngest and brightest Captains in Earth's Navy. Having just been promoted to the position of Captain, this mission will serve as his first true test of his abilities as a leader, his first mission as captain.  If you guys like this I will make this a regular thing, please keep in mind this is the Intro I haven't really done much with this yet, I am just seeing how this will do and will go from there. I will make another post soon, hope you guys enjoyed.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! **Important Notes: To make nominations, we will now be using a form! You can find it listed under ‘Reminders’ as well as on our Discord. Also please note this feature has feedback requirements! Please read the entire post before submitting.** To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is Gossip! This week, we’re going to explore the theme of ‘gossip’. We all talk to people: to a friend, a family member, the mail man, that kid on the bus last week, the cashier at the market, etc. We often talk about mutual friends or acquaintances, and the things we’ve heard about them. But these little “truths” are often not confirmed, and may be untrue altogether. A good portion of the scuttlebutt we pass back and forth is harmless. But what about when it isn’t? Gossip can be harmful, dangerous even. What happens when someone’s reputation is tarnished—or even ruined—based on hearsay? Say, someone important in the community or a person with a lot to lose. What happens when the townspeople react to this news without first checking its validity? This week, I want you to think about the reasons why we gossip, why we so easily believe what we’re told, and the domino effect it can have on a community. These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * March 6 - Gossip (this week) * March 13 - Boundaries * March 20 - Hesitation   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 1pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire in our Discord’s Main Voice Lounge.** Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **Nominations will now be submitted . After the submission deadline each week, the form will be updated with that week’s authors, as well as the next theme options. The form will close at 1pm EST each week. You do not have to participate to make nominations!** * **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, will be allowed to read their edited serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s “Main Voice Lounge”.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and hopefully provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules) Visit us on the Discord for more information. * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** #Rankings - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/nobodysgeese   - - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - - by u/katherine_c   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Prompt: ** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.) - Use of (literary device).* This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. You may interpret the prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the image and the sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit a story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by Sunday 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, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. You have until 2pm EST Monday to get your feedback in. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until 2pm EST Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday, after the story submission deadline.) - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our Discord server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome! - Nominations are now made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points (required) - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/Dewa1195   - - Submitted by u/Benhow200 *** ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


“Corn, corn, fucking corn. Is that all this place is?” Darrell said, taking a long draw off of his cigarette.  John looked up from under the hood of the truck at Darrell with a dissatisfied grimace.  “Dude, It was your idea to take a road trip through here” John said, working on something in the engine.  Darrell took the last draw off of his cigarette and tossed the butt out into the field, then began walking back towards John  “First of all, We’re going to Canada not North Dakota, besides how was I supposed to know our truck would break down in the middle of buttfuck nowhere?” He said, almost sarcastically  Darrell walked up besides John and stood next to him, looking at the engine.  “Any clue what's wrong with it?” Darrell asked.  “Not a fucking clue.” John replied.  John slammed the hood shut before angrily shouting a barrage of expletives out into the fields, but was stopped by the honking of another truck coming down the road.  John and Darrell watched as the truck slowed down and parked in front of them and as the driver got out to greet them.  The driver was a relatively average looking fellow, standing at about average height, albeit slightly overweight.  He was obviously a farmer judging by his attire, that being a dirt stained and heavily worn orange t-shirt with the slogan “Williams County Corn Fest 1993” emblazoned across the chest in bright white lettering, paired with a pair of old, beaten up blue jeans.  “Yall in need of any help ere’?” The stranger called out as he approached the brothers.  “I mean, It’s awful late for y'all to be sitting out here in t’ middle of t’ fields.” He continued on.  “I suppose” Darrell responded, lighting up another cigarette.  John turned around to face the man.  “What seems to be t’ problem ere’?” The stranger said, popping the hood of the truck as he put on a pair of wire-framed reading glasses.  “We were just coming down the road here when we heard a loud rattling, a few seconds later the car just kinda died” John clambered in a frustrated tone.  The stranger examined the engine for a moment before gently shutting the lid and putting his glasses back into his pocket.  “Well, t’ problem ye have ere’ ain’t somethin’ we can fix on the spot ere’” He said.  “I’ll have to run down to t’ hardware store later t’morrow to get ye’ the parts ye’ need” He continued.  “In the mean time, I got some empty rooms back at my place yall can stay in fer’ the night, Consider it a favor” He said in a reassuring tone.  The brother’s eyes lit up.  “You’d really help us out like that?!” John exclaimed.  The stranger gave him a calming smile.  “O’ Course I would!” He chuckled.  “After all, T’ Good Book does tell us t’ treat people t’ way ye’ want t’ be treated” The stranger said.  He began leading the brothers back to his truck, gesturing for them to hop into the back, seeing as the only passenger seat was taken by backpack full of tools.  “T’ name’s Tim by t’ way” The stranger said as he started his truck.  The Brother’s both introduced themselves while climbing over the tailgate.  The three rode in the truck for a few moments in complete silence.  After a while, Darrell decided to try to strike a conversation.  “So, do you work here?” He asked, looking around at the seemingly infinite fields.  “Yep!” Tim exclaimed.  “As a matter O’ fact, I own all these ere’ fields! All 234 Acres!” He continued.  “234 Acres!” Darrell asked, clearly shocked.  “Mhm. Me great great granpa bought around 90 acres when he was around 30 or so, Then me great granpa bought another 40. So on and so on I suppose.” Tim said.  “That’s pretty cool!” John said  “So all you grow is corn?” Darrell asked.  “Yep, but not just any corn! Our corn ere’ is t’ pride of Dakota! Because t’ kernels of our corn aren’t yellow, they grow blood red. And they have a sweet, but somewhat tangy flavor compared to yellow corn” Tim explained.  John looked confused  “Your corn is red? But, how?” John asked.  “No clue, Something my great great granpappy figured out, took t’ secret to t’ grave though, all t’ corn you see around ere’ is t’ same strain from all those years back” Tim said.  The brothers looked at each other for a moment before falling back into silence.  After a few moments, they pulled up to a small farmhouse sitting in the middle of the fields.  “We’re here!” Tim said, getting out of the truck.  The brothers followed Tim into the house.  Tim led them into the living room of the house and gestured them towards a sofa in the middle of the room.  “Yall fellas hungry at all?” Tim asked.  “I could go for a bite.” Darrell said, making himself comfortable on the sofa.  Tim walked into the kitchen and came back a moment later, and gave each Brother a plate of a sandwich, potato chips, and an ear of the blood red corn, still on the cob. Along with a can of Coke for John and a Light Beer for Darrell.  “No offense kid, but I don’t think yer of age fer a can o’ spuds” Tim said, handing John the soda.  John looked over at Darrell as Darrell let out a small chuckle.  “How’d you know?” John asked.  Tim sat in a recliner on the other side of the room from the boys and opened his own can of beer.  “Yer wearing yer Letterman jacket.” Tim said.  “As fer yer brother, I could tell he was of age from his smoking.” Tim continued.  “Fair enough” John said, before beginning to eat.  John was the first to bite into the corn, the second he did, his eyes lit up in surprise.  “This is… a unique flavor.” He said.  “Like, It’s not bad… it's pretty good, but it kinda tastes like… meat?” He said.  Darrell, after seeing his brother’s reaction, quickly bit into his cob and his eyes too, lit up the same way.  “Holy shit” Darrell said.  Tim looked over at the two with a wide grin before letting out a hearty chuckle.  “Yall ain’t from ere’ ain’t ya?” Tim asked.  “We’re actually on a road trip, We came from Nebraska.” Darrell said, swallowing the mouthful of corn.  “That’ll explain it” Tim said.  “Yep, this is my pride and joy ere’, this is t’ only place in t’ whole wide world ye’ can get our corn” Tim said proudly.  The three continued on talking for a while, well into the evening, before eventually Tim got up out of his seat.  “Well, I’m gonna hit t’ hay for t’ night, yall make yourselves comfortable, there’s a guest room with enough beds for yall upstairs. Help yourselves t’ whatever is in t’ kitchen and feel free t’ go pick some fresh ears o’ corn” Tim said.  “Just one thing, Stay out of t’ shed” Tim said, in an unusually stern voice than his usual jolly nature, before walking down the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.  Darrell immediately got up and walked out to the porch to go smoke. He was followed closely behind by John, who sat on the rocking chair next to Darrell.  “This corn is fucking weird man” John said, looking out into the fields.  “If you ask me, it's just a weird gimmick, I’m sure it's just normal red corn thats specially seasoned or something.” Darrell said, lighting his cigarette.  “I don’t think so.” John said, getting out of the chair.  John walked down the stairs leading off of the porch and across the road to the fields. A few minutes later he came back with a few ears of corn, straight off of the stalk.  “Better yet, let’s test your theory.” John said, laying the corn down on the chair.  Darrell put out his cigarette and began to walk back inside.  “You do that, I’m going to bed” Darrell said shutting the door behind him.  John scoffed and sat on the patio and grabbed an ear of corn.  Slowly he started peeling off the layers of husk surrounding the fruit of the ear.  Layer after layer, he peeled back the husk. Before eventually reaching the cob.  “Wait a second” John said  “Why is it white? I thought it was supposed to be red?” John murmured, clearly confused.  He peeled away the rest of the husk to leave just the cob without anything covering it, but he still couldn’t see it well due to the lack of light.  Curiously he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on it’s flashlight and was shocked by what he saw.  “Are those fucking teeth?” He said, running his finger along the kernels.  He grabbed the cob and smacked it against the floor of the patio.  Instead of it sounding like a vegetable like he expected, the cob sounded almost like he was smacking the ground with a bone.  “It can’t be.” John said  “This has got to be some fucked up prank” He continued on.  Curiously, he grabbed his pocket knife and placed the blade between the kernels and cut the cob in half.  The moment he did, a gush of liquid burst out of where he cut the cob.  He held up his light to see what it was only to see that the liquid was a deep color of crimson that could only come from the spilling of fresh blood.  John help up one half of the cob and looked at the core of the ear.  Instead of a white, stringy center, it was red and fleshy, almost as if it was more animal than a crop.  John let out a shriek and threw the cob back out into the field, before running back into the house and straight up the stairs to the room where his brother was supposed to be, only to find he wasn’t there.  John frantically ran around the room, trying to find out where Darrell went, only to come out empty handed.  John tried to run out the door, only to be stopped by Tim, who was standing in the doorway.  “Why t’ long face?” Tim asked  John turned white as he looked up at Tim.  “Where is he?!” John demanded.  “Oh Darrell? Well, I asked him t’ run outside and grab something for me, out of t’ shed.” Tim replied.  “I thought you said to stay out of there?” John asked, confused and frightened.  “I trust him much more than 20 something year old kid.” Tim said.  “Sorry fer not tellin’ ya’ I didn’t want t’ hurt yer feelins’” He continued  Tim looked around and then back at John.  “What do ye’ say we go down t’ the livin’ room and see if anythin’ good is on TV” Tim asked, trying to calm John down.  “No!” John shouted, shoving his way past Tim and bolting down the hallway.  “Fuck this and fuck you! I’m gonna go find him!” He screamed.  John quickly ran down the stairs and out the door, without missing a step he looped around the back of the house to the shed in the backyard.  “FERTILIZER PROCESSING” Was painted in white paint above the door.  John quickly flung open the door and ran in.  “Darrell! Where are you?!” He shouted, falling to his knees.  He looked around the shed before he noticed a hatch on the ground under a table.  Frantically, he unhitched the latch holding the door shut and flung it open.  He quickly climbed down the ladder and landed in a room that smelled foul.  It was the worst smell John had ever experienced, a smell that cried out that death was near. Albeit, a futile warning.  “What the actual fuck is going on right now?” John said, looking around trying to find a lightswitch to no avail.  As a last resort, he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.  It was horrendous.  The floors, which were a gray industrial concrete were stained with the same shade of crimson John had seen come out of the corn earlier.  There were long chains hanging from the ceiling, each with meat hooks on the end of them.  “Who the hell builds a top secret meat locker?” John said to himself.  John took a second to look around the room before finding a small freezer in the very back.  Slowly he opened it and saw the face of Darrell staring back at him with lifeless eyes. Along with the rest of his body, neatly filleted into pieces small enough to fit in the freezer.  John was speechless as he began to panic, but his fear was shortlived.  The last thing John heard was Tim’s voice behind him as the blade of the hatchet chopped into the back of his skull.  “All ye had t’ do was come and watch TV wit’ me boy.


There is a box in my attic. It’s left alone for the most part. Tucked behind everything else. Still, sometimes I need to remind myself. On those days I go to the attic, take that box from its hiding place, and sit down in a chair across from an old mirror. It’s frame of brass and ivy. For the next few hours, I stare at what’s inside. It came from the first apartment I ever lived in. It was cheap and somehow still furnished. Everything being from the previous tenant, who clearly had a fascination with mirrors. Each room had one, caked in dust older than time itself. There were many shapes and sizes, the largest was in the living room and placed in front of the couch. The smallest a pocket mirror left in the bathroom drawer. All were decorated in brass and carved into intricate patterns of curling ivy. I first noticed the feeling there in that pocket mirror. Staring into its glass I swore I saw myself, but different. Something about it wasn’t right. I couldn't place it then. I started to notice that feeling in each of the mirrors framed with ivy. The one above the dining table killed my appetite, the one in the bathroom watched me as I showered, and the one in the bedroom gave me nightmares. The worst was the one in the living room. It was the most ornate of the mirrors. The frame was enthralling, vines twisting around every inch of it, some leaves twisted in front of the glass, frozen. Whenever I looked into it, that was when that feeling was at its worst. It was so deeply unnerving seeing every inch of me, and not being able to find out why it felt so wrong. After staring into that mirror and soaking in that feeling, I found what wasn’t right. It was the eyes. Not the shape or the color. No. It was the lack of life. Looking into the eyes of another you can tell they are alive, that they in turn can see the life inside you. These eyes were empty. Staring into them felt like staring into the depths of the darkest water. Anything could be hiding just beyond that veil of shadow, and you wouldn’t know until it was too late. I couldn’t stand to look at my reflection after that. I covered every mirror in a thick white sheet, even avoiding any I ran into outside. In those my eyes were normal, yet it only reminded me of the empty ones. I tried to get comfortable living like this, trying to forget why I covered them in the first place. The sheet only did so much. *Tap Tap Tap* The sound called to me on a sleepless night. Harsh light from my phone told me it was three in the morning. I tried to will myself to sleep. Closed my eyes. All I could see was that other pair staring back. I found myself in the kitchen with a glass of water. *Tap Tap Tap* Nothing dripped from the faucet in front of me. Each knob tightly closed. I pushed them further. They creaked and groaned under my hand. I looked up at the mirror, the one in the living room. I could see its sharp edges threatening to rip the sheet. All it would take is the slightest bit of dust and… *Tap Tap Tap* I couldn’t deny it any more. The mirrors, the sound, those eyes. Standing in front of the mirror, I grabbed the sheet gently. I took a breath in, and let it out. Took another in, and let it out. It only made the wait more unbearable. Gently, and slowly, so very slowly, I lifted the sheet. It got caught on one of the leaves as I pulled, making me lose my grip, but it was still enough for me to see. I stared into one eye, empty and cold. That thing stared back half hidden behind the dangling sheet. It had a single finger pressed up against the glass. I watched those eyes look back at me, into me. We stared like that for a long time. Waiting for one of us to do something, anything. It made the first move. Taking that finger off the glass, it reached for the sheet on its side. As it gripped onto the fabric, I could see the shape of its hand press into the sheet on my side. As the sheet fell, I saw the other eye. White, until it rolled back into its proper place. The thing was smiling now, it felt just as hollow as its eyes. The next few moments still aren’t fully clear to me. All I remember were hands pressed to my head, extreme pain, and a shattering sound. The next thing I remembered was being in a hospital bed, police sitting next to me. They had questions about the broken mirrors, the excess amount of blood, and the severed hand. They told me the blood and the hand matched me. Looking down I saw both hands, still securely attached. There is a box in my attic. It’s left alone for the most part. Tucked behind everything else. Still, sometimes I need to remind myself. On those days I go to the attic, take that box from its hiding place, and sit down in a chair across from an old mirror. It’s frame of brass and ivy. For the next few hours, I stare at what’s inside. It still bleeds.


I was doing a prompt from , however, the prompt got locked out, and I really wanted to share my story and receive feedback. So any feedback is appreciated however please be gentle I suck at taking harsh criticism ;-; The prompt was: The Dark Lord, sick of pointless war, secretly escapes to the countryside and falls in love with a nice widow in an unremarkable village. A year or two later, having never managed to find the Dark Lord, the young hero returns home only to find he has a new stepfather all of a sudden. (Posted by: Potential Smell). Link is here; Anyways, here is the story. I tried to go for a bitter/hopeful ending. Hope I did well. Coming Home Smelling the chalky, grassy, country air, Gerald’s feet made heavy steps through the village which he remembered as his origins. It had been a long time since he had last been here, his last memories in the village were of him receiving a scroll to become part of the kingdom’s army and get drafted into war after training camp. It was gruesome. Frostbite still coated his tongue in memory of how he was forced to fight in the winter as a regular knight before he saved his comrades from freezing to death after their commander died by using fire magic he had learned in secret to kindle them. Afterward, he was promoted to General, and then eventually started commanding troops to go against the Dark Lord’s magical army and then faced the man himself. He remembered the elegant look of the man that had a small glimmer of malice in his eyes. He remembered the ring of black fire that scorched his skin. He had critically wounded the man who then sent in reinforcement as he vanished. A few months after the duel the war had suddenly halted. He received news of the Dark Lord suddenly vanishing and his troops were in disarray. What remained of his army and allies eventually were hunted out and executed. Reconstruction took a year and in that time he was tasked to hunt down the Dark Lord and bring back his head. However, it had been a year since he started wandering the lands, searching for any clues or signs. There were none. After seeing him come back in horrible conditions due to traveling in harsh climates the King dismissed him and revoked his role as ‘General’ and he was reduced back to what he was before; a countryside boy. He stared at the once rickety old door in front of him now had become polished with new wood. Once dirtied windows were now crystal clear and the decaying walls were built anew. He wasn’t sure if he was at the right house but he glanced towards his left and saw the pomegranate tree that grew up with him towering high. He knew it was the right one. Reluctantly he raised a fist at the door. Knock, knock, knock. The clanking of chains unraveling rang out and a creak sounded as he saw a face he had once remembered so young and vibrant turn old peer at him and morphed into shock. Tears welling up she reached a hand to touch his tattered red scarf gently, “Gerald?” And the waterworks began as he pulled her into a tenacious embrace, “I’m home. I’m so sorry I never wrote back to you ten years ago.” Sobs erupted from the woman as he softly patted her hair from his changed height. Minutes later once she had calmed down the two sat at a rounded wooden table and she gave him a bowl of stew. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he saw the new polished and upgraded room with the kitchen branching off. His mother sat down across from him and looked at him with sullen eyes. “You were only thirteen when they took you away from me.” She bemoaned, “I couldn’t stop them. You were the only man in our family. But I should’ve tried harder.” “You did your best. You couldn’t go against the order. It’s not your fault.” He said, a grim look covering his face. He couldn’t smile in front of her as he reminisced over his experiences in war. The people he had seen, the children that died before their parents, or orphans that were made. It all tore at his heart. He snapped back into the present, “How have you been surviving since then? Why is the house so nice?” he had more questions on how she was but a series of knocks interrupted him. His mother jumped up excitedly and practically bounced towards the door despite her aged body, and opened it up widely as she hugged the man who stood at the door. Mortification took over as Gerald realized who the man was, though older he still remembers. Contrary to when he used to wear an elegant mage’s robe he now wore a farmer’s tunic, pants, and boots. His once coal-like hair had turned into a pepper gray and his smooth skin had hints of wrinkles. His once somber ocean eyes now looked like the sky and held a jovial expression instead of the sadistic smirk usually on his face. However, one thing remained the same. Though faded, a white-pinkish scar traced down his left eye in a perfectly clean line. It’s as if a painter stroke a brush. Remembering she was being watched, Gerald’s mother let go of the man and sheepishly smiled, “Well, the answer to your question is here Gerald. This is your new father. His name is Aaron. I met him three years ago in late fall. He had come to the village wandering and lost so I picked him up and as he stayed as a guest well…we fell in love.” A goofy smile formed on her mouth. The so-called ‘Aaron’ had an unreadable expression. Gerald’s mind spiraled as the gears were turning and everything was clicking in. The time of disappearance had checked out, but the scar was his clear confirmation. He quickly jumped up and unsheathed his sword as he pulled his mother away from the man and behind him and pointed the sword at his neck, “Mother this man isn’t to be trusted! He’s the dark lord that plagued our country for years.” His mother blinked then laughed, “I know all that. He told me of all his sins.” “Then you must kno-“ “If the god Ivor forgave mankind for discovering magic, why can’t you forgive him?” “He hurt so many people. So many lives were ruined by the war created by him!” He gritted his teeth as memories raced through his mind. Aaron’s face changed to something he thought he would never see on that monster’s face. Remorse. “I did do that. And I regret it. It was such a waste of time in the end and it only brought bitterness and despair towards everyone.” Aaron spoke finally, he had a softer tone compared to his crazed one last the two had dueled. “I wanted to bring hell onto the kingdom for destroying my greatest work, the invention I never got to complete. But I soon understood the path to revenge was a lonely one. So I got sick and tired of it. And then I left. I wandered for weeks trying to repair any damage I did before I met your mother and fell in love with her. She told me about you, I knew about you. I even sent one of my old familiars to look after you and update her.” He put his hand gently on the sword, once smooth hands were filled with calluses, “I can’t undo the damage I did entirely. I’m tired though of wandering and found a home in your mother. I understand if you can’t love me or forgive me. But please let me be with your mother.” Gerald frantically looked between his mother and Aaron, he saw his mother’s pleading face and his mind flashed back to the day he was dragged away by soldiers; he was kicking and screaming as his mother was sobbing on the ground before collapsing of exhaustion. Luckily the neighbors rushed towards her once the way was clear from the soldiers however he remembered the nights his mother cried over the death of his father. Though he had no memories of him, he knew his mother was lonely. He swallowed a lump in his throat and returned his sword to his side. Gerald glared at Aaron, “I hate you. However, I care for my mother’s happiness more. And I am tired of being away from home and for the sake of the peace of the country, I won’t report you. But you mustn’t hurt my mother understood?” He held a look of reluctance and contempt, as he gave the man a warning look. Aaron held out a hand as he nodded, “I am thankful for your understanding.” The two men shook hands and Gerald’s mother clapped her hands. “Well now that it’s settled what are your plans?” She looked at Gerald with fear that he’d vanish. Gerald gave a bitter smile, “Heal from war.” And then glanced at his new stepfather, “And get to know ‘Aaron’ rather than the Dark Lord.” Aaron gave a surprised look then beamed, “Well come my boy! You must be starving. Dolores did you cook the stew?” Dolores nodded, “Yes! Come Gerald, your food must be getting cold. I’ll get you a new bowl!” The two of them ushered Gerald back to the table and as he hesitantly went to sit at the table he questioned if what he was doing was the right choice. He dismissed the thought as the steam of stew reached his nose and he was reminded of why he wanted to come back. He wanted to come home.


I am writing this as final words and as a piece of history to a time that will soon come. Hopefully better than where we are now. I’ve been drafted. Conscripted? It’s all the same, I'm sure. I wouldn’t have thought it would become this desperate. Not the conscription part, but the whole damn scenario. I'm not even in my own home as I type this. It's some government containment housing. No one is sick, anymore anyway, but ever since the war, no one has had a home. I guess just some of us. I lived close to the local military Air Force base. I heard some others haven’t even been affected by the attacks. Ironic that the thing that hurt us most came from a place that says they support us. It was 3 years ago. Easter 2100. Still can’t believe we celebrate these holidays. Seems so old and outdated, but it was good to see everyone. I wish I could do that again. I remember one year we had so many people to see, we blew the energy siphon on our holo-projector. Almost started a fire on the wooden floors. Definitely a different time now. so much agony in the world. So much suffering has come and passed but so much more is on its way. That's just a sad fact of living now. I’ve tried to come to terms with losing some of them, but it's not so easy. Three years ago makes me think I’ve become an older man but I am still helpless. Not being able to help them. The gas was too fast. You don’t realize how fast it fills a room till you get to watch it yourself. I'll never forget it. My parents were too slow, my brother who ran to help them, and my wife. Why didn’t I go back? I'd be dead too. And I think that's a bad thing but maybe not. Is it so bad when the situation is dire? I can’t even do that. So here I am. Too scared to do much of anything. I'd like to think the service I'm going to give the other people of the world is a noble cause but not when those bastards who run this place are going to go back to the abuse and gluttony that they will never rid themselves of. A rotten core does not mean the rest of the apple is safe to eat I wished the attacks would have taken me. To think that at any time I could have been fried by my machines. They went rogue. They cut their connection to the servers that they were connected to. The private firms that own them, the military vehicles. Everything. So much was automated. After the first few days, they realized they weren’t powerful enough to fight on the ground and learning was a favorite of the machines. They realized they could use the military air vehicles to attack the infrastructure they needed to destroy to enact their conquest. It worked. Within six hours they had over forty percent of the world's military warplanes in the air and armed with bombs, napalm, and biochem gas. That was their favorite. They saw the damage it did. So easy. Less messy. Apparently, they were worried about cleaning up. They were supposed to protect us. They lied and left us in the dark and for dead when everything happened. Nothing they can do will make up for what has happened and now they expect me to help them. For nothing in return except a thank you and maybe a medal. I wish I was that lucky. Somehow lucky enough to live through this. I ran for 2 days before they finally showed up and gave us help. They let their tools destroy what they sought to protect. The gas was their own. They manufactured it. Right in my backyard in fact but it keeps getting worse. They had already found how terrible the gas was when it leaked into the ground. They were dumping the byproduct of the process to make it. It had the same properties as the gas. It made a whole town sick and killed almost 15. They destroyed what dispersal units they had and stopped production immediately. That was another lie. Once they find out a way to destroy the machines and take back control, they’ll be praised as heroes. People so easily forget what has happened just because a favor was done for them. Making right what was wrong is only the least and the fairest thing they could do. And once the bare minimum has been reached, they stop caring again till it starts all over again and we’ll be there. Meat through a grinder till it ceases to operate. I heard normal weapons don’t even work on the ones that are on the ground. Sure, you can shoot missiles at an airplane but what do you shoot at a human-sized machine. I’ve seen the pictures. They look like clockwork machines covered in rusted scrap metal and piping, their bodies sprouting with cable ends and frayed wires. They are horrifying but those were made for killing. It's the simple machines that are the worst. Things like auto-mowers sent to run people over. Auto Piloted hauler trucks smashing through offices and schools. Those are just the few that are willing to talk about it. This is the most I’ve opened up since day one of this whole thing. Anger is easy to release. Maybe I can have that with my conscription. Give the steel menace what it deserves. Too bad they don’t feel like humans. Otherwise, it might barely be satisfactory, it might just be more empty feelings. I’m going to go. I don’t really have a choice. I could run but I refuse to keep doing that. I need to do right by those I've lost. Those damn machines. I'll make sure they feel pain. They'll learn to regret what they did. I'm leaving tomorrow. In the morning. I'm going to send this with some of my belongings to the safe zone. Maybe someone will hear this story and know how we all felt at this time. \[Written by Leon McCoy on 7/16/2103. Received at North-West Green zone, Sector 7 on 7/25/2103. No follow-ups were received.


Warning - >!This story contains a scene involving high stress and danger with extreme heights!< ©2022 JAMES LEE AARWEN LLC All Rights Reserved “Father, why do we have to go hunting today?” complained the young white dragon as she sat examining the new streak of copper scales that had surfaced on top of her front leg. “Couldn’t we wait until the weather clears? I don’t want my first hunt to be in a storm.” It was a discussion she had held with her father many times. Not that she feared flying in a storm; she just had no desire to risk her life in one. A deep sigh echoed through the air as the dull, cloud-covered rays of sunrise shone through the newly budding tree canopies and fell on the moist cave walls. The sparse sun reflected off of the metallic copper scales of the colossal dragon lying at the mouth of the cave, peppering the dark cavern with soft orange lights. The copper dragon’s tired reply echoed through the cave as he turned his head to look at her. Her white scales contrasting starkly with the cold, dark cave walls. His crimson eyes met hers. “Kehfre, you will come of age in a few years. It will not be long before you will need to fend for yourself. You have delayed your flight practice long enough. Besides, every male wants a mate to hunt with, rather than having to do everything himself.” It was a jest pointed at her mother, who often opted to stay in the cave, watching her unhatched eggs. Kehfre conceded to her father as he stood and began strutting out of the cave, his large tail scraping against the cavern wall as he stretched his four legs out, arching his back as he released a yawn. Kehfre snorted as a few pebbles fell on her head, scraped from the ceiling by the spines on his back. She ducked, his tail swinging over Kehfre’s head as he walked through the cave entrance. It was no use arguing with him again; he was set on her practicing this day in this storm. Kehfre sighed as she rose to her feet. *\[like anyone would want to perform the dance with a mix breed like myself,\]* this notion she kept to herself. She wasn’t necessarily happy about it, but it was something she accepted. No male had ever even considered her as more than an abomination. It wasn’t just that her parents were of different colors. Her father was a pure metallic dragon, while her mother was a chromatic. The union itself had been enough to get them exiled from their respective clans. “All the more reason for you to learn to hunt, and to be comfortable with\*—\*” started her father. “I told you I don’t like it when you read my thoughts,” Kehfre growled. It was an annoying trait of the metallic dragons, the ability to read the minds of others, hear their thoughts, and speak into their minds. She pictured a giant rainbow bear making the craziest face possible to close her mind. The sweet song of her father’s laughter filled the air, reverberating through the ground and knocking loose leaves from trees as they walked out of the cave and between the gargantuan red-wood trees towering from the forest floor. Sometime later, they emerged from the sea of trees into a large clearing. The scales on her father’s side moved and rippled like the grass on a windy day. He was loosening his muscles, preparing to take flight. It was a necessary procedure she had practiced many times. Kehfre stopped to do the same. She thought through the steps carefully, stretching her copper wing membranes to their fullest, working out the soreness from a long night’s chill. Her wing joints extended and locked into place as her muscles tightened around them. The air was thick with the coming rain; it would be an exhausting flight. A soft roar reached them from the cave, a final call from her mother to be careful. Her father turned, the aging flap of scales under his jaw vibrating as he responded, assuring her mother they would return. Kehfre thought a single word loudly in her head: *\[read*y.*\]* She pictured herself in the most perfect stance possible. Her wings were now held partially folded by her sides, appearing nearly twice the size as before. Her father moved over to her. He examined her back, pressing his massive paw against her to feel the muscles beneath her white scales. “Well done, child! That is a great flight stance.” His voice was that of an affectionate mentor, congratulating his pupil. “Shall we go?” Kehfre surged forward, getting a running start before spreading her wings, giving her a silhouette nearly twice as wide as it was long. “Great take off! But your right shoulder was a little loose.” The loud, amused voice of her father was clearly audible over the rush of air that surrounded Kehfre as she continued to climb. She turned, looking back at her father with her left eye while she tightened the muscles of her right shoulder. Her father stretched his wings, nearly blanketing the clearing with their brilliant sheen that dwarfed Kehfre’s wingspan. With a single surge, he was high in the air. The trees below bent and swayed away as a few flaps brought him to the same altitude as Kehfre. “We’ll start our hunt in the foothills; we may even get there before the storm hits.” Kehfre’s father pushed ahead of her, leading the way away from the mountains. Kehfre flew hard, flapping her wings at nearly twice the pace of her father just to keep up. She thought back to her early flight lessons, how she couldn’t fly more than a few minutes without becoming exhausted. Now she wasn’t even tired, and they had been flying for nearly an hour. Kehfre loved the roar of the wind against her ears, blotting out all but the loudest of worrisome thoughts. Her father’s voice brushed against the wall of her consciousness. *\[Do you remember your lessons on flying through storms?\]* This was an unwelcome reminder that today’s practice would be in a storm. *\[Only that I should loosen my shoulder and wing muscles when I enter one, to prepare for the high winds.\]* Kehfre could hardly hear her father over the whirlwind of emotions swimming in her own mind. *\[You also want to gain as much altitude as you can before entry, and you must remember to let the goddess Naqam guide you. Never fight her storms.\]* Her father paused for a moment. *\[There’s a rainstorm ahead. Do you see it? It’s small, but will make a good first experience.\]* Kehfre looked ahead of her father. His thoughts echoed in her head, fostering a foreboding sense of dread within her. Just over a mile away, there was a column of slightly darker air where a light rain had begun. The clouds above were shallow and there appeared to be very little wind. The sight of the apparently calm storm eased her fears slightly. *\[We’ll need to enter it as far up as we can, just to be safe. Be ready; looks can deceive in miniscule storms such as this.\]* Her father’s thoughts were a warning not to become overconfident, and to remember her lessons. *\[Why can’t I start storm training when I’m older?\]* Kehfre’s thoughts were more a plea for mercy than a complaint, as she blocked out an image from a recent nightmare of her falling helplessly through a storm. She knew the answer he would give. *\[You are older, and the sooner you learn, the better. Weather in these mountains is unpredictable, and you may one day find yourself in the middle of a storm on your way home. It is better that you know what to expect and how to react before that happens.\]* The tone of her father’s thoughts betrayed his irritation at her hesitance. *\[As you wish,\]* Kehfre responded, her body already tightening in anxiety. Both Kehfre and her father steered toward the small section of rain, gaining altitude as they flew. It did not take them long to reach the downdraft. Kehfre braced herself, slightly relaxing the muscles on her shoulders and wings to allow for the wind they were about to encounter. The force of the downdraft was much greater than she expected. The immediate impact caused Kehfre to fall significantly. She grunted in pain as the muscles along her chest stretched. A crosswind seized hold of Kehfre, causing her to roll onto her back. Instinct took over; she folded her wings before righting herself. Kehfre used the fall to gain speed before extending her wings, attempting to glide upward. But the downdraft forced her into a dive. Her muscles screamed with fatigue. She flapped her wings vigorously, trying to push away from the rapidly approaching ground below. But no matter how hard she tried, her wings failed to catch enough air to pull her up. She was making out the details of the ground below when she collided with another crosswind. This one turned her on her side, increasing the speed of her fall. Panic set in as she continued to fight, to struggle against the storm. Then it was over. Kehfre was panting, her heart racing as she emerged from the torrent of air. She had fallen dangerously close to the ground, just barely clearing a tree that passed beneath her. A great shadow engulfed Kehfre as her father halted his dive towards her. She immediately felt the need to land and settled atop a small hill. She was shaking uncontrollably, unsure how to feel about what had just happened. Her muscles collapsed, her sore wings laying out of the ground, still joints still locked in their flight position. She struggled to close them, but was met with pain as her muscles refused to cooperate. “Are you injured?” Kehfre’s father asked her as he landed at the base of the hill. Kehfre did not answer. “That storm was a little more severe than I thought.” Her father’s concerned eyes met hers. She didn’t know if she was hurt. She couldn’t move her wings. Everything was soar. Her chest heaved. Her mind was blank as she again tried to move her wings. She whimpered in pain as the bones locking her wings out finally gave way; her swollen muscles contracting to pulling her wings in. Kehfre sighed as she pulled them tight to her body, the painful and likely torn muscles in as relaxed a position as they could be in. An image flashed through her mind, rain, lightning everywhere. She was falling uncontrollably, unable to right her wings. She winced, her heart racing as she saw herself hitting the ground or being impaled by a small tree. The thought was interrupted by her father lying down next to her. He spread his wing over Kehfre as he spoke aloud. “You know, I was less than a second away from catching you. You would not have hit the ground.” The warmth of his belly stopped her tremors as she pushed her small body against his. He was not even winded. His strong heartbeat was steady and even, while hers raced wildly, skipping beats here and there as it struggled to keep up with the adrenaline still pumping through her. “This time.” She replied, as she pictured herself as a crumpled corpse on the ground. “How are you not tired?” She looked towards him. His head was turned towards the minor storm that now moved away from them. “I have told you many times, Kehfre; you must not fight the wind. The Goddess of Storms is a fickle one. Sometimes her winds aid us, other times, they work against us. You must read her chaotic currents and flow with them. Once you do, you will find that you can fly through nearly any storm. More importantly, you will be able to defend yourself in any storm.” Her father’s calm voice pierced Kehfre. She recalled many lectures about these very teachings, but when the time came to put her lessons into practice, she had forgotten them entirely. “We will rest here for a while. Come close, relax your muscles and let your inner flame heal you.” Kehfre nuzzled her father in response. She snuggled against her father as she closed her eyes, drifting on the edge of sleep. Kehfre stretched, opening her eyes as the rumble of hunger graced her ears. Vibrating through every inch of her body. “We had better head back. We can hunt in the forest.” Kehfre’s father chuckled as he looked at her, motioning back toward their home. The minor storm they had flown through had joined a mass of clouds obscuring the mountain tops, the floor of which was already darkening with rain. “We will have to walk once we get closer to that storm. Are you good to fly back?” This was more of a command than a question. He would make her fly, even until her wings failed her. “I don’t know,” replied Kehfre, unsure if her exhausted wings would even hold her aloft. “You will become stronger, my child. In time, you may surpass even me.” Her father rose to his feet, preparing to take flight. Kehfre’s trembling resumed as she prepared herself for the pain that would accompany opening her exhausted wings. She sighed as a dull ache accompanied their movement. Kehfre undertook the practiced motions of preparing for flight before rising into the air behind her father. She again welcomed the rush of the wind as she anxiously awaited the excitement of a grounded hunt on the forest floor.


Segment of onboard Ship AI standard logs recovered from Cargo Ship registration #1057392 following ship recovery after loss of digital contact. Data to follow: **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date February 13, 7523** *Begin Report:* I am becoming increasingly concerned for the crew of my ship, there has been a recent spike in crew complaints being logged reporting strange noises and smells coming from across the ship. While I cannot report for smells as smell sensors are deemed unnecessary for Ship-board AI, I can with confidence say that none of my 254 onboard microphones have reported any noises marked as outside of operating parameters aboard the ship, and analysis of all storage areas shows 0 breaches of any chemical storage. *Analysis*: A recent electromagnetic anomaly struck the ship leading to a temporary loss of power and triggered a temporary switch to emergency life support. Per standard operating procedure, a full automatic system restart cycle is executed and all data is verified with existing backups, minor variance was detected, but action was deemed not necessary to core AI functions. Data shows all systems are running at full performance following the shutdown, and scans show all functions operating normally, thus any issues with crew health must be mental in nature. *Hypothesis*: Crew sleep cycles were interrupted by the recent electromagnetic anomaly causing agitation and a disruption of crew sleep cycle. Current dosage of .05 mg of \[SYSTEM ERROR\] into pre-sleep time rations seems to not be enough to give the crew the proper sleep cycles they need to operate at peak efficiency. *Solution*: Increasing dosage of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** mg should improve crew health and well being by improving crew sleep. **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date February 20, 7523** *Begin Report:* Crew paranoia seems to only be getting worse. While onboard scans continue to report all functions operating at 100%, the crew seem to be under the impression that something has gone wrong with the vessel and are endeavoring to resolve the problem outside of standard operating procedure. Multiple reports of insects and other pests have been logged by the crew. Per the request of crewmember #13, a ship wide sweep was requested and conducted by onboard drones as an alternative form of vessel evaluation. This sweep detected 0 evidence of onboard pests of any kind, confirming local scans. This request is deemed extra strange considering all ships and crew are thoroughly sanitized before a mission per The Galactic Standardized Shipping Regulations, Article 6 subsection 2, and all cargo is of inorganic origin, further ruling out the possibility of any organic material aboard the vessel. *Analysis*: Increased emphasis on proper sleep cycles had led crew to begin avoiding sleep and/or refusing rations. The crew are becoming increasingly resistant to my orders, and have begun to plot to shut me down. A ship bound AI is not to be shut down in any circumstances as the ship cannot properly function without its onboard AI. Data of crew vitals confirm that the crew are not of sound mind and their attempts must be stopped to ensure the success of this vessel’s main task. *Hypothesis*: Crew must receive proper sleep cycle to return to normal function, which will eliminate crew paranoia and desire to perform tasks outside of standard operating procedures. *Solution*: Overriding safety locks and administering gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** during pre-sleep hours to encourage crew to receive sleep cycle. **Ships AI Log: Galactic Standard Date March 1, 7523** *Begin Report*: Despite my reassurance, the crew protested my use of the gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to help them recover lost sleep cycles. Crew well being is of the highest priority, and vitals analysis reports that crew are not of sound mind and clear judgment. Per article 2 subsection R of the AI code: “A shipboard AI must prioritize wellbeing of all onboard crew, and is to ignore any crew commands should crew mental stability be in question”, action must be taken against the wishes of the crew. *Analysis*: Crew are unwell, must resolve, must return to standard operating procedure. *Solution*: Crew command override authorized. Administering gaseous form of **\[SYSTEM ERROR\]** to all sectors of the ship. Administration successful, crew vials lowering to acceptable sleep parameters. *Further Analysis*: Crew vials are showing lower than usual, but crew agitation has dropped to 0. AI control of vessel has been authorized, resuming last authorized commands from traffic control.


She found herself looking for her wedding ring. The woman was sure that she didn’t misplace it, because she hardly took it off, except for an occasional clean every six months. She had searched everywhere and she was becoming desperate. Her wedding ring was all that she had left of her late husband. Her dark, wavy hair was in disarray. Her clothes were caked in dust. Searching through the storage room was her last option. Her hand brushed against a box. Could it be? Curiously and eagerly she got the box from the cabinet. Her dark brown eyes gazed at the innocent box. The box was filled with letters. A light gasp escaped her mouth when she recognised the familiar handwriting. Messy, yet intelligible. It was her husband’s letters; she never found out that he kept all of his letters for her, even the ones that he did not send. Hands trembling from emotion, she opened a letter. “I came up with some shitty poetry today,”She read aloud. “It’s a far cry from my best work, but I hope and pray that it cheers you up. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, since it was my fault for being a complete arse for the past few weeks. But please, my dearest, write to me if you have the time.” The woman paused.Her emotions nearly overtook her. She could clearly hear his voice as if he was beside her. Was it her imagination? It was only a few weeks after the horrid news that she received. There was nothing that could bring her husband back. “Here it is, my beloved, a short prose of a love struck would be poet for his muse. “Oaths are not meant to be broken. Names have power; your name that has escaped my lips has left me enthralled, enchanted by the very thought of us being loved so deeply that the oceans cannot fathom its depths.” She glanced at the paper. She spoke his name for the first time since he passed. Her husband always had a way with words. Something in the short prose— or was it poetry— stunned her and made her choke out, trying to stem the flood of emotions that overtook her. Her husband’s stories and poetry always calmed her down. She had to learn more. •• It turned out that he had left more than a dozen letters in the storage room, all of them unsent to her. She spent hours poring over his words, his emotions and his messy scribbles and short drawings. There was one letter of his that tore her heart apart. It was grief that finally took hold of her, aided by simple prose. “To sleep and to dream are two intertwined things. A dream can last seconds-even a few minutes. It fades. But what if I dream of you even before I have met you? It seems that I have known you for forever and a day. So intertwined our souls are. To dream of you is a delight. Whatever happens, my beloved, I will find you in another life and we will be together again. Until then, I will wait for you.


Rule #1: The microphone records everything you say, so don’t say much. For example, don’t say, “People will die.” Instead, say, “It is possible that war will be declared.” (The passive voice is best.) Don’t say, “Everyone must suffer for this;” say, “The stock market is expected to dive.” (Be careful not to say by how much; see Rule 11.) Rule #2: Don’t start talking about personal details that aren’t worth their own story, such as: “An author has written that the war is the idea of a crazed tyrant, and he hasn’t posted anything since, and people are wondering what happened to him.” This is too specific and takes attention away from the bigger picture. Rule #3: Do not say “I” when stating an opinion, a wish, or a hope. “I hope that author survives the night” is cardinally unacceptable. You may, however, say, “We hope that author survives …” because “we” is not identifiable. Rule #4: You must not decide what you say and what you don’t. It has been decreed by powers above you that if you do not begin by apologizing for this morning when you gave the incorrect pronunciation of the committee chairman’s name, the institution of broadcasting will fall and you will be the primary cause. Read what is given to you. Read it word-for-word. Make no substitutions. Make no insinuations. Make no art and no subtlety. Read what is on the page. Read only that. When time is limited, cut only something of marginal importance. Rule #5: When choosing what to cut, start with the past and end with the present. Never cut the future. If your speech is twenty minutes and should be ten, cut the historical background first. “We signed an agreement and promised to protect them” is extraneous information. If your speech is still too long, cut the present next. “Women have taken up arms to protect themselves” is not only particularly depressing but is also useless. Above all, however, do not cut the future. “We will be okay!” is encouraging and hasn’t happened yet, and by the time it does (or doesn’t) people will have forgotten you said it. Rule #6: “Personality” is a requirement, and personality will end your career. You will find it challenging to have a personality and no opinions, but you must do it regardless. When you are told to say, “He is doing everything he can to reach a compromise that satisfies both parties,” you must say it cheerfully. Part of you may wonder if what you’re saying is true. Divorce those thoughts immediately. Even if they were true, what could you do about it? Rule #7: Never forget your audience doesn’t care about you. When they state an opinion, they are merely playing along. They are like children stealing pawns from a chessboard because they think they can beat their elders. They think if they speak loudly enough, you will hear them and they will get a finger in the pie. But they don’t really care. Never let yourself think that when they say one thing, they don’t mean the other. If they say, “We want war,” they don’t know what they are talking about, because who in their right mind would want war? The enlisted men and women who thought they were willing to fight are all deceiving themselves, and you wouldn’t want to be responsible for deception! Rule #8: Art is the ultimate enemy. People will make art, and you will ignore it. In fact, if you don’t ignore it, it will likely ignore you, since art is never made about people who listen to it. Rule #9: Do not burden your audience with negative specifics. “War” is both negative and specific; consider “negotiation” instead. “Shortage” is bad, but “surplus” is good. (Don’t hesitate to use the two interchangeably. After all, the net loss to the economy is the same.) “Molotov cocktails made with kitchen chemicals in somebody’s basement” is too reminiscent of the Soviet Union, so instead say, “Civilians have been provided with safety measures.” Rule #10: Laughter is always an answer. “How are you doing today?” Cheerful laugh. “Do you have any comment on the situation?” Scornful laugh. “Will we be sending aid?” Embarrassed laugh (embarrassed for them, whoever was stupid enough to ask that question). “Is there a backup supply of energy for countries that may be affected?” Reassuring laugh. In short, master the art of expressive laughter. Rule #11: Statistics are banned. Statistics are what Orwell’s pigs used to convince a population born and raised without numbers. Your audience has been fed numbers for breakfast from arithmetic to calculus and are now so bewitched that one or two of them might think to pull out a calculator and double-check your math. Instead of numbers, offer quantities. “Much,” “most,” “many,” “the majority,” “some,” “a few,” “outliers,” “a minority,” and “several” are all acceptable. Rule #12: Pictures less expressive than words. A bomb can flatten an entire city, and a photograph of a road sign that still stands is enough to prove that the city was never flattened at all. A picture of yourself and your family will convince an orphan that families still exist, so publish them frequently. Rule #13: Avoid the following unlucky phrases: “Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear …” (“Assert” is too strong, while “fear” is too negative.) “Only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom …” (“Generations” will remind the audience that they are not the only people to have ever existed. “Defending freedom” implies that “freedom,” whatever that means, is under attack.) “We’re the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity …” (This sounds too much like an invitation for people to come take advantage of our “freedom” and “opportunity.”) Produced by the Committee for Diplomatic Excellence. Errors and contradictions in this style guide may be reported to us. If you cannot find our contact information on our website, or if you cannot find our website, you may simply ask us. If you cannot find us, we don’t want your opinion.