What did the rich drink, anyway?* “Whatever it is you rich folk drink.” I stared at her scrunched nose. She reminded me of a toddler refusing their vegetables. Where did this woman come from? “I wouldn’t serve this to a pig.” “I imagine you’ve never served anyone. I’m sure you have a butler and a maid and even people to take off your shoes.” “You don’t know me.” “Thank God for that,” I whispered, but loud enough that I knew she heard. The woman’s cheeks were flushed, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or embarrassment. I made an effort to make conversation over the next few minutes, but it was no use. The woman had walked into my store just ten minutes ago and already she’d insulted me three times and practically spat at everything as she stormed up and down the aisles of packaged goods. The click-clack of her heels over and over again felt like nails on a chalkboard. She made her way to the counter, staring me up and down, as if I were one of the pathetic souls she bossed around in her fancy life. “That’ll be $1.25” I said firmly. “For this? It tastes like it was made last week!” “You know what? Take it. I don’t need your money badly enough to listen to you ramble on. Take it and go.” I exhaled. The woman rolled her eyes and threw a five dollar bill on the counter. “I need a phone. You do have those out here, right?” “Yes. Don’t you?” She waved her cell in the air. “No service in this bum-fuck town.” I placed the landline on the counter. “Good luck reaching anyone. Storm’s knocked out most of the local power lines.” “Of course it has. This is just my luck.” She picked up the phone, pressed the talk button several times, then hung it up. “Just great. There’s no way I’m getting stuck here on Christmas Eve, with…you.I don’t have time for this.” I swallowed a chuckle and ran my hand through my mustache. “Something funny?” I shook my head, the grin twisting my mouth. “Go on…Mountain Man, what’s so funny?” “Nothing. I’m just surprised there’s anyone on this planet who’d willingly put up with you during the holidays. You’re insufferable.” “You don’t even know me! The nerve! And just what are you doing in this—” She looked around the store, “—hole in the wall, on Christmas Eve? Doesn’t seem like anyone’s rushing to share the holiday with you, either.” A knot twisted in my stomach as a weight hung heavy in my chest. I was ready to pick this woman up and throw her out into the snow, myself. “Some of us don’t have the luxury to take off whenever we want.” She nodded, eyeing me up and down. “Yes, I see you’d miss out on this rush of business.” A draft blew past the counter and I caught a whiff of her perfume. It was rather pleasant, like a touch of Spring wrapped in rose petals. It was the only pleasant thing about her. “What are you staring at? Don’t they teach any manners out here?” She pulled her blazer closed. “That’s rich coming from a woman who not even five minutes ago spit coffee onto the ground.” “I didn’t want to get poisoned.” “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I snarked, though, I knew there was no way she could leave. The snow continued to fall, ensuring I’d be trapped in this tiny store with the Bitch Who Stole Christmas at least for the next couple of hours. “You’re right. Clearly I’d be much better off out there. See you around, Mountain Man.” The woman walked to the front door and stopped, staring at the blustering winds and snow outside. The wind howled. She sighed heavily, glancing back ever so slightly, but continued out into the night. “Fuck.” I kicked the crate into the wall. Why me? Why was I the one cursed to provide shelter to this woman. I was too nice. She didn’t care about anyone other than herself. I knew the type, I knew it well. Rolling my eyes, I threw on my coat, and walked out into the blizzard after her. The air was frigid. I couldn’t even see her in the distance; visibility was awful. She couldn’t have gone far in this, certainly not in what she was wearing. “Hey, wait!” I trudged through the path in the snow, cursing myself, ignoring my already-frozen toes. Her figure came into view, her bold attire standing out against the white night. I walked closer, closing the distance between us until we were standing face to face. Tears streamed down her flushed face. She whipped around, facing away from me. “Go away. You were right. I’m insufferable.” “C’mon. I mean… yeah, you really are. But you don’t deserve to freeze to death out here. Come back in the store, just until the roads are cleared up some.” “Leave me alone. I don’t wanna spend the night with you, anymore than you do with me! I’ll be fine. My car’s just up the road. I can wait out the storm in there.” “Your car doesn’t have enough heat. You’ll freeze out here.” “What do you care?” “You’ll die. And then I’d have your death on my conscience.” In that moment, something shifted. Maybe the cold was making me delirious. Maybe the woman was working her devilish wiles on me. But the way her big eyes glowed against the brightness, there was a softness about her; a vulnerability. And sadness. One that she tried so hard to hide. “Look, if you don’t follow me back, I’m going to have to pick you up and carry you myself.” *God, what was I even saying?* “Does that line actually work for you? You better keep your filthy hands off of me. You know what, I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re crazy. I’d rather freeze!” With that, I grabbed her shivering body from the snow, holding her in my arms as I trudged back to the store. There was a second, just a brief second, where I saw the corners of her mouth turn up. She tried to hide it, but I saw her smile. Not so tough, I guess. Once inside, I gently put her down. “You really are crazy! Who do you think you—” “You’re welcome.” I interrupted. “But I mean, if I’m crazy, and you’re that committed, go on. You’re free to leave at any time.” She brushed the snow onto the floor and looked from me, to the door. “Fine. But don’t think this means I like you or something. I don’t. I’m leaving the second I can.” “Sure. Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” “I am not your sweetheart.” “Well, that part you have right. Aint nothin’ sweet about you, lady.” “Priscilla.” “Pri-what?” “My name, it’s Priscilla.” I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. “Even your name is prissy.” “Well I’m sure you have a very backwoods name. Like Butch or Buster or something weird like that.” “Actually, the name is Jack. After my father and his father.” “I guess that’s not so bad.” I smiled. When she put down her guard, even just a little, she was tolerable. Endearing, even. And she was quite attractive. “Your clothes are soaked. I have some sweats in the backroom if you like.” I walked to the back without waiting for her response. When I returned, she was sitting on the counter. I tossed the t-shirt and sweats in her lap. She held them up. “You wear these? Like… in public?” I laughed. It was the closest thing to a thank you I would get from her. “There’s a bathroom you can change in.” I pointed to the right. “Well I guess I don’t have a choice.” Prissy, as I’d started thinking of her, went into the bathroom and changed. For the next four hours, we watched the storm from the window in my makeshift room in the back of the store. We talked about our very different lives and shared a bottle of brandy. We even played cards—I let her win, of course. She really wasn’t all that bad. The night could have been much worse. And to be honest, it really was better than spending it alone. Though, I would never tell her that. I got the feeling that this was the first time she’d actually had fun in a very long time. Shuffling the cards in my hand, I glanced out the window. The snow had finally stopped and the sun was rising. The plows attempted to make their way down the main road. “Looks like it’s clearing up a bit. You can rush back to your fancy life now.” “I’m sure you’re happy about that. You can finally get rid of me.” “Well, it’s not like I have plans. I mean, you can stay, if you need to.” A smile adorned her face, and her cheeks flushed. “I guess it’s still pretty rough out there. Maybe I should stay here a little longer. Just to be safe.” “Yeah, just to be safe.” I grinned back. “Merry Christmas, Prissy.” “You, too, Mountain Man.”   *** - This is an extended version of the original 800-word version I wrote for our Discord Secret Santa Story Exchange! - While I don't do typically do romance, thank you u/DannyMethane_ and u/LeeBeeWilly for the constraints that pushed me to write something out of my comfort zone. Merry Christmas! - Check out r/ItsMeBay for more stories by me.


***Flag***\*,\* ***Indian summer,*** ***cannonball.*** *Actions:* ***Christmas carols are being sung***\*,\* ***Someone is being chased***\*. Phrases: “\****It happens this time of the year”,*** \*“\****We have until midnight”***  “Crack!” the kitchen window said, as its locking mechanism snapped. Snow drifted in and scattered like a dusting of sugar over the kitchen counter. Two sets of boots tracked mud across the surface. One belonged to a skinny man, who climbed as though his gangly teenage growth spurt had just kept spurting. The other set belonged to a stubby man with a round face like a cannonball with a big nose attached. These were not nice men. They were Christmas present thieves. Sadly, it’s true, it happens this time of year. Following them through the window, the distant sound of Christmas carols serenely drifted in. They crept towards the red-green glow of Christmas lights tickling the tree upon which they sat. “Hey. Whassat?” Jerry backhanded Arsene in his big bulbous nose. “Ouch! Whadya do that for, nitwit!” Arsene stomped on Jerry’s foot. Jerry pointed towards two ghostly figures at the foot of the Christmas tree. Arsene’s mouth opened wide as he froze. One of the two figures was gangly with a long black scraggly beard, and nimble fingers unwrapping presents. The rotund man stood guard. He kicked the gangly one, and they both faced the two would-be thieves. “Who are you, old geezers? Get outta here,” Arsene fired at them. “This is our hit.” “Arse.. Arsene…” Jerry stammered, hitting him like he was a piñata refusing to open.”It’s us.” As if staring at a mirror that took decades to reflect the light, it *was* them, but ancient, wrinkled, and decrepit. “We are you,“ the old Arsene croaked, “from the future.” “And I guess the thieves of Christmas past are gonna sneak up behind us and tell us to stop stealing their jujus,” the younger Jerry sneered. Old Jerry stroked his long beard, an unconscious mannerism. “To us, you guys are the thieves of Christmas past.” “A reminder that we had a choice once,” old Arsene added. “We have until midnight when the old Santy Claus turns up,” he faltered. “To stop you… to convince you to…” He lost his train of thought. “Whatever you do. Don’t touch him.” “Why not?” young Jerry asked. “If you touch him,” old Jerry said, “his time travel juice will get on you and drag you along with him. Me an him, “ he pointed to old Arsene, “have been stuck in here time traveling with him for,” he paused tapping his fingers, “fifty years.” “We are begging you… leave now,” old Arsene added. ”Give up… something…” he shook his head clearing the cobwebs. “It ain’t worth it.” The young Jerry looked at his watch, showing five minutes to midnight. “‘ang on, what were you looking for before.” “The Christmas favor...” Old Jerry started before he clammed up with a kick in his shins from old Arsene. “What’s that then?” young Arsene asked. “Sounds kinda expensive.” “Yeah,” young Jerry added. “Why don’t you both get outta here. You’re just trying to steal what we’re already stealing.” Old Arsene shook his head in dismay. Old Jerry looked down to the floor. Paused. Then plucked something from the floor and ran. “Oi!” Young Jerry chased after him, clattering chairs, smattering cutlery, and battering through the dining room. They bundled up the stairs until he caught the old fella flagging on the landing. Pinning him to the floor, young Jerry snatched the item from his hands. It was a gold-gilt snowglobe glowing as if a firefly was trapped inside it. A flash of light filled the house, momentarily blinding them all. The room warmed as though an Indian summer was beating away the winter chills. “I would like to invite you to return that gift to the box,” a deep voice was heard from the living room. All four men were overwhelmed by a red glow emanating from the large man who filled the room as though he demanded attention. “Now that you have seen the consequences of your actions,” Santa spoke in a soothing voice to the younger versions of Jerry and Arsene. “The punishment for stealing Christmas presents is severe.” He indicated the two decrepit skeletal men, the thieves of Christmas future. “Again, I invite you to return the gift.” Jerry held the snowglobe out in the palm of his hand, as though he was Frodo presenting the One Ring. He’d probably get a few hundred for it down at the Pick N’ Snatch. Enough to get him and Arsene through the winter. He looked back at the two broken old men. Arsene whispered to Jerry as they both approached the red-clad time traveler. “Give it to ‘im. I don’t wanna end up like them. We find another way.” Nodding, Jerry placed the decoration back in the box and rewrapped the paper. “At the fiftieth time of asking,” Santa whispered, rubbing his temples. “Thank you.


## Home for the Holidays Snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked through the streets of my old neighborhood, my mother’s words from earlier that evening echoing in my head: *If you’re not my son, and you’re not my daughter, I don’t know what you’re doing in my house.* The Christmas lights, cheap, tacky, and beautiful, seemed to wonder the same thing. “Go back to the city,” they blinked on and off, never in-between. “Change isn’t welcome here.” “But I haven’t changed,” I wanted to say. “I haven’t.” But it was too cold to stop and argue. I had to move on. I didn’t mean to end up at Maggie’s Diner, but my feet had to take me somewhere, and there was nowhere else to go. I’d grown up with the owner’s daughter, Jess, and we’d spent a lot of time in that diner. But that was six years and a gender ago; Maggie wasn’t likely to recognize me like this – not a man, but certainly not the girl her daughter used to hang out with, either. A bell on the door jingled the same familiar greeting as I entered the diner, which was empty save a few homeless people at the counter. It was Maggie’s tradition to stay open on Christmas Eve, even though few paying customers came in, and to give the homeless a hot meal and an escape from the cold. A familiar voice caught me by surprise. “Hello, stranger, what brings you here?” I turned to a smiling Jess who, besides the uniform, barely seemed to have changed, herself. *Strangers, is it, now?* “I’m just passing through. I thought I had some family here, but I was mistaken.” “Oh. I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Take a seat, and how ’bout I get you some hot cocoa?” “That sounds perfect,” I said, taking a seat and picking up a menu so shiny it could have been a mirror. *Finally, something different*, I thought, but as I looked it over, I realized that despite the new look, it hadn’t changed, either. Jess returned a few minutes later with the hot chocolate, topped with toasted marshmallows just the way I remembered. Something, at last, to bring a smile to my face. “Do you see anything you like?” she asked. *I like you, Jess. I always have. But you wouldn’t like me if you knew who I was.* “I’ll have the turkey dinner.” “Comin’ right up,” she said, then flitted off. Just as I was enjoying the silence, the jukebox started up – *All I Want For Christmas Is You.* As far as Christmas songs go, not bad, but I was hardly in the mood. Jess returned and sat down at my table, in the booth opposite me, with a hot chocolate of her own. “So, where do you call home?” She hadn’t changed a bit – as forward as ever. "I live in San Francisco." “San Francisco? You don’t sound like you’re from California.” “Well, no, I didn’t grow up there. I moved there.” “Why?” *Why? To get away from here.* “I guess I felt I’d fit in better. In a big city, I mean.” Jess nodded. “I know what you mean. I don’t exactly fit in, myself.” Maggie approached with a tray. “Here’s your turkey dinner, and I thought you might like another hot cocoa.” “Ma,” Jess said, “you forgot to toast the marshmallows.” “Toast the marshmallows? What on Earth are you talking about? The only person I ever toasted marshmallows for was that girl you had a crush—” Her mouth dropped. “Victoria?” “It’s, um, just Vic now.” I looked at Jess. “You knew?” “Of course I knew, you idiot.” “Does this mean you’re into girls?” asked Maggie. “Ma!” “Well,” I said, looking at Jess, “you’re a girl, so I guess the answer is yes.” She blushed, and suddenly all her other blushes made sense. How had I missed so many signs growing up? What else had I missed? “Well,” Maggie said to Jess, “it seems like you finally got that Christmas present you always wanted.” And I had, too. “Being wanted,” I said. “is the best present I could have ever hoped for.


Ryan wakes up to the sound of skittering across the room. He fumbles round for his glasses and finds them on the wedge between two couch pillows. Sitting up he realizes he’d only been asleep an hour. Work had been insane this past week and this is not what he needed right now. Someone was going to pay. Is it rat? He never had a rat problem in this apartment. Looking across the room he finds a cat—a cat? Its strangely focussed stare irritates him. Squinting at it he notices some kind of metal contraptions on its back legs and something on his forelegs as well. The cat also has a bizarre headpiece. “Yes, Ryan. This is what happens when you don’t sleep for over thirty hours,” he tells himself. “Human.” Ryan jumps a little at the sound of the distinctly feminine voice. He looks around to find whoever it was but his apartment is empty as usual other than his feline guest. “Human,” the voice insists. That cat… it just spoke right now. “Were you speaking? What the fuck? How did you get here? Get out! Oh my God—” “Calm down, you silly human. I am hearing—” “I am not going to calm down—” “—on my master’s behalf to catch a rat—” “—an animal talk!” Ryan and the cat stare at each other unblinkingly. “What do you mean a rat—” “What is it cats not talking—” They stare at each other some more. “Females go first,” he grumbles. “Humans go first,” the cat says just as insistently. They stare at each other some more. “Cats are good communicators, but they can’t talk,” Ryan says with conviction. “Stupid human, I can talk because of this,” the cat says, pointing to the contraption around its neck and the head piece. “This converts my language to yours—” “There is no such technology!” “—and stop interrupting me. I am from the year 2165,” Ryan scoffs, “and all the animals have been able to speak for over 30 years.” Ryan sits there blinking. This is not his night. He has a talking cat that says it time travelled—Ryan needed alcohol. He can’t survive this without alcohol. Getting up he walks to the fridge and pulls out a beer. A sudden whoosh sound makes him twirl on the spot and— “My couch…” His couch is gone… and so is that coat he loved. That cost him a good $250. And the couch… $1500 all gone. He’d spent months living frugally for this. His eyes turn to the culprit that now had a squirming rat in a box. “What did you do to my couch, you menace?” Ryan growls, advancing on the creature. “Zero-g, activate.” A sudden pulse hits him and his mind spins out of control as his body becomes weightless. There’s a cord wrapped around his ankle and the cat pulls him like a child pulls on a balloon. He’s pulled to his room and another pulse later, all his weight hits him at once and he groans from his position on the bed. His stomach turns, he tries to vomit but nothing comes out. He tries to glare at the cat, but the cat very quickly plays something. It’s so soothing… ‐‐‐ The cat presses a button to portal out of this time. This mission had been one disaster after another. She wants to do nothing but blame it on her master. Stupid Master, she thinks as she steps through the portal. Between one blink and the next, the cat is back to her time. It’s time for decontamination. First up is the anti-fungal field, then comes the anti-bacterial and then the miscellaneous. The rat despite its fugitive status is treated to the same things. An hour and some verbal statements later, after the rat is taken away to rat prison, the cat is finally allowed to go to her master with the device. “Missy,” her master cries. Again, with the silly name, when will her human stop giving her stupid names. Her name was Missile, not missy! She turns her nose up and walks away to place the device on the table. She’s about to get on her bed and sleep when her master attacks her. She growls and sinks her claws into her stupid human’s arms but he doesn’t listen. He’s still crying tears of joy, stroking her head and the cat wants none of it. “Missy, I missed you so much. Where did that come from?Did you have to go to stupid time—” “Whose fault is that?” she interrupts. “Mine.” He grins happily. She grumbles, settling down for the pets. She does like them. “There was damage,” she begins. “The corps will pay for it,” her master says. She settles down to sleep. This was written for the wonderful u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange.


This story is for the WP 2021 Secret Santa Story Exchange Constraints given by /u/xacktar: **Includes:** an animal in the story, have something colored red and white, have a fir tree / **Character:** have an elderly person as a character, **Time:** have it set in winter / **Action:** have a character kiss someone on the cheek **Word Count:** 791 ### Begin Again The morning sun glared off the snow in the East. Julia loved to watch the powdery drift flowing off the tips of the snow dunes as the sun rose. Each glittery swirl reminded her of simpler times; times when she believed in magic. A gentle creak from behind pulled her from the moment. “Good morning, Grandma!” Her grandson wore a grin as bright as the sunrise. “Good morning, sweetheart!” She never could help herself from returning his enthusiasm. “Would you like some pancakes for breakfast?” “Why don’t you keep enjoying the sunrise, and I’ll make *you* pancakes?” Wren made his way to his grandma’s rocking chair and wrapped the red and white afghan around her. He kissed her on the cheek before she could answer. It was already decided. Wren bounced to the kitchen to get started and Julia’s gaze was drawn back outside to the wintery landscape. She watched snow blow around on the dunes, fall in clumps off the firs, and little creatures scamper around narrowly avoiding being buried in the tiny avalanches. Two squirrels found shelter under the boughs of a nearby tree. They huddled over some food or nut treasure that had miraculously appeared in the frozen tundra. They chittered loudly at one another, appearing to argue over who gets to keep it. Wren announced breakfast, so Julia once again pulled herself from the scene to join him at the table. “Absolutely delicious!” “Thanks, Grandma.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t continue. They enjoyed the rest of breakfast in comfortable silence. Wren led his grandmother back toward her rocking chair, supporting her with a strong elbow crooked for her grip. However, in the middle of the living room, instead of turning toward the bay window, she tugged him toward the front door. “Where are you going?” “I have to show you something. Get your boots and coat on.” She wrestled with her own snowboots that came halfway up her calves and wrapped herself in her fluffy winter coat. He gazed at her in confusion but did as he was told. Once outside, Julia led her grandson through the snow, past the back yard, beyond the covered vegetable garden, and through a clearing in the trees. They were nearing the edge of the property farthest from other signs of civilization. The wilds. Julia didn’t slow down until she reached the wall of a cliff. There, she felt the rock face and walked a few steps from their original path. She pushed aside dormant vines and leaves crackled and fell to the ground. A short opening appeared and she slipped into it. Wren followed, speechless. It wasn’t dark inside the tiny grotto. Light emanated from a babbling spring in the center. Cushions and mementos surrounded the water as if people had sat around it like a campfire. “This is the last place I saw your grandfather. It probably will seem crazy to you, but…” Her grandson was leaning closer to the water, hand reaching out… “Wren! Wait. Please.” His hand snapped back to his side and he looked at her with wide eyes. “It looks like…” he chuckled to himself. “It looks like magic.” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It *is* magic. But, magic isn’t always good. This spring will rejuvenate anyone that drinks from it, no matter age or illness.” Her eyes were fixed hard on his; she would not let him take this lightly. “Your grandfather is not dead.” “What!” She gave him a moment to process the information before continuing. “I know, we had the funeral and… I know! It’s crazy! Just listen, please.” “I don’t understand, Grandma.” There was pain on his face now, grin lines turned to frown lines in one secret sentence. “He drank. We lived here our whole married lives and agreed that when our kids and our grandkids were old enough to be left to live their lives, we’d start ours over. But, I changed my mind. I couldn’t bear to leave you and the rest of the family. He still drank. He left.” “Oh, Grandma. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe any of this. It’s all insane and just, god. You must be hurting so much right now.” He had stepped closer and took Julia in his arms. She patted him on the back as she told him, “I know it was the right thing to do. I’m not sad.” He pulled away enough to look at her face, and sure enough, she was happy. Not a tear welled in her eyes. “I just knew it was time to pass along the secret since I don’t know how much time I have left. I hope you will find someone to share this one with.


The Daedelus didn’t have any way of keeping up with days or hours. That was up to Mina. And in space, time didn’t matter. It was always a different day in a different year on a different planet. And Mina measured *her* time using an old wind-up clock she had taken from her small colony back on Vexus. Each thirteen-hour rotation signaled another day past. Today, she determined she’d been stuck on the Daedelus for fifteen-hundred and twenty-one days. Roughly four years Vexus time. Mina yawned wide, stretching out her arms as she leaned backwards over the captain’s chair. Looking over the controls, she confirmed that nothing needed to be readjusted. The speed and flight path of the Daedelus was right on track to reach the planet of Palmyra in an estimated four-hundred and fifty-eight days. With ample time to waste, she looked around for something to do. She could pick up a book but she had already read everything this ship had to offer one-hundred times over. She could play solitaire or write in her journal but there was nothing to write of. So, instead, she waited anxiously by the comms station hoping for that familiar voice to come over the radio and wish her good morning. She debated reaching out to him first but– no. She was sure he had other things to do and he’d wait until he was alone. “Alone like me,” she thought. Her face fell. Right now, she wished she wasn’t alone. It devastated her to remember she was the sole survivor of her disease ridden colony. Not that she could forget. The fact that she was on this ship, fleeing that god forsaken planet reminded her every day. For what had seemed like hours, Mina stared at the ship's console, lost in her thoughts. When the lights on the comms station finally lit up, a rough, gravelly voice came over the speaker and Mina bolted up in her chair. “Morning, Beautiful.” Mina snatched up the transmitter and rolled her eyes. A grin spread across her face as she spoke into the receiver, “You’ve never actually seen me, John. I could look like Quasimodo for all you know.” “You’re wrong about that. I’ve seen you in my dreams every night and Quasimodo has nothing on you.” A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. She couldn’t help it. Every time he complimented her that way she felt giddy. Like a child who had just heard the funniest thing. “Plus, I should be the one worrying about appearances. Once we meet on Palmyra you’ll take one good look at me and turn your heels back around. Right now, I have the advantage of being on another ship. Sight unseen. Eventually, you’ll have plenty more options.” “I don’t want options. You're who I want.” It was true. She didn’t need to see him to know that she loved him. She just needed him. “And if you wanted,” she teased, “You could move to Palmyra with me. I’ve heard There’s lots of opportunities down there. You could train for some fancy job, be a veterinarian, or a banker, or a chef. Something like that.” she chuckled to herself knowing he would hate that idea. “I’m a pilot Mina, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself down there.” “Well, then maybe we can get our own ship. A cargo ship.” “And you’ll give up living on solid ground? You’ll miss the opportunity to watch sunsets on the grass? To breathe in fresh air everyday? To swim in an ocean again? You’d walk away from all that just to be stuck on another ship with no one but me and whatever crew we take on?” Mina didn’t hesitate to answer. “We can look out the windows and watch the sunrise over the planets we pass by. We can watch them rise again on the other side. And as long as there is you and me, I don’t care about anything else.” “Where would we get the money for this ship?” She could tell by the tone of his voice he was grinning. Even thought they’d had this conversation so many times before it never got old. “I’ll sell this one. Or maybe we could steal one and become intergalactic fugitives and travel across the galaxies? It’d be fun to be the next Bonnie and clyde.” A roar of laughter boomed out of the speaker. Though he would never admit it and they’d never do it, she could tell he secretly liked the idea. “I have to go Mina. I’ll radio back later.” He was still laughing when the transmission ended and Mina was left all alone again. She stood up and looked over the ship’s course again. “Right on track,” she whispered, “Only four-hundred and fifty-seven more days till Palmyra.” \ This is my Secret Santa Story for u/DannyMethane_ My constraints were: A veterinarian, in space, and it had to be a romance...


This was written for u/Say_Im_Ugly's Discord Secret Santa story exchange. I took it upon myself to include Say in the fun, and secretly asked for constraints and had constraints provided for them. This is the story I wrote for u/Say_Im_Ugly using the following constraints: Words: smitten, gingerbread, Jack Frost, glisten, sprocket. Include: something broken, a robin. Genre: Please pick the genre you enjoy writing in the most. The white glow of the TV light danced across the interior of the cabin, as the last remnants of the B Horror movie Jack Frost splashed across the screen. The fading aroma of a Christmas ham intermingled with the alluring smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies and filled every corner of the small lodge in the Montana wilderness. Nelly and Brett had planned this getaway for months now. Years spent with their increasingly chaotic families left them yearning to find some peace for the holidays. They had both been smitten with the area surrounding Yellowstone after their honeymoon a few years prior, and decided this year to get away from the hustle and bustle of their daily lives in the DC metro area by returning to bring in the new year. The couple, still well in the prime of their lives, had spent the first night, Christmas Eve, in each other’s arms, finally able to relax and melt away the stress, sublimating into the deadened silence of the snow-covered countryside. Occasionally, the stillness would be shattered by the snapping of branches under the weight of snow and various calls from local wildlife. Which is why it was so concerning when Nelly and Brett heard footsteps squeaking through the snow. “Shh. What is that?” Nelly said, recoiling from Brett’s embrace. His pulse quickened as he tuned his ears into the broken silence. The unmistakable crunch of snow compacting underfoot. The steps were weighty, slow and intentional in their pattern. “Footsteps. Probably a Park Ranger. Stay here.” Brett said. He swung his legs out of the bed and into his discarded Christmas-themed pajama pants. His feet, now freezing after being uncovered, quickly found the inside of his sherpa-lined slippers. Not bothering to find a shirt, the fleece lining of his leather jacket produced an unfamiliar feeling on his skin. As he stepped into the large common area of the cabin, reaching from the kitchen through the living area, he toggled the light-switches and illuminated the interior, hoping to disarm the source of the footsteps, acknowledging their presence. Brett stepped out into the blistering cold and called out. “Hello? Is that a Ranger out here?” Brett asked. His query was met with the same silence found before the footsteps which concerned him. Whoever it was had stopped moving and they did not reply to him. “Is that a Park Ranger out here?” Brett called again. Once again he was met with utter silence. A breeze rose through the air, kicking up fresh powder from the ground and out of tree branches above. The cold wind painfully stung his face. “I’m going back inside. If you’re not a Park Ranger, please, just go away. We don’t have cash or valuables, we’re just here to relax.” Brett said, bargaining with an unknown visitor with unknown intentions. He did as he said and returned to the warm embrace of the inside of the cabin with its glowing fire and seasonal aromatics, where his wife waited. He had no sooner reached the hall with the light switches when the electricity cut off entirely. The eerie silence somehow became quieter, their ears now adjusting to the lack of ambient sound. “Brett?” Nelly called out. “I’m here.” Brett said. “What’s going on?” “The power went out.” Brett said, crossing the threshold into the bedroom. “Must be a downed line somewhere.” he added, full of false optimism. “Who was outside?” Nelly asked. “No one. Must have been branches falling or something.” Brett said, attempting to quell any fear Nelly had. “I know I heard footsteps. They must have been!” Nelly contended. “There’s no mistaking the sound of footsteps on snow.” She said, her voice quivering with uncertainty. Almost as if on cue, the silence was once again shattered by a violent explosion of splintered wood as a large man burst through the same door Brett had closed moments earlier. The cacophony of sounds that filled the cabin in the remote countryside over the next few minutes were a chaotic mess of screams, grunts, and the whine from the driving sprocket of a chainsaw. In the morning, the snow surrounding the cabin glistened in the crisp December air. On a low hanging branch, a robin called out, sending miniature plumes of breath out into the stillness that once again blanketed the wilderness. A trail of bloody footprints disappeared into the thick woods behind the cabin.


On a windy, desolate beach in South Georgia, Miss Percy assembled her pupils. “Class—pay attention,” she admonished. “I know you’re all excited about Kingmas break, but there’s work to do.” The fledglings looked up from their ice desks as she called roll. “Charlotte Chinstrap?” “Present.” “Ginny Gentoo? Edward Emperor? Marty Macaroni—“ One by one, the pupils confirmed their presence. Then little Rainbow Rockhopper raised her flipper. A recent transfer from the North, the concept of Kingmas was new to her. “Yes, Rainbow?” “Ma’am—why do we celebrate Kingmas?” “Well, once upon a time, there was a cold, bad winter. It was so awful that mommy and daddy penguins couldn’t get back to feed their little ones.” “That sounds terrible, ma’am.” “It gets worse, I fear. The snow-covered beaches of South Georgia echoed with the sound of hungry little penguins. As you know, each caw is different, so grown-up penguins can find their own young. But there were no parents to be found.” The children of the class nodded, riveted even though they’d heard the tale before. “Things got so terrible that many were in danger of losing their lives. And then a miracle happened.” “What’s a *miracle*?” “When something so good happens that it’s hard to believe. When all hope was lost, Kenny King flew over with the help of a team of magic seals in a great wooden sledge filled with sardines. Bells ringing to draw their attention, he flew over the rookery and threw fish for all the boys and girls. The children rejoiced—they were saved. When their mamas and papas came back after a long time at sea, the parents feared the worst. But instead, they found a rookery full of happy, well-fed fledglings.” “What a nice penguin! Thanks, Miss Percy.” “Indeed he is. And that’s why every year on December 25th, Kingmas is celebrated.” Rainbow looked out over the cold, unforgiving beach as the wind ruffled her feathers. Imagining how tough it was for the fledglings, she was thankful for her luck. Born in the comparatively warm Tristan de Cunha, such hardships were rare. Miss Percy waddled over to Ginny and put a protective wing around her. “It’s tough to imagine, isn’t it—“ “I wish we could thank Mr. Kenny somehow.” “We can—every year, we lay out offerings for him in thanks. And each year, he rides in his sleigh and brings gifts to all of the good penguin boys and girls.” “What’s an *offering*?” “It’s like a little present for him. We decorate the beach with kelp tinsel spelling out his name and leave a big pile of fish for him and the seals.” “I wanna do that.” “This year is special as we wrote a song just for him. All our friends and families will gather around and sing it.” That night, before bed, Rainbow went to the beach with her parents and helped to lay out the kelp. And then the singing began. “Jingle Bells, jingle bells Jingle all the way Thank you, Kenny For all you do and say Hey!” Later, a tired Rainbow curled under her mother’s flipper and fell asleep. She dreamed of Kenny and his team of seals with a smile on her beak.


The gentleman stood in the main foyer of the library, just passed the displays of ancient pottery pieces and giant lizard bones. Clearly, he had not taken to the baggy “swell” of modern fashion, instead he wore a simpler cut of suit. Upon his head lay a top-hat. I approach and stand to his left. Before us is a vast, curved wall that severs the noisy entrance hall from the solemn library proper. On this wall is a mural — a mosaic of dark and jagged tile that tells the tale of Shardfall, Shatternight and the Second Great Fire of London. The birth of a new England and a changed world. The birth of new peoples and new ways. Details of the artwork are lost to us in the shadows that the evening has brought. The gas lamps cannot light such a space with any real efficacy. “Even in this eerie light,” I say. “I find it rather stunning.” There is a silence and then: “I cannot say I see the beauty of its form. Nor do I agree with how it chooses to depict that moment of London’s sad history. The scale and skill of the thing? I appreciate the craftsmanship.” Sad history? The moment that made him what he is and changed our planet...and he wraps it into such a small package as Sad History. I turn from the mural. The left side of his face bears no skin and the skull that is thus revealed is made of glossy black instead of pale bone. In his empty eye-socket sits a pin-prick of blue light. The sign of those wrought from the crystal and its impact. I present to him the top of my glove. “Adelia De Wight. A pleasure to meet you, good sir.” He turns and I see that his other eye is human, as is that side of his face. And, though the eye is of a darker shade of brown, it holds a warmth and brightness I would not have expected, given the stiffness of his character and harshness of his voice. I wonder what he sees? A young lady trapped in a cage of crinoline and purple taffeta, very much a part of the modern modes of dress that he so clearly avoids. Does he see more? He takes my hand with his right, sweeps off his hat with his left, and lowers his head. He does not kiss my hand. “Archibald Candle. A pleasure.” Greetings thus completed, he dons his hat and turns once more to the mural. “Well, I must leave you to it, Mrs-” “Miss.” “Ah, my apologies. Miss De Wight.” He touches the brim of his hat and gives a nod. “Farewell.” “Before you go, Sir.” I say. “Might I be so forward as to ask you: why is it that you dislike the mural so?” A moment passes before he once more faces me. “Are you aware that since its erection, some forty years ago, that the work has been altered? Often in secret.” I didn’t. “I have heard rumours of such.” “The Deadfolk seen rising from graves, and the other creatures born of crystal, have had their teeth filed — and lessened — the points of their claws have been rounded into fingers. Though they try to hide it, it was born of fear.” “Well. It can be a beautiful thing not born of beauty, and the views on-” “Yes. The world views us monsters *very* differently. Forty years of effort and I can now own property and earn a wage...many tax me for my form or outright refuse to barter.” “I do not think you to be a monster, sir.” “Splendid.” The word came without joy, served as it was on ice. “But, by the laws of science and medicine: I am not a man. By the rule of law: I am not a man. I am a subject of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, but never do I fall within the net as cast by the term human.” The face he had lost shimmered into view for a moment. A passing flicker of blue light that none could predict. The ten story octahedron wedged in a crater at London’s edge would have shimmered too, as would its sister crystal which had crashed and scattered across The Moon. I met his eyes with mine. “I would call you a man.” “Forgive the impropriety of this imagery, Madam, but were I clad in naught but sky, I would look in shape as a human, but in detail...” At this he looked once more at the vast mosaic, and raised his left hand. The glove was loose. Within, one guesses, is obsidian bone and wisp of magic. “A beast born of ugliness.” “...not born of beauty. But beautiful.” \* * * My WP Discord Secret Santa Story for Quiscover. This was a real challenge. Had soooo much I wanted to cram in but had to cut back to fit into the 800 word cap. Brilliant constraints (Thanks, Quiscover!) and an excellent excuse to write (Thanks, Say!) **Constraints:** * Genre: Historical fantasy * Word: Barter * Phrase: "A beautiful thing not born of beauty." * Object: Tiles * Place: Library (doesn't have to be the main setting) * Characters: Features at least one of BOTH a human character AND a non-human character.


In 2017, I was part of a secret maritime task force called The Leviathan Killers. We belonged to the US Navy and had close to sixty members, who were mostly handpicked from DEVGRU, Delta Force, and various NATO UDT teams. We were the best of the best in maritime combat, and we specialized and trained to kill deep-sea threats in heavy gear. We would usually operate between one to eight thousand feet, even more, so we used specialized and classified suits designed by the best combat engineers. We were all extremely proficient at swimming, weapons use, and every underwater combat technique was battered into our heads as second-hand nature. Given the rise of hostile activity in the deep oceans in the late 2010s, we frequently went on more operations. We would handle explosive disposal, naval sabotage, rescue, and intel, but we mainly found and destroyed extremely hostile deep-sea organisms with precision. The weapons we used were various modified underwater rifles and explosives, which were of an extremely high caliber due to the recoil of the guns being significantly lowered in the deep ocean. I joined while I was in DEVGRU, and I was offered a spot on The Leviathan Killers. I was a member for six years when I went on one of our most eventful operations. \*\*\* We were going to the Mariana Trench. It was deeper than any other operation we had ever been on, so we had to use experimental suits to survive the temperatures and insane pressure. Death would be mercy at those depths. Deep in the Mariana Trench, a distress signal from a US research submersible had gone out a day before we had deployed there. The researchers in that submersible were dead, but what caught our interest was the fact that the submersible's readings still showed that living organisms were surrounding the submersible, and were taken as hostile. The Leviathan Killers were deployed to investigate. We arrived on a large warship and dove directly into the trench in our suits, and as I put on the suit, I talked with the marine biologist and expert of the trench. "Doc," I said. "Any chance of leviathans down there?" "Possibly," the marine biologist said. "Hard to tell, the food sources down there are sparse if there are any." "Then what the fuck destroyed the submersible?" "We don't know." "How deep can these suits go?" "Fifteen thousand feet, at the absolute maximum." "Why that deep?" "The ocean is much deeper than we think." "I can't imagine the fucking things that live that deep." "There are horrors within the abyss." With the weight carrying us deeply, we descended fast into the abyss. I looked around to see the light disappearing, and I held onto my rifle as we descended. Two dozen other members descended along with me, and within a few hours, we had reached the destination, the bottom of the deepest place in the world, at the exact coordinates of the submersible's location. It was pitch black, and the darkness was pierced as we turned on our extremely bright helmet lights, and searched the wreckage. The research submersible was fucking destroyed, and it was clear that it wasn't just the pressure that had done to it. I walked over to the wreckage while the others watched for any signs of movement, and I noticed something inside the wreckage. I reached down, my light illuminating a wriggling, pale tendril inside. I showed it to my team, and we were instantly on guard. It was cut off recently. In the distance, my teammate spotted a red light blinking in the far distance, only visible due to the sheer blackness of the trench. It was far, but steadily approaching, and we couldn't hit it this far. When it got within six hundred meters, we began taking shots at it. As soon as the first bullet hit the red light, all our suit's lights, our floodlights, and any source of light instantly cut out. Now let me describe a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time. Fear. I had gone on raids on terrorist groups in the Middle East, assassinated the deadliest extremists and insurgency leaders, killed monsters both human and not, been shot, been stabbed, been gassed, been tortured, and had tortured countless people, and as a result, my sense of fear and adrenaline had significantly numbed. I had killed literal leviathans before. But at that moment, when all our lights went out at the deepest hell we could descend to, and as the red light approached, I felt every sense of fear and primal instinct come back to me. That feeling was primal, as if I recognized that red light from the worst nightmares of my ancestors, and standing at the bottom of the ocean holding a rifle, I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to seek refuge. We were blind, and anything we shot at, we would definitely miss. It was absolutely pitch black, darker than anything else I had experienced, even at depths close to these. It was the void, and there was only one thing penetrating it was something that I couldn't see, didn't want to see. It approached, and no matter how closely it got, it seemed to never grow or shrink. I had no idea where my teammates were, my lights, communications, and electronics weren't working, and the red light was rapidly approaching. I was stepping back blindly, into the void, slowly, as the light approached. It was only twenty feet away when it suddenly cut out, and everything turned black. All thoughts of my mission, my teammates, my family, and my country, all that I had fought so hard for instantly disappeared as I turned the other direction and ran. The water resistance made my footsteps feel like an eternity, and I would never escape this thing, but I sure as hell tried. I suddenly felt a commotion as water rushed around me, objects brushed past me, and suddenly my headlight, and only my headlight, turned on and I screamed. I was mostly used to extreme gore, but this was something else. Something else fucking entirely. My teammates, all who were married and had kids, the people who I had fought alongside and would die for, were now ripped to fucking shreds. Every single one of them, and their suits, was torn apart, and their organs were ripped out, their skin pale and crushed by the pressure, their faces were ripped off and floating in the water. The deepwater was flooded with crimson, and I saw the decapitated head of one of my teammates float in front of me with an expression of horror I can not describe. I dropped my rifle and ran. I ran slowly but I ran, my dying light illuminating the bare seafloor, as I constantly felt something brush against me. I was running, closing my eyes, slowly making I was across the seafloor, my steps dragged out as I kept screaming, and screaming until my lungs were hoarse. I coughed up blood. The suits were supposed to give us air for up to ten hours, and I ran and ran and ran across the seafloor, screaming and constantly turning back, only to see nothing. But there was something, hiding within the pitch black of the ocean, and the primal sense of utter dread was rising every second, besides the fact that I could neither see, feel, or hear anything near me anymore. But I could sense that there was something, something horrible, worse than anything I could imagine within that blackness. I must have run a mile or two the hours I ran, and I suddenly stopped. Only a few meters away from me, illuminated by my headlight, was an enormous, endless, black trench within the Mariana Trench. It was extremely deep, even from my limited visibility I could tell it was a true abyss. Something swam past me, something fucking huge, and I turned to see that fucking red light approaching me at breakneck speed. *Any chance of leviathans down there?* With no other options, I jumped into the abyss, the trench within the trench. *Possibly, hard to tell, the food sources down there are sparse if there are any.* I sunk deeper and my lungs burned as I screamed and screamed, and my headlight touched nothing illuminating nothing, as I descended into the void. *Then what the fuck destroyed the submersible?* I kept sinking, and the horror was so bad I wanted to kill myself, and I tried ripping my suit off to expose and kill myself to the deep. *We don't know.* I looked beneath me, to see nothing but utter black envelop me, and it kept ongoing, and I wondered how deep the ocean truly was. I had devoted so much of my life to it, and yet now it was going to kill me. *How deep can these suits go?* I sunk and continued to for hours. Time became irrelevant, and I was stuck in my mind, and I constantly punched my helmet, and the fear was driving me mad. *Fifteen thousand feet, at the absolute maximum.* I couldn't form thoughts, the utter dread was screaming at me that something huge and something unknown was watching me, following me as I sunk to my death. I closed my eyes and screamed, blood and pieces of my lung splattering the inside of my helmet. *Why that deep?* Hours and hours passed, my oxygen slowly ran out, and I finally hit the floor of the trench. I opened my eyes, the taste of copper in my mouth, my throat burning as I slowly walked forward, madness and fear pounding into my mind. I was at the bottom, the true end to the deepest point, the deepest hell on earth. *The ocean is much deeper than we think.* I walked aimlessly, waiting for my oxygen to run out so I could be granted the sweet bliss of death. In the distance, I saw the fucking red light, that fucking red light blink into sight, and it approached quickly as I screamed once more. *I can't imagine the fucking things that live that deep.* I wanted death. Death, and nothing else. I ran towards the light as it approached, screaming and closing my eyes, and waiting for the beautiful feeling of my flesh ripping as I died and left this wretched abyss. I ran and ran until I slowly stopped and I opened my eyes. The red light was in front of me, and my headlight was illuminating it. I looked up and floating in front of me, at the deepest hell on earth, I saw an organism, so horrifying, perfect, beautiful, dreadful, unholy, demonic, eldritch, and I fell to my knees and experienced a fate much worse than death.


Although the weather was clear, strong westerly winds made for choppy seas as we sailed towards Granite Vowhorn. The Deer Drum boat, with Alessia’s towed behind, lurched over each wave, a spray of water shooting up into the sky as we ploughed through. Alessia, Xander, Lachlann and I were on the quarterdeck behind the wheel as Eir navigated the seas. “So the island’s at war,” Xander said, his calm voice only just audible over the billowing sails and churning water. “Yeah. Has been longer than anyone alive can remember,” Alessia nodded. I pursed my lips. “Last I heard it was a stalemate. Neither side was making any ground.” Alessia shook her head. “Word on Sneppath Head was that the North has been pushing the South back. The South’s down to two small towns. Everything else been lost.” The boat hit a sharp dip. A plume shot into the air, the smallest droplets carrying the length of the boat and landing on our faces. “So we go to the North then, presumably safer.” Lachlann said, shaking the dew from his hair. Alessia shook her head once more. “The one thing the south does have is the harbour. Unless you wanna be sitting in seas like this the whole time, we need the bay.” “Besides,” I sighed. “Is anywhere going to be safe in a war zone?” Alessia cocked an eyebrow and nodded to me. “He’s right.” “We know what this war’s about?” Xander asked, looking out to the sea as the next wave approached. Alessia shrugged. “Ferdinand?” “Religion was all I heard. Nothing more than that.” “Oh. Well, that’s good.” Lachlann smiled wryly. “Religion always keeps people nice and calm.” The next wave caught us at a three-quarter angle. Water poured down onto the deck drenching Xander’s carrots and cabbages before running off the side. Xander squirmed slightly as though he could feel the vegetable’s pain. “How we doing there, Eir?” Eir turned half a shoulder, getting Xander in her periphery but keeping her eyes on the seas in front. “It’s handling a bit differently than the last rough seas we caught. Lighter load. Need more passengers and more cargo again.” Lachlann chuckled. “The pole beans not creating enough weight for you?” “As much as the seven people who left and all their things? No.” Eir sighed. “We’ll make do though.” Xander took a look at the waterlogged soil beds. “But yes. Let’s head to the bay to the south.” Two days later, we arrived at Granite Vowhorn, most of Xander’s vegetables intact. We were greeted by two long stretches of cliff that stuck out from the southern end of the island like the prongs of a fork. The harbour walls were made of great chunks of chiselled stone and stretched almost the full length of the western cliff, before wrapping round in a curve where the two crags met. At the point, a few small shacks nestled by the water’s edge. Weaving between them, I could see a zigzag path cut up across the hill to a small town at the top, big enough for a few hundred residents. The only other way up the cliff was at the end of the harbour wall to our left. A hill climbed up a gully. Centuries of erosion had carved a smooth run to the sea with steep, rocky banks on either side. We moored the boats a short distance from the harbour and rowed the rest of the way. Xander dropped off Alessia and I first, before returning to fetch Kurbani and Lachlann. The harbour itself was quiet. There were one or two people milling around, and a couple of officers by the shacks at the end, but a port this size was certainly capable of much greater traffic. The fighting had driven much of the trade away, so that now an arriving boat was a rare blessing. As soon as the five of us began walking towards the town we saw a gaggle of islanders sprinting towards us. They were all children. The youngest maybe only six or seven. The oldest in her low teens. “Welcome, welcome,” said a young boy around ten. He puffed his chest out, trying to deepen his voice. “Are you here to buy anything? The war’s slowed down some of our production but we’ve still got plenty of granite available.” “Sorry,” I interrupted, bowing my head. “We’re not traders.” The boy’s frame sagged, his features becoming more childlike, his sales pitch removed. “Have you come to help with the war effort?” the oldest girl asked. “We’re here looking for someone,” Alessia interrupted. “Would’ve arrived maybe two weeks ago, maybe with a few other people.” Young scrawny shoulders rose in sharp pillars. “No idea. But speak to Rory up top if you can,” the oldest girl said in a flat tone. “Rory?” Alessia asked. “General of the army. He keeps tabs on everyone. If you catch him before nightfall he should be free.” “Thanks.” Alessia began picking up her pace with the new information. “Your ship,” a girl said, looking out at the harbour. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Lachlann smiled. “Yeah. We live on it.” “Like. All the time?” the girl asked. Lachlann knelt down beside her. “Yep. We travel around on it.” “Cooool.” Xander leaned over, trying to get Lachlann’s attention, nodding back up the hill. Lachlann glanced to us. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you. I’ll talk to this lot. Little knowledge exchange.” We reluctantly agreed and left Lachlann by the docks, and headed up the winding path up until we reached the town. The ground was worn down to soil, churned up from the endless footprints of the people stacked on top of each other in the cramped space. The small homes were painted white with dark oak crossbeams acting as supports. The buildings stretched back a couple of hundred metres before coming to an abrupt end at a wall made from piles of rock and old debris. On this side of the wall there was a flat section some four feet from the top with planks laid down as a walkway. I watched a man in thick black clothes and a balaclava - too warm for the weather - walk by. He held a small pistol in his right hand. I looked around at the villagers. I was startled by how still everyone was. The children played slowly in the dirt, drawing patterns in the ground with sticks. The adults were quiet. They sat in doorways, looking out at the town with emotionless faces. They glanced at us as though we were a passing moth, a brief distraction, something to concentrate on for a moment, but nothing more. We continued walking through the town, inspecting each of the streets as we passed. As I looked down a road to our left, I could see a crowd gathered in front of a wooden gate built into the wall of rubble. We turned and headed towards the gathering. As we got closer I could see a man standing atop a stack of wooden crates. He was dressed in the same clothing as the man on the wall, except his was dyed a dark red. It was a hue that reminded me of the first light of a sunrise. From someway away I could already hear the man shouting. His hands gesticulated in large mannerisms as he spoke, stretching his arms out as wide as he could, before pounding his fist into his palm, his eyes fierce. As we got closer the inaudible boom became clear distinct words. “Tonight we thank the brave men and women who continue to defend all we hold dear. Though we lose a few true believers each time, we continue to take more of the bastards down with us. If I die, but I kill seven northerners as I do, then that is a victory that God can be pleased with.” Cheers erupted from the crowd. “They do not believe you have the right to worship the God that you know to be true. They do not believe that you should praise the summer solstice. They do not believe in giving to our God when He is at His strongest. They want nothing more than to come through those gates, and slay every last man, woman and child here. Why? Because they hate the unshakable faith that you have. We shall not let them defeat us.” The man pointed to the sky and paused with each word. He waited for the inevitable applause to die down before leaning in, getting closer to his audience. “The summer solstice is two weeks away. They know that. They know how much life and power our conviction will bring us that night. How God will bring us victory. They are terrified. So to our soldiers who enter the battlefield tonight, I want you to remember what we fight for. I want you to remember the slaughter at Camweirr. How they brutalized the bodies. How they murdered children. I want you to remember that and let it fuel your anger. Let it spark your revenge. And go out there and fight for the South. Praise be to God.” The crowd chanted back in unison. “Praise be to God.” “Praise be the sun,” the man shouted with a fist raised in the air. “Praise be the sun,” the crowd replied. The gate opened and a group of men and women splintered from the crowd and headed off through the opening and off to the war. Their marching frames cast long shadows as the sun set to the west. The man who had given the speech jumped off his podium and walked up to remaining members of the crowd, clasping fists with some, embracing others. Slowly, the audience dispersed as the man headed down the street towards us chaperoned by two large guards. Alessia stepped forward as they neared. “Hoping you might be Rory.” The man halted and turned to us. “Well you’re in luck then.” He inspected us with casual glances. “Don’t recognize you. Take it you’re not from here.” The two men beside Rory pulled out long knives from their belts. “No,” I replied. “The North send you?” He smiled a wide grin: a charming, smooth smile. “We’re not from the island at all. We came by boat.” Alessia thumbed towards the coast. “The big one in the cove. You can go look, you can’t miss it.” Rory turned to the two men either side of him. “Calm down boys, if they were gonna kill us they’d have done so already. Besides, this lot don’t look like they know how.” I didn’t want to correct him, but my mind flickered. Here it was again, the world reminding me that I was a killer, even though I hated myself for it. The next bit of conversation seemed to pass in a haze. As though I was a spectator, watching from afar. “We mean no harm.” Xander tilted his head, raising his hands. Rory signalled to the two men. They sheathed their knives and returned to their slouched postures. He stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “Can’t say we’ve had a lot of visitors here lately. But we are always pleased to welcome people to Granite Vowhorn, or at least what’s left of it.” “War will always leave a scar,” Kurbani said, her voice soft, but her eyes steely. Rory looked at her. He paused for a second before the boisterousness returned. “Just like the sun, we will rise again. How can I help?” “We’re looking for someone,” Alessia replied. “Would’ve come by boat, maybe a week or two back. May have come with a small group.” Rory scrunched up his face. “Don’t remember the boat. But ten days ago we lost Camweirr. The survivors flocked here. If they snuck in with them and kept low they could’ve gone by unnoticed. Few new faces.” “So he could be here,” Xander muttered. Rory nodded. “This person you’re looking for. They a friend or someone unsavory?” “The worst.” Xander replied, a contained rage in the undertones of his voice. “Well in that case he probably chummed up with the North. That’s where I’d go if I had no conscience.” My mind arrived back in my body, and I managed to force out a thought that was lingering in the back of my head. “What you said in the speech - about what the North did - that all true?” I asked. I caught Alessia out the corner of my eye glaring at me. I guessed she would be annoyed at me veering off topic, but after a second or two, her face softened, replaced by a smile. I suspected she felt the same warmth I felt as the words left my lips. The comfort of knowing that the inquisitiveness that brought me to sea was returning. “Every word and worse,” Rory snarled. He leaned to his left and spat on the ground. “They caught a whole cohort of our soldiers a few months back. I knew they’d execute them. That’s war. But they chose to build a scaffold few hundred metres away from our front gates, far enough to be out of range, but close enough to make sure we could see. We watched as they hacked off limbs one by one, and then beheaded them, one at a time. They’re bastards.” “We’ve suffered too,” Xander replied. “The man we’re after. He attacked our island. Only a few of us survived. I’ve buried most of my island.” Rory’s mouth fell open slightly, as his head tilted back. “Deer drum?” Xander and Kurbani looked at each other in confusion. “I’ve heard of you. Travelling in that massive boat.” Rory snapped his fingers. “Is that the one you sailed here? It’s here, right now? In our harbour? Oh, you must let me see it sometime.” “How do you know of us?” Kurbani asked. “Word travels. The story of an island on a boat, travelling the seas. You’re all folk heroes. Staying together, after everything you’ve been through.” He paused, a delighted chuckle escaping his lungs. “That’s true resilience. Please, walk with me, I’ll introduce you to some people. Help out in any way I can.” We began following Rory back down the path. “We’re trying to find the person who attacked Deer Drum. We believe he came here,” Alessia said. “Well, if he’s anywhere in the south, we’ll rat him out. I’ll bring you the man’s body on a spike. But, you should go check with the bastards in the North too.” “Is there a safe way to get there?” I asked, taking a couple of paces to get in front. “Sunset right now.” Rory pointed to the orange sky to the west. “That’s when the fighting starts. Go in the morning, wear blue.” “Blue?” I asked. “This is a nasty war, but there are still rules. We have nurses, priests, who tend to those on the battlefield. Blue is the colour of neutrality. You wear that, keep your hands up, travel unarmed, and no one will hurt you. That, and travel during the day.” “Easier to see.” I concurred. “That, and no one wants to commit murder when the sun is up. God is watching.” He nodded to the sky. It seemed strange to me to believe so fervently in your God that you could kill in their name while they slept but not while they were awake. “That stuff you said about the summer solstice…” Rory nodded, understanding where my questioning was going. “It’s the most important holiday of the year. When we make our offerings and celebrate all God gives. The longest day of the year. It is when He is at His most powerful. The time when we must celebrate Him. And in return, He will give us the strength to win this war.” His smooth smile suddenly turned to gritted teeth. “There’s nothing we hold more dear. We will fight to the death for the right to celebrate the summer solstice and the Sun God.” Rory led us through the town and introduced us to a couple of his lieutenants, informing them to help us with our inquiries in any way. We spoke for a while, mostly discussing the war and what happened on Deer Drum. When we parted we had a plan. Two of us would head off the next day to the North. The rest would stay in the South and try to find Sannaz here. \ As darkness fell we found ourselves back on the Deer Drum boat. Whether we were all genuinely in the mood to celebrate each other’s company, or if it was the morbidity of the island making us need to respond with something joyous, we decided a party was in order. We opened a few bottles of rum and sat around a large fire on the quarterdeck. Old planks crackled in the summer twilight as the majority of the remaining Deer Drum residents drank and talked. It wasn’t long until Lachlann had broken out the guitar and was leading the group in song. The old tune of the Nightingale played once more. *My friends, come along. Don’t you hear the fond song?* *The sweet notes where the nightingale flows?* *For to hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale,* As he reached the refrain the entire ship sang back. Xander wrapped his arm round Mirai, Alessia raised her glass to the air, Eir sat with a blanket wrapped around her legs and her head held back bellowing the words. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* Lachlann led the second verse. *My trav’lers don’t fail, for I’ll carry your pail,* *Safe home to a harbour we’ll go.* *You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale* Once more, the entire boat sang the chorus. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* The guitar took over again. *I still think of my home, where I’d lands of my own.* Though the chorus did not sing it, I saw Xander mouth the words. *The spirit of Deer Drum’s hard as stone,* *We will hear the fond tale, of the sweet nightingale* The crowd chimed in. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* The guitar strummed again, this time softly. Lachlann leaned in close, his voice like a lullaby. I looked at Alessia next to me as he sang. *Pray sit yourself down, with me on the ground,* *On this bank where sweet primroses grow,* *You shall hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale.* I sang with all my heart. *As she sings in the valley below,* *As she sings in the valley below.* Lachlann lifted up his guitar and placed it down on the ground beside him. “Well, that’s enough of that.” There were sporadic jeers from the crowd. Xander bellowed above them. “Thought you said you’d adapted the last two verses Lachlann. Let’s hear them.” The crowd cheered the proposal. Lachlann laughed. “I have. But not yet.” Xander lifted his hands up to his mouth. “Booooooo.” Lachlann shook his head, his tongue bit between his teeth. “I’ll do you a deal. When this is all over. I’ll play them then. Wouldn’t be right to do it before.” “I’m keeping you to it.” Xander pointed to his friend. As the crowd quietened, Kurbani walked up to Alessia and I. She waited till we turned to her before speaking. “I’ve spoken with Xander about it. I want to go to the North. With whoever goes.” I looked to Alessia. “Why?” she asked. “Eir’s been teaching me about medicine. I can help. Plus, it’s my turn.” She smiled. Alessia turned to me. “Fine by me. You and Kurbani head North tomorrow?” I chuckled. “I’m going am I?” “Ferdinand,” Alessia placed a hand on my shoulder. “Which one of us is always dying to go off on stupid, =deadly, trips to see the world?” My face stayed flat for a half a second until a grin slowly emerged. “I am.” “settled then. Xander, Lachlann and I will meet up with Rory’s lot here. You two head North. Now, let’s see what else Lachlann can play.” Alessia headed off to go grab the bard slowly slipping away with his guitar. I turned and looked around at these people I’d met. The friends I had made since I left Kadear. I thought back to my old life where I so tirelessly worked for an impossible dream. During that pursuit of wealth and a home in the Citadel, I had never taken a moment to think of what a home truly was. And I realised in that moment that this place was more of a home than Kadear had ever been.


Thwack. Such a specific sound. Thwack. I mean, the comic books have it right. Thwack, right across the back of the hero as the villain stands over her. Sometimes I like to imagine that the world is like a blanket. Covering everything in warmth and safety. And in the blanket, there are wrinkles and swirls like galaxies and stars. When it’s just dark enough, I like to imagine visiting each one of them. Exploring the universe all right under my blanket. If I cough too much, sometimes I see the colors and those stars too. The Nurse says it’s… consumption and it makes me cough. And tired. Which is why I love my blanket universe. Whenever I’m tired, I get to dream and go to all these fantastical amazing beautiful worlds. But when I am awake. All alone. Late at night. And the worlds I’ve visited don’t want me to be there anymore, or if Darla says I shouldn’t. Thwack. Late at night, when I’m all alone. I change the universe. So I stand up, put on my blanket, and dance. I do a Hope Dance. I change my universe. And when I’m tired I get to explore entirely new worlds and stars and colors. Because I still have hope. “Hi, I’m Annabelle! Are you here to adopt me?” “Well… Annabelle, we are… thinking about it.” “Oh, well, that’s ok-” She cuts herself off in a short coughing fit, “I’m tired, can I have my blanket?” Darla stands near the door glaring. “Thimble, sweetie, Mr. Scott, and Mrs. Maranda came a very long way to meet you - “ “No, no it’s okay. I think we’ll… maybe be back and come some other time.” They quickly grab their coats and leave. Darla slams the door softly. “I’m sorry.” “For what, sweetie?” … “I’m sorry… can I have my blanket please?” Thwack My blanket is so soft and warm. It helps me feel better. I like to imagine I’m in a spaceship flying far across the galaxy. Waving Hellos to all the people I see. They all look so tiny, woven into the fabric, little smiles and faces. Everyone looks so different - Orange, Purple, Green, Blue. All saying Hello! In silent voices and waves. I can’t hear them because they’re too far away. And when I visit these worlds and dream - Dad is making breakfast and Mom is combing my hair. And I feel Home. We smile and laugh and then I have to go to the next world and find my Mom and Dad there. And we smile and sometimes we live in castles and wear beautiful dresses and we smile But… They’re not smiling today. They look sad and that makes me sad. With their sad voices and silent tears. When I feel like this and they frown, I get up and put my blanket over my head and hear beautiful silent music. And I dance. I dance and I smile and I feel happy once again, letting my feet and hands make new wrinkles and galaxies and stars. I change my universe.


\# Afterlife \## Story 1, Part 1 \_Undisclosed Location\_ "Good afternoon. Firstly, I'm very tired. Kind of hungry and I've been in...whatever this place is for 6 months." Kendra said. "Six months?!" a thin, middle-aged man yelled as he stood up. A red light clicked to life on the wall behind his chair. As the sound registered the man quickly closed his mouth and sat down. "Ok." Kendra continued as she looked at man. "You've only been here a day but, honestly. I know as little as you do. I know what's in the identical binder we all have in front of us, and I know if you lose your \_shit\_." She kept her eyes on the man. "Then the little bracelet around our wrists injects us all with \_something\_, we all pass out and when we wake up the person who lost said \_shit\_ is gone." The man at the end of the table raised his hand and began speaking without being formally acknowledged, "....fuck. Only a day? I've only been here a \_day\_? I woke up in that little room with this binder. Which I read. The door opened, I came in here to find all of you and the \_only\_ reason I'm not going out of my mind trying to find a way out of here is because what's in this binder is just crazy enough to be interesting. That, plus the meeting I had with a person I trust telling me that no matter what happens, don't freak out. That match everyone's experience?", he asked. Heads nodded around the table. Kendra found his gaze, "Nice you meet you..." "Tom." "Ok, Tom. Our job is to figure out a next step to a problem that honestly doesn't seem like it has a sane answer. So, should we get started?", she asked. Heads nodded around the table again. "Great.", Kendra said as she pressed a small button in front of her. "Recording has started. Beginning session. Acknowledging receipt of the latest information from the particle accelerator." she said, as she motioned to the page sitting on top of her binder. Identical to the pages also sitting on top of the other binders. The group has worked to decode the message and believe with some certainty that it can be translated as follows, 'Info. Restarting node 78475\_AA-3849\_cAE. Subject 193847758\_AA-33111\_KKE designation confirmed as Buddhist. Reseeded in next available host successfully. Encryption set successfully. Logging will suspend for this subject until next terminal event.'" Kendra pushed the button to stop recording and looked up at a room of tired faces. They were all sitting in a small room on a classified lunar colony which up until 10 months ago served as the observation habitat for the McMellon Super Collider. Now it was the highly classified and \_highly\_ isolated think tank for the 9 men and women seated around the table. "So. Does this message give \_anyone\_ here an idea on how we might be able to use the collider to actually see what the real world looks like instead of just reading log messages?" \### Part 2 \_ Earth. UAE. Classified Facility. \_ In a room similar to the one built on the moon two people sit facing each other. "How was your trip?", asked the heavy set man. "Not bad. I mean. Until you locked me in this room. Told me we're all in a simulation, and I can either help or be placed in a medically induced comma until I die of natural causes.", Kendra said dryly. "Yeah. It's not great. We're going to try something different with you. Instead of black bagging you, locking you in a room and letting you read a binder we're going to simply let you ask questions.", the man said. Kendra looked at him for a long moment and then said, "This is fucked." "Not a question, but I agree. Well, we're both fucked and not fucked. Nothing really changes for the world with this discovery. Though we are concerned that if the people running the show find out we know then it's lights out for us.", the man said. Kendra eyed him for a second, "So before I launch into a endless sea of questions I'd like to assume you're telling the truth. What are you trying to accomplish?" The man took a breath and said, "I don't know. No one knows. We just want to understand. Then act. Maybe. Maybe do nothing. That's the point. We literally don't know what we can do. Frankly, it's all so incredibly head trippy that every day is a small exercise in not losing my mind. I'll tell you this Ms. Romin, asking questions and trying to understand is really the \_only\_ way to keep a gun out of your mouth. Trust me on that and remember that you are being recruited because we're down a person who decided the gun made \_more\_ sense.", he said. "Ok.", Kendra said while trying very hard to read his features. Then she started asking questions: **kendra** \- When did you realize we were in a simulation? **man** \- 10 months, give or take. man - Large particle accelerator doing classified experiments on the moon found data in the energy released from a routine particle collision. Structured data. Completely alien, yet familiar. While we couldn't understand \_what\_ it was saying at first, we could understand \_what\_ it was. **kendra** \- <flips through notes> - Right, says here a lab tech thought it was a prank. That someone put a stack trace with nonsense syntax in the system to be funny. First, what's a stack trace? **man** \- Bear with me. I started off as a systems engineer, but I was never good at explaining this stuff to people. When a program has an error, the underlying system may return a message describing the error with a bit of information about what caused it. kendra - So the collider malfunctioned? **man** \- No. Fuck. I wish. No. The collider is working flawlessly. **kendra** \- What then. Some part supplied by the lowest bidder in the computers had a glitch? **man** \- The universe. **kendra** \- I'm sorry? **man** \- The \_universe\_, under a very specific set of conditions will throw an error message. In something similar to the languages we evolved to use here on "Earth". Apparently. **kendra** \- <kendra went rigid. Her mind tried very hard to get back on stable ground.> That's insane. **man** \- Look. I can see why they picked you. You're handling this very well. Insane or not it's true. The universe is an engineered system, we're inside it and we have no idea what is \_outside\_ of it. kendra - I'm handling this well because I'm sure that no matter how deep this rabbit hole is there is a rational explanation at the other end. **man** \- <shrugs> - I honestly don't have a stable opinion about that. Though that does feel aggressively optimistic. kendra - Ok. Can you give me an elevator pitch or something that kind of wraps up what you do know? **man** \- Sure. Our reality is a simulation. Part of a colonist selection process for habitable worlds. We assume at least one for each major religion on Earth. Maybe one for every religion regardless of size. We know for example that early Earth history was designed to be hard in part because a planet discovered early on required pretty tough bastards. That planet has been abandoned. Total loss. **kendra** \- <opens mouth to speak> - \[man motions for her to wait\] **man** \- The idea goes something like this. Five main corporations...or at least that's what we're calling them. Gods is what they are but that feels a bit specific considering how little information we have. These corporations own the only 5 habitable planets found so far that classify as ideal. They each have a set of guidelines for colonization to try and ensure an ideal society is created. One that won't recreate the sins of their past. Candidates apply to one of the five corporations. These are your major religions when in simulation. It's also a contract. You are free to switch religions, but you are then bound to that new contract and the old one is voided. Christianity for example has a planet that is described as a paradise. An 'Eden' I guess. Code named H3-VN. They are also among the richer corporations. The planet is a farther distance away than the others and even at near light travel it takes a while. They are looking for morally strict colonists. People who won't steal, murder, or bang their neighbors' husband no matter how much temptation they face. People who under any form of stress will always consider the greater good first. Then a bunch of other stuff - like breeding on a new world is important so things like abortion and gay marriage are kind of taboo. The flip side of all this is these corporations also need a lot of labor to get these colony ships built and on their way. Even more for all the work to do planet side. If you sign up with Christianity and \_fail\_ the test then your contract stipulates that the rest of your working life will be spent building ships, mining ore, and watching as people better than you leave for paradise. To ensure you don't do anything spiteful the contract also stipulates that a minor lobotomy will be performed so you don't mind so much. Want to hear something funny? The labor habitat that processes out the failures is in orbit around Mercury and code named H3-LL. Each corporation is like this. Islam has a planet where local radiation has caused 75% of births to be female. There are quite literally scores of virgins waiting to be impregnated by men. Fail and it's a pretty similar setup to the Christians, only their work camps are mining the rings of Saturn. We also just received confirmation that the Buddhists let you keep trying until you get it right. Decent argument for becoming a Buddhist if you ask me. Though the planet they have is pretty sparce. Not a lot to do. So their whole thing is finding the happiness within. kendra - I'm sorry. How are we even able to have this conversation? If we're in a simulation and everything is being recorded then why haven't we been killed, or patched, or whatever. **man** \- turns out these folks really enjoy their privacy rights and contracts. When you get out of this thing you have to go on living your life. Your records are sealed to prevent what amounts to a lifetime diary of potentially bat shit crazy behavior from following you around. Another neat bit. Christians review \_all\_ of your logs when you die. Every thought. Every action. Hindus look at the net good accomplished and kind of redact the details. **man** \- <continues> The other interesting thing is there is a very good chance they do know we know. Or will know eventually. The simulation uses time dilation and a lifetime in here is something like 10 minutes there. This works in our favor since it means we have amassed this information in the time it might take a tech who is monitoring the system to sip her coffee. If that long. On top of that we assume the system generates a lot of data. We are going to great lengths to generate as little noise as possible as we investigate. We have a sort of foothold that lets us query a system connected to the simulation. Best guess is what we've learned comes from archives left over from the system design. Seems abandoned or used so rarely that when we poke around there no one seems to notice. This has been the most reliable, though the same particle collision never seems to produce the same error twice. Run it once and you get a stack trace. Run it again and everything looks like a normal boring experiment. System might be self-correcting. **man** \- So that's the elevator pitch. Next question. **kendra** \- So billions of people are in a simulation all at once? **man** \- No. We don't think so. We think there are only a very small number of people in the simulation and the rest are AI. So that's a wrinkle. Don't really want to kill yourself to get out in the off chance you're just a bit of code. **kendra** \- Which do you think you are? **man** \- 'We' are likely AI. By the odds anyway. **kendra** \- Can we interact with their world? **man** \- with a smile - I knew you belonged here. That is very much the question we are trying to answer, and quickly.


"That's how you get near boiling water dumped over your head." My beautiful wife said as I wrapped my arms around her from behind. She had been fiddling with the coffee pot when I snuck up on her. "You take such good care of me." "I expect you to finish the basement today." I'd been putting off the last bits of sheet rock for weeks. We finally had our perfect home and I was still slacking off. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it off to me and then got started on her own. I'd grown accustomed to her having providence over much of the house. She was 10 years my junior, but she ran a tight ship. One of the things I adored about her is she would call me on my BS. "Sam stop leaving your socks on the floor, Sam put the toilet seat down." Living alone for your 20's leaves bad habits deeply engrained. She turned to me with a smirk on her face. " I'll shower, you get to work!" "As you wish." Quoting one of the greatest movies of all times. I want to complain about having to work on household improvements on my time off from work, but my heart wouldn't be in it. In fact I'm thrilled that my wife encourages me to not lay around and read all day. The sheet rock went faster than I had anticipated. A few screws, a bit of mudding and our basement no longer looked like a dungeon. Just as I had capped the bucket of mud I heard feet rushing down the stairs. I looked up to see my wife in all her naked glory running full boar at me. She jumped at the last second, into my arms almost toppling me over. She was planting kisses all over my face doing her best to smother me. "We did it! We freaking did it!" Her joy was infectious. In between giggles I asked " What did we do? Finish the basement? I know, I'm here." "No you big dumb idiot! We did it!" She had been waving something in my face that I had been all too distracted to see. I craned my neck back to try to get a lock on the stick she was waving around haphazardly. Shock took over my limps. I couldn't figure out if I needed to collapse or drop her. Luckily she had a death grip on me so she wouldn't be falling out of my arms. "Hold the phone! Are you telling me you're pregnant?" She bore holes into me with her eyes before attempting to once again end me with a make out session. " Yes!Yes!Yes!Yes! Finally! Do you have any idea how many of these damn tests I've been taking?" "I didn't even know we had them." "Of course you didn't. I take out the bathroom trash every time I use one." She finally extended her legs to floor and with a final kiss on the lips she turned away from me. "It's finally happening. I'm going to be a mother." The lights flickered and her voice took on a low growl. She ever so slowly turned back around. The timely flicker of the lights made it seem like she was skipping portions of the turn. After ending her turn and staring straight at me she opened her mouth to speak. "Beep!" "Beep!" "Beep!" "Beep!" I opened my eyes and I was once again in bed alone. I lay there feeling the depths of my love for my wife and my unborn child. Knowing that they weren't real. Just something my brain created to pass the time. In the early dawn light, I could recall our wedding, our first kiss, and signing the paperwork for our house. Now all that was left of her was a seemly bottomless pit left in the center of my chest.


My name is John Livingston. I am the 42nd spokesbird for the Brooklyn Birds Confederation. I am a willet, or you can call me Tringa Semipalmata if you want to use your high school Latin once in a lifetime. I am named after the legendary Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I encourage you to Google him. We willets are the selected species for the spokesbird of the BBC. The first time we were selected for this duty at around 1820 when a few of us confused our migration path and never left Brooklyn again. We were selected specifically because of our inspiring voices that are perfectly suitable for any kind of public speaking. We birds do not host any TED Talks, but if we were, the most-watched ones would have been the ones presented by us willets. You homo sapiens generally write and read our words as will, will, willet, will, will, willet — even though it is much more complicated than that. Anyways, today, I am not here to talk about us, but you. Since the recent COVID-19 pandemic, you, and I am not talking about all of you, but about those voyeuristic perverts of you, got out of control watching our private lives. For the record, we are terribly sorry about the pandemic and glad that this time it wasn’t from us. As a reminder, bats are not birds; they are mammals. For years, we birds tolerated your perverted actions. We, I must say, even liked it up to a certain extent. Bird watching as you call it when kept in limits, is understandable. We, too, use online maps that are connected to your bird watching apps to draw strict borders to define where this vice can happen. These defined places include parks, arboretums, lakes, and some private houses of the filthiest of yours. Parks and so are public places. They are for all of us. We are smart enough to be considerate of our actions in those areas. Even in our mating season, we keep our private lives away from those places. Homes, on the other hand, are a little different. Not all of us are interested in the delicious nuts you leave for us going through hell and high water to keep them away from the squirrels — our sworn enemies. Some of us, especially Instagram influences like red cardinals, have their moral sentiment. They feel ok with special home visits. I must say, it should be very hard to resist those red-cardinal-attracting bird feeders on Amazon. No sir; we are not jealous. Absolutely not. Their body; their choice. Once again, when it is limited to designated areas for a few of you, we like being the center of attention. I must add: “All birds equally love being watched, but red cardinals more equally love being watched.” Now I ask you: where is the problem? Let me explain. All around the world, quarantines, and shelter in place orders were released. And you fine people, very well, obeyed them. When all of you are stuck in your homes, jobless, or with jobs with so-called (flies a foot above the podium and makes air quotes with its feet here) working from suitable jobs, your balconies, patios, and even regular windows become screens to our private lives. What we eat. When we sleep. How we sing. And even, pardon my french, how we mate become the new binge-worthy series to your eyes. Your social media posts and respectable news institutions’ stories that are talking about how we sing, where to find us and so, are encouraging people for this meretricious activity. Amateur bird watchers, who don’t know the rules for respectable interaction, increase their headcount every day. Another pair of eyes appear on our behinds every three seconds. Photographers, who cannot shoot fashion models anymore, zooming into our bedrooms. Musicians, who cannot go to their studios, stealing our songs. People, ordinary people try tricks in all shapes and sizes to get us closer. Now I ask you. No. Now I beg you. Please. A Little bit of privacy.