Spring began with a violent storm. The storm was darker than the previous storm. It was wetter too. The clouds regaled as lightning burst and thunder cracked. “It has been a while,” Cirrus boasted, “since we have lit the sky like this.” “Quite a lot of time we have spent indeed,” responded Nimbus. “And plenty of effort too.” “Collecting that vapor is no easy chore,” whispered Stratus. “But a cloud must go, where winds do flow,” said Cirro. With that, the birds wished them luck and the clouds were off. The air carried Cirrus high and Nimbus higher, Stratus low and Cirro lower, and happily so. For Cirro loved to float. He saw the land from high above, as most never could. He experienced time pass, and saw rivers change. He saw plants come and go, as was nature’s way. Once, he had been low enough to pass through a peak, but never felt it’s rocky touch. Because clouds cannot embrace what it is they feel. They can observe for a fleeting moment, but never alter. And that was fine with Cirro. For he knew why he was made. He knew that every cloud had a storm to create. Summer began with a reasonable storm. The storm was lighter than the previous storm. It was dryer too. The clouds delighted as lightning surged and thunder smashed. “It has been a while,” Cirrus boasted, “since we have lit the sky like this.” “Quite a lot of time we have spent indeed,” responded Nimbus. “And plenty of effort too.” All the while Stratus was silent. “Is everything all right?” Cirro asked him. “I did not collect any vapor this time,” he responded. “The birds spoke as I floated. They said I am far too repressed to be doing this sort of work. They said only the grass benefit from our storm. They said the three of you had accomplished more than enough.” “She had a point,” thought Cirro, “the birds can land on any tree or drink from any river. The birds must be wise if they can touch any peak they desire. Better not cause a fuss, there was still a storm after all.” With that, the birds wished them luck and the clouds were off. The air carried Cirrus high and Nimbus higher, Stratus low and Cirro lower, and happily so. For Cirro loved to float. He saw the seas from high above, as most never could. He experienced time pass, and saw mountains change. He saw creatures come and go, as was nature’s way. Once he had been low enough to pass around a peak, but never caught it’s steady glance. Because clouds cannot examine what it is they see. They can observe for a fleeting moment, but never alter. And that was fine with Cirro. For he knew why he was made. He knew that every cloud had a storm to create. Fall began with a hesitant storm. The storm was lighter than the previous storm. It was dryer too. The clouds elated as lightning flared and thunder clapped. “It has been a while,” Cirrus boasted, “since we have lit the sky like this.” All the while Nimbus and Stratus were silent. “Is everything all right?” Cirro asked them. “We did not collect any energy this time,” said Nimbus. “The birds spoke as we floated. They said we are far too oppressed to be doing this sort of work. They said only the trees benefit from our storm. They said the two of you had accomplished more than enough.” “They had a point,” thought Cirro, “the birds can speak to any creature or taste any meal. The birds must be wise if they can touch any peak they desire. Better not cause a fuss, there was still a storm after all.” With that, the birds wished them luck and the clouds were off. The air carried Cirrus high and Nimbus higher, Stratus low and Cirro lower, and happily so. For Cirro loved to float. He saw the skies from high above, as most never could. He experienced time pass, and saw trees change. He saw people come and go, as was nature’s way. Once he had been low enough to pass beside a peak, but never heard it’s call. Because clouds cannot detect what they ought to hear. They can observe for a fleeting moment, but never alter. And that was fine with Cirro. For he knew why he was made. He knew that every cloud had a storm to create. Winter began with no storm at all. The skies were brighter than ever before, and the earth dryer. The clouds languished as no lightning was seen and no thunder was heard. Cirrus, Nimbus and Stratus were silent. “Is everything all right?” Cirro asked them. “We did not put in any effort this time,” said Cirrus. “The birds spoke as we floated. They said we are far too depressed to be doing this sort of work. They said only the Earth benefits from our storm. They said you had accomplished more than enough.” “They had a moot point,” thought Cirro, “the birds did not understand that more than one relished in a storm’s benefit. The birds must not be wise if they can touch any peak they desire but never appreciate doing so. Better to cause a fuss than have no storm at all.” With that, Cirro turned to speak to the others. But the air carried Cirrus high and Nimbus higher, Stratus low and Cirro lower, but unhappily so. For Cirro had discerned for too long. He knew in his heart that the birds had been wrong. But he never spoke up. As the breeze heightened he realized they had created their last storm. He watched the trees, river, and mountain fade from view. And over the horizon clouds did go.


Based after an encounter I had as a mailman, wrote a few years back just found it. Journal entry December 5th, 2014: Today I woke. I am not sure how to feel about it. I wake up stiff. Well, not so much stiff as stuck. I can’t sleep long. It’s as if my bodies only solace is rejected, so I am lucky to get five hours of relief a night. I go to bed late and toss and turn and wake up at five a.m. on the nose. The torture is that I have to wait for my daughter to wake and she helps me get out of bed. I have tried a few times to get out of bed on my own, but those attempts left me struggling on the floor and crying out for help. She typically doesn’t get up until six or seven and even later on the weekends. My Daughter is so patient. I don’t want to be a burden on her but I know I am. She has sacrificed so much in order to help take care of me. A husband. Kids. It’s better when I don’t dwell on it. I was so relieved to see her walk in my room this morning. I had to use the restroom fiercely. She helped me get cleaned and dress. It is an ordeal because I cannot stand unsupported for too long. Today was the thorough cleaning. Typically she uses a wash cloth and soap on me in the mornings to clean most of my body, but once a week I take a shower and get actually clean. It took over an hour. After my shower I sat in my usual chair and she turned on the television. Television doesn’t really appeal to me until about ten a.m. when Price Is Right comes on. Most of the time I do not even watch the television, just stare through it, listening to the loud noises and bright colors lighten up my face. Ding Dong! The doorbell sounded. Knock, knock, knock! Someone rapped at my door. I called for My Daughter. No response. I was pretty sure it was the mailman at the door since we don’t have many visitors. I grabbed my walker and headed for the door. “I have a package that requires a signature,” said the mailman. He handed me a pink slip of paper and a pen. It was a struggle to support myself in the walker but I was determined to sign for the package. I dropped the pen. He quickly bent down and picked it up and put it back in my hand. I didn’t want to say anything but it was clear I could not hold myself up and sign the slip. “Would you like me to sign it for you?” He asked. “Yes please!” That was so generous of him. He signed the paper and handed me the package and the rest of my mail. I was able to hold on to it for a few seconds when I felt the strength leave my body. I dropped the mail. I collapsed. “Unnnhhh!” I exclaimed as my face went into my walker. I put all my strength into picking myself back up but it was impossible. I could feel my pants sliding down my back and was humiliated. “Unnnhhh! My pants are falling down!” The mailman was frozen, not sure what to do. All was lost. Thankfully, at that moment My Daughter walked by and rushed over to me. “Oh my God! What are you doing?” She ran over and picked me up by my chest. “Stop!” I said as she was crushing my chest. “It hurts!” She tried holding me up for me to get a grip on my walker. I had expended all my energy there was no way that was happening. After a short while of her trying to hold me up on my feet (It was excruciating pain) she slowly lowered me to the floor. “Why did you come to the door?” My Daughter asked me as we both lay there in a heap. The mailman was still there, frozen, not sure how to help or what to say. “Thank you,” My Daughter told him as he walked away. She slammed the door. Picked me up and dragged me to my natural seat by the television. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you call for me?” She asked. “I did! You didn’t come. I knew it was the mailman so I thought I could answer the door.” “You know you can’t do that!” There is nothing worse than being scolded by your own child. I think that is the natural order of things. We are born helpless. If we live long enough, we become victims of time. I want to feel embarrassed about what happened today. I don’t see the point. My Daughter couldn’t get her point across enough about how I shouldn’t be getting up, shouldn’t be answering the door. I get it. I don’t like that I am trapped in this body. I remember when My Henry and I used to go on hikes for hours. He would always tell me that “You could hike everest if you didn’t hate the cold.” It seems like a lifetime since that was true. Me and My Henry were invincible. I know that if you live to my age you have to see loved ones go, but why him? He was always so kind. So gentle. I have lived almost a century. There’s not much I think about beside my mortality. I have come to terms that I am going to die, but I don’t see how that makes much of a difference. My Henry lived for 70 years, he led a moral, hard-working life. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes. People live, people die. That’s what happens. I think when we are young, we view life as a privilege. Isn’t it great I was born? Aren’t I great? The problem with life is we know we are alive and we have a lifespan. My cats don’t know what is happening besides the moment. I turn a light on when it’s dark, they don’t question where it came from, they are just thankful it is there. They don’t understand cancer. They don’t know they are seventeen years old and have cataracts and are an inch from death. I wish I had lived every moment in the present. Worry. Worry, worry, worry. That’s all we do. Focus on what will happen, what could happen. The best part of a vacation is the anticipation. Once you have it you are always disappointed. I read if I live for thirty more years they will cure the aging process. They not only will reverse aging, but eliminate death. How is life worth living if you don’t die? The greek gods were fascinated with death because it makes every experience, every moment mean so much more. I won’t make it thirty more years, but even if I could, i wouldn’t want to. I want to be back with Henry. I am so tired of being a burden on My Daughter. She has given up so much to take care of me. She doesn’t say anything but I know what she has sacrificed. When I was growing up her lifestyle wasn’t approved, but now it seems everyone is marrying everyone. I want her to be happy. I was never a writer so I am not sure if this is coming out the way I want it to, but I want to be useful. I’m writing this before I go to bed tonight. I haven’t really written since I was a girl but My Daughter said it was important I express myself and get my thoughts on paper. I am still struggling to see the point in life. Good. Bad. It doesn’t seem to make a difference. I led a moral christian, moral life. I prayed everyday and went to church. Henry went to church. I believe I’m going to heaven. I believe Henry went to heaven. I don’t think heaven is the way it’s described in the bible. I know that I am more than my body. My spirit is what is holding this pen right now. My consciousness is what is real. My body is nothing more than a vessel. What happens after this vessel is used up, I do not know. I know that I have enjoyed the time I have spent thus far on this plane of existence. My Daughter would make fun of me for talking like this but this is what I have always felt. There is nothing more real that staring at deaths door. I am knocking, pounding, screaming for him to come and take me. I don’t want to die. I’m scared of death. But I’m scared of life as well. How can i be alive if I’m not living. I’m just here. I’m just running out the clock at My Daughters expense. She has a life. She needs to move on. I wish I lived in Oregon where assisted suicide was legal. There is a point to life though. I know how much I mean to My Daughter. She means so much to me as well. I love her with all my heart. I don’t know what to say to her. She has given up her life to take care of me. I want her to be happy. We all want to be happy. I think if this was my last night on earth I would just want to say that every moment is precious. There is no future. There is the now. The right now. You don’t realize how much you are fixated on what’s going to happen or what happened already. As My Henry always said, “Life is the best thing that happened to me.” And I believe that to be true. Journal entry December 6th, 2014: I woke again today.


"Everyone dies, son." We were at Wendy's. "But, why?" I asked. "God, son, I wish I could tell you. I really wish I could. But I can't." Then he thought for a second and repeated "Nope, I can't." Then he made a farting sound and we got in the car. **Your Mother** "Son, I will never say a bad word about your mother. But! I will say that you are half whore." **Religion** "Look, I was never a religious man. I was raised Catholic or - well, something. I think it was one of the ones with Jesus. God. What the hell am I? Shit...this is going to bug me. K, I went to a church or temple or - there was that lady, you know, the one that went to your mother's birthday last year with the drinking problem." He sat silently thinking. Finally he yelled "Carol!" **Fighting** "Son, you may never get in a fight in your entire life. Like you'll come close. You'll piss some people off, but no one will ever draw you out for a fight. Or, maybe you'll get swung at and you'll duck and then someone will stop the fight. Or, maybe you'll swing at someone and they won't fight back. Point is - you may never get in a fight in your entire life. It's something to think about." Then he punched me. **Get a Job** "Son, I don't want to be one of those parents that makes you go out and get a job when you turn sixteen, but I do want to offer you a job. Take a look at these." They were war bonds. It was 1992. **Drugs** "Have a seat. Your mother told me you've been taking drugs." "Yeah, I have asthma. I have an -" "I don't want to hear it!" **Women** "Son, it's time we talked about women." "OK, Dad." I said. "Women are like men, but they have purses." "OK, Dad." "Did you do your homework?" "Yeah, Dad. Can I have some money to see Last Boy Scout this weekend?" "Sure. You wanna know something else about women?" "What's that, Dad?" "They ask for money to go see movies." "OK, Dad." "I'm calling you a woman, boy!" Then he started laughing and then crying. "OK, Dad. Where's your wallet?" "A woman's got it!" He snarled. But it was on the counter. **Sandwich** "Come here, son. Look at this. That's MY sandwich. Do not touch it. OK?" I nodded. He had spent the better part of the morning making it. "It means everything to me." I nodded. He started crying "Everything." **Being a Man** "Come over here. Take a knee. Now, son, being a man doesn't just mean going out and getting loaded and hooting at women, it means eating cheeseburgers and nacho cheese, it means throwing beer cans at people and much, much more. Now blow into this tube so I can start the car." **The War** "I don't like to talk about the war." He said as I passed by him sitting alone in the living room, playing Doors records with the lights out. "That's just something I won't talk about." "OK, Dad." I said, and grabbed my backpack to go do homework. "Wait, son. There's something I never told you about the war." "What, Dad?" "Oh, now you want to know - well, I don't talk about the war." "OK, Dad." "OK, just this once. What do you want to know about the war?" "Which war?" "I don't even know. That's the main reason I don't like to talk about it." Then he started crying. Then I went and played Mario Cart. **Computers** "Son, this is a computer. I have no idea what it does. Let's go." **Oil Change** "The thing you need to know about changing oil is that you're gonna need some new oil. And an oil filter. And some beer (grabs me by the back of the neck and starts laughing to the point he's shaking, then he starts crying, then we change the oil)!" **Geology** "Son, see this here? That's shale. You know how shale is formed?" "No." "You know how rocks are formed?" "No." "Jesus, I guess I haven't been that great of a father." "You've been fine, Dad." "No. No. Look, so, let's start with subduction zones." "What are those?" "You see, the Earth - is that old Bill Cabot!" And then he just kinda ran back into the house and hid. I'm pretty sure he didn't know about Geology, but I was glad that he gave it a shot. **Babs** "You remember Babs?" "No, Dad." "God, I loved Babs. C'mon! Blond hair? Had that muffler on her car?" I still didn't know who Babs was.


A Point Through Time . The Only Words of Beverly West As recorded by Dr. J. Troyer, PhD Calvinstein Research Hospital, Psychiatric Ward B. . What is a line? Can you describe it to me? A point through time? A line is a point through time? . Here is a book Time is the pages Chapters are ages Flip through and have a look. . What is this dot? Just Flip the pages? Watch it move? . SLAM! <Subject slams his open palm on the floor> . Compress those pages! Delete those ages! What have you got! A line is point moving through ages! . Here is a line! Move it sideways, Now look timeways! A square is a line through time! . Now take that square. And just like so. I see you know. A cube is a square moving through time? . What is time? Is time the dimension which makes a point a line? What separates Cube from Square? That something is just one-thing moved here to there? . Yes of course! Now you have it! But that is just the door; I have more! . If a Cube is a Square, And a square a line, What is a point? What moved through time? . You’ve made the leap! You’ve guessed my game! But it is fuzzy down that small, Like point without choices. . But now go up! If each thing Is some other thing What are you, moving through time? . Oh fuck that! That’s to much! Time plus me is something else? And that plus time is else and such? . Again you’ve done it! Saw my clues! And saw rues! Now see the rest with truth to choose. . This can’t be forever Time upon time and time again . CLAP! <subject “claps” his hands in front of his eyes> . Open your eyes! We are a thing frozen in time! A thing, a thing, a thing open your eyes! . If I am thing frozen in time. Made from dots and points and lines. But time can’t be folded forever: Who is where time runs never? . And wherever one looks Nothing changes. Are we lines or dots? Pages or Books? . But that is our calling! That our trip through time Might not rhyme But would always be enthralling. . What is our picture? What are we painting? Through time, What is our legacy saying? . How depressing. How undressing. This line upon the paper is grown My painting is done and me through time is known . But that can’t be! You have a choice! This or that, King James or James Joyce. Our path through time rings our voice. . But if something is me dragged though time That thing is whole, like this line. The dots have vanished, their futures banished Their choices are plain to see. . So how can it be For the choices of me To be crafted in original time? . Do the choices I make change the maker’s choices Does creation mold divine? . And how would be For the choices I see To be stretched where there is no time? . That at the creation The choices’ formation The now can touch the divine. . No, we are here And it is there Between there is no line. Unless of course we are points, separated by time. .


I remember the day of Thanksgiving would start early in the morning, with Thanksgiving breakfast. Dad would make pancakes shaped like turkeys, and then he would take them into the bathroom and eat them all while making turkey noises while my mom would sit in the kitchen and cry. After that, we'd turn the game on and Dad would begin drinking. First one, then two, then three gallons of chocolate milk. He'd yell at the TV and call every player "Roger". Like "Throw the ball to Roger!" or "C'mon, Roger, throw the ball!" It wasn't until much later that I realized he was watching soccer and they rarely throw the ball. Mom would get to work in the kitchen making the bird. Dad was vegetarian, so the bird was usually a bunch of vegetables that mom put in a blender and then shaped into a turkey. But most of the time there was plenty of meat in it as well, because my mother hated my father and she found this to be funny. So funny she'd laugh the entire time she was making the "bird" and sometimes so hard she would vomit into the sink. She was crazy. And not the laughable kind of crazy. She was really nuts. But so was dad. I guess we all were. I guess it's a crazy holiday. But it wasn't all crazy, a lot of it was fun. Like when we'd exchange Thanksgiving gifts. Typically a Thanksgiving gift was whatever you could find that was moist: wet towels, soap, grass...I remember one year I received a shoe. It was a Thanksgiving miracle and I remember putting the shoe on and running out into the street screaming "It's a Thanksgiving miracle!" but then I got hit by like three cars. The first one sent me into the other lane, then the second one sent me into the original lane and then this guy backed out of his driveway and hit me again. I lost the shoe, but I will never forget the look on everyone's face when my leg was amputated. It was like "WHOA!" After the game, dad would go into the den and put up the tree. The tree was made of turkeys, ironically, and it really started to smell by the first day of December. But dad would always say "It's tradition!" And then vomit. The turkeys were basically just impaled on a post and we hung no ornaments on them. In fact, whenever I see a turkey a feeling of mirth and awe flows through me all the way to the stump I still have from getting hit by all those cars. Once the tree was put up, we'd hang underwear from the chimney in the hopes that St. Nick would come and try the underwear on and leave little notes about our weight. Like one year I'd get "You're too skinny to play football" or another "You get your degree at John Porkins?" We were gratified by Santa's comments and we would strive to lose or gain the weight he prescribed. Until we found out that there was no Santa and it was actually aliens that were doing it. But then we hunted them down and killed them. But they turned out to just be our neighbors and that's why Mom went to jail. After preparing for Christmas, we'd watch another soccer game and then play Monopoly together. We'd open up the board and then put all the pieces out and then dad would wave his arm over the board and say "Foreclosure!" and then throw the game at one of us. Whoever was hit with Monopoly had to go make him cocktails. It was a helluva game. One time I made his cocktail too stiff and he told me that I couldn't go to bed until I ate the couch. I gave it a try and three days later he finally let me go to bed, but you could tell he was disappointed. "Now, son, that was a couch. And you only ate half. Do you realize there are children in Africa with no couches to eat?" I felt awful for awhile, but then it went away. But then Dad got mad that I wasn't still feeling bad and he sent me to Africa to look for couches and I found a bunch, but by then he had died or moved. I forget. But I wasn't 34 until I returned, so I'm sure he had a rich life. At dinner, Mom would put out the turkey and she would sing theme songs from TV shows that would always end up just being the Cheers theme song because she would forget the melody and words of whatever she was singing. Dad would pat us all on the heads and ask "Gobble, gobble?" Like his voice would go high at the end, like it wasn't just a turkey noise it was him trying to communicate. Each year we'd try to answer and only once did someone say the right thing and it was my sister. "Gobble, gobble?" "Yes?" I would ask. And he'd frown and move to the next kid. "Gobble, gobble?" And that one year my sister said "Morley Safer" and my dad nodded. It was the only time that worked. We kept trying "Morley Safer" after that, but it wasn't the answer anymore and we all just kinda looked foolish. Then we'd eat. Dad would always remark "I'm glad there's no meat in this." like he knew there was meat in it and was warning my mom, but she would just laugh nervously and pinch me really hard under the table. After dinner, my mom would take us all out to a national forest and leave us there. We still don't know what my parents would do at night, because it took hours to walk back home. I guess some people would call my family "crazy", but they were my family and I loved them all.


It's a dark, stormy day at the White House. A sign reading "Days Since Last Racist/Sexist/Discriminatory Comment" has been newly added to the front lawn. An unpaid college intern comes out and flips the counter from "1" to "0", all while being viciously whipped by Mike Pence. He then flips the "Record Number of Days" sign from 0 to 1 and curls up in his nearby doghouse while Pence goes back inside. Pence arrives back in the Oval Office to find President Trump with his hands wrapped around the neck of a woman wearing lingerie, too much makeup, and a spot of mysterious white powder on her nose. The woman is breathing normally and tells him that his hands are simply too small to crush her windpipe. He slaps her for such disrespect (she doesn't even flinch), and proceeds to rant at her about how his hands are completely normal. Mike Pence clears his throat and apologizes for interrupting. Trump gets up and hands the woman a dirty wad of cash off the table for fulfilling his fantasy. "Thanks, Melania", he says as he sends her off with his customary handshake, a good ol' American pussy grab. All other ways to shake hands with women have since been outlawed. "What's shakin', Pence-y Poo?" Trump asked, completely unaware of how homoerotic that nickname was. "I wanted to ask how your first day went?", Pence-y Poo replied. "Ah, my first day," Trump mused, "I remember it like it was yesterday." It was yesterday, but Pence didn't say that, because that wouldn't be very funny. Both men flashed back to yesterday's events. It was a bright and sunny day in the white house, with the Obama family and Joe Biden packing up to leave. Michelle Obama was holding Biden back with her enormous arms, as he screamed things like "Not my president!" while firing nerf guns into the air. Michelle took the guns away, but Biden pulled out another pair. They had no idea where he kept getting them from. Meanwhile, Barack Obama took one last look at the White House and sighed, as Trump entered behind him, drinking a Coke. Oh, but not the Coke you're familiar with- the REAL Coke, that only billionaires can afford. The one with the gold flakes in it that poor people's tax dollars pay for. Finishing up, Trump threw the can on the White House lawn, where it landed at Barack's feet. He picked it up, and a single tear rolled down his face. The family watched helplessly as the Trumps took their place, with the weather above the House immediately changing from sunny to stormy as they did. Back in the present day, the two men laughed, enjoying the memory, as they returned to their business. Trump picked up a newspaper off his desk and looked at it. "Trump Approval Ratings Starting at Lowest of Any President", the headline said. Trump shook his head. He'd have to go tweet the phrase "FAKE NEWS" in all caps again to take care of this one. After all, how is a billionaire entertainer-turned-President supposed to get enough attention if he doesn't tweet with his caps lock on six times a day? Trump shook his head, he just couldn't understand it. Why didn't America like being pissed on? After all, Trump sure did.


[ I've never posted a story here before, so I don't really know the rules/proper format, so I'm just pasting it like this, if the wall of text intimidates you, just read the first paragraph to see if it sounds interesting ;) ] <IGNORE THE NUMBERS> Millennia: The alarm sounds, blaring in Joe’s ears. He sits up, coughing out breathing fluid and reaching for something to hold onto. Looking around, he sees that his cryo chamber [1] was covered by a fallen wall panel, that was pushed out of the way when his unit expanded. Climbing out, he notices that all the chambers nearby are smashed open, and each one contains a single human skeleton. He looks back at the computer mounted into his unit, and sees that the date reads: 02/07/9999. “What happened..” he thinks to himself, “we were supposed to automatically wake up by 2125”. The return journey from the Triton (a moon of Neptune) expedition would take 10 years maximum in their ship, the Lassel-15 [2], and the vessel left Triton atmosphere in 2115. Without any means of explanation for this anomaly, Joe discards this as a technical error. He throws on some clothes, and then heads towards the ships control center to investigate the alarm, and figure out what happened to the crew. Entering the cockpit, Joe sees the words “AUXILIARY POWER LOW” flashing on all screens. “How is this possible?” he exclaims, “the auxiliary power systems in the Lassel-15 are meant to keep the cryo chambers running for.. centuries” [3]. Walking up to the main observing window, he looks out expecting to see the blue-green planet he calls home, but is astonished at the scarred landscape below. From first glance, the Earth seems to be devoid of any oceans, and has clear volcanic activity across the black and brown surface. However, after doing a geological scan with the ship’s instruments, he sees that the Earth is even more devastated than he thought. To begin, the plate tectonics are nothing like they once were, millenia of boundary conditions converging, diverging, and transforming, have levelled all man made structures. They’ve also changed the shapes and sizes of both the oceanic and continental plates. As well, the planet has clearly been peppered with various meteorite impacts, leaving this world nearly incomparable to the Earth Joe remembers [4]. “Could I really have been stuck in cryo sleep for this long?” he wonders. Again, the alarm sounds and he remembers that if he can’t reroute the ship’s power systems, than the oxygen recycler [5] will turn off, and he will suffocate in minutes. Quickly he accesses the closest terminal, and brings up the ship's power distribution center. He sees that the majority of the solar collection units [6] are wasting generated power by sending it to the smashed cryo chambers. “Well I guess we don’t need those anymore..” he says, as he redirects the power to the life support systems, and survey apparatus [7]. The surface of the Earth is clearly too dangerous to explore on foot, so he sends an analysis probe [8] down to look for any sign of civilization. “While that’s away, perhaps I can piece together what happened to the rest of the crew” he exclaims, as he walks back towards the cryo hibernation wing. After inspecting each of the 32 cryo chambers, Joe realizes that he is the sole survivor of the Triton expedition. The entire ship is devoid of any human life, other than himself. However, on his way back to the control center, he notices something odd in the compartment where they store the collected survey samples from Triton. The blast door that seals that area, made of 3-inch thick titanium-aluminum alloy [9], has a large hole torn into the center of it. The edges of the door nearest to the hole have been bent outwards, as if it was torn through from the inside. Joe attempts to open the door remotely with a nearby terminal, but it's clearly too damaged to move. Instead he climbs inside the storage compartment, but is overwhelmed at what he finds inside. The storage compartment was designed with a blast door on the inside, so that the artificial atmosphere inside the ship wouldn't escape when the compartment is opened from the outside. This way samples and materials from the surface of Triton could be put directly onto the ship. However, the much larger blast door that connects the entire room to the outside of the ship, is covered in large, deep, gouge marks, similar to ones seen on the first blast door. On the floor inside the room, lays the massive skeleton of a creature much bigger than anything Joe has ever seen. The bone structure of this long dead corpse, is similar to that of an ant or other arthropod, only instead of being the size of a staple, it’s more comparable to that of a car. Bewildered at this sight, Joe recalls that the ship’s security systems have automated cameras, which will record any movement in the vessel. Dashing to the nearest terminal, Joe brings up the earliest recording since the crew entered cryosleep for the journey home. The first video is from inside the storage compartment, a few months after leaving Triton. A large boulder taken from the surface of Triton is shown shaking, and finally breaking open, to reveal the creature. “It was an egg!” Joe proclaims, as he watches it hatching. The videos show the creature exploring the compartment for a couple hours, and then tearing through the first blast door. This destruction reveals how Joe’s cryo chamber was covered by the wall panel, as the creature pounded on the blast door, the vibrations in the walls caused the panel to come loose and fall off, covering Joe’s unit entirely. The creature then explores the ship, tearing apart various computer systems, and after a few more days it slows down, presumably getting tired and hungry. Eventually, it finds the cryo hibernation wing, and begins to smash the chambers one by one, devouring the thawing and unconscious humans inside. However, the creature’s senses seem to be almost entirely visual based, as it doesn’t realize there is another chamber under the fallen wall panel in Joe’s section. [10] After almost a year of periodical smashing of cryo units and eating humans, the creature finally runs out of food, and retreats to the storage room. Here it gives one final effort to try and break out of the ship through the way it was brought in. It scratches, bites, and pounds at the second blast door, but it is too strong for the creature to break through. It lays down on the floor of the compartment, in the same position the skeleton is in, and dies of starvation. Joe is deeply saddened as he learns the fate of the crew, but he also realizes how lucky it was that he didn’t end up the way they did. He now understands why his unit didn’t open until the emergency power was low, because of the damage the creature did to the onboard automated computers. Deciding the best course of action is to try and find out what happened to the rest his species, he makes his way to the vehicle bay, where the survey probe has just returned. Joe reaches the vehicle bay and immediately accesses the probes data. To begin, the automated radiometric dating information collected by the probe, shows that there has been no fossil records for approximately 15’000 years, and they stopped appearing exactly 350 years after the Triton expedition was planned to return. This means that humans have either gone extinct, or left the planet sometime near the end of the 24th century. The data also reads that the carbon dioxide content within the living organisms on the planet increased exponentially until this time [11]. “Could this be what caused the humans to disappear so suddenly?” Joe wondered. He tries to think of any possible place where a record of what happened to the humans might have survived on the planet for all this time, but he realizes it’s impossible. Everything built on the Earth has been long destroyed by now, and he begins to think there may be no hope left of finding his species. “Wait.. the space station.. orbiting high above all this destruction.. maybe it’s still up here?”. Back in the control center, Joe uses the ship's scanners to look for the largest objects orbiting the Earth 300-500 kilometres high [12]. He finds one reading, and inputs the instructions for the Lassel-15 to automatically move in and match its orbit. The ship shudders as the massive ion engines start up [13] for the first time in thousands of years. Remarkably, the automated flight systems are still intact after the creature demolished so many computer systems, and the ship begins its adjustments to reach the object. After an hour of flight, the ship positions itself 50 metres behind the object, and Joe moves toward the observing window to see what it is. While it is the space station, it’s not how Joe remembers it. With developments in space exploration technology throughout the centuries while Joe was frozen, humanity has clearly added to and modified the original ISS into something very different. It now is over 10x its original size, and includes large docking bays similar to the vehicle bay found in the Lassel-15. He can also see clear decompression sections where astronauts would be able to enter the station from a space walk without the need for docking. Joe tries to instruct the computer to dock with the station, but the automated docking systems are too damaged to work properly. “I guess I'll have to stretch my legs” Joe mutters, as he pulls on a space suit. After he is all geared up, he enters the decompression room and prepares to leave the ship. The room makes a loud noise like a vacuum, and then the door opens. Joe equips a stability assistance pack [14], and jets his way towards the station. Reaching the decompression section, he looks for a latch or type of door to enter, but instead finds an entirely empty wall, seemingly leaving the station open to the vacuum of space. Upon entry, Joe immediately notices technology he’s never imagined. As he floats into the station, the lights turn on, and he falls to the floor. He hears a loud, robotic voice say: “Welcome Joe, it’s been 9, 9, 9, 9, days since your last visit. Feel free to take off your spacesuit”. It seems impossible, but somehow the spot he entered from was actually a door, creating an invisible barrier between the ship and the vacuum of space, that he could pass through safely. As well, the ship is somehow generating its own artificial gravity [15], which is also contained by the invisible door. As Joe walks through the interior of the station, he sees many posters and signs saying things like “Journey to Planet X, where your new home awaits”. “Planet X?.. I’ve never heard of any Planet X before..” says Joe. He finally reaches the main data terminal, and begins looking through the latest entries. He finds one labelled: Planet X Advert which he plays. A suited man walks into screen on a planet that Joe has never seen. The man says: “Climate change is causing our planet to have an unhealthy atmosphere, and we’re running out of fossil fuels. Why not come to Planet X? It’s just a couple years in cryosleep away, here the atmosphere is recycled to ensure the freshest air, and all the energy you need is generated by our state of the art thermal generators deep in the planet's core. You’ll never go hungry with all the food you could ever need grown right here in our bio-domes, and our 100% sustainability means there’s no limit to how long you can stay. And of course, everything is run and maintained by our newly developed AI systems, so you won’t have to work at all! The future is now, come join us”, the video ends [16]. “They’ve.. all left. my entire species has found a new home without me” he thinks, “Why didn’t they come wake me up? Did they forget I was orbiting just above their heads all those years?”. Joe doesn’t know what to do, he has no safe planet to return to, and there's not enough supplies on the Lassel-15 or the ISS to sustain him for the rest of his life. It looks like this could be it, until Joe sees another entry on the terminal. It reads: Final Migration From Earth. He opens the file, and sees that it contains the information regarding the last ship to leave Earth and go to Planet X, including the specific trajectories of Planet X’s extremely elliptical orbit [17]. “With this I might be able to reach them..” he says, hoping that they are still there after all this time. He downloads the information to a data key, puts on his space suit, and jets back to his ship. Once on board, he enters the coordinates of Planet X’s current location, and sets the ship to autopilot itself there. Because the journey would take decades, Joe decides to reprogram his cryo chamber to automatically open once the ship arrives. However, before settling in once more, he makes sure to jettison all the survey samples collected from Triton, just for good measure. He then lays down in his unit, hearing a soft click as it closes, and falls asleep. As it did once before, Joe’s unit pops open, and he is pleasantly surprised not to hear any blaring alarms in his ears this time. He gets dressed, and then excitedly walks down to the control center to see Planet X for the first time. He is slightly concerned when he looks out the window to see a very barren, cold planet, with no visible signs of humans living anywhere on it [18]. But as the planet rotates on it’s axis, it reveals a massive civilization built onto the surface. “They are still here.. I can finally see another human being again” he mutters, filled with optimism. Joe is about to get into a landing craft and head down to the surface [19], when something on the ship’s arrival scans catches his eye. It reads: Heat Signatures Detected: 0. Too eager to reach the planet, Joe ignores this and assumes it’s just another malfunction from the damage the creature did. He boards a landing craft, and flies down towards the planet. On the way down, the craft picks up a radio signal. Joe connects to the frequency, and hears the same voice he heard on the ISS say: “Hello Joe, it’s good to see you again, please go to the marked landing pad”. A marker shows up on the HUD of the cockpit [20] and Joe heads towards it. As the ship touches down, a tunnel extends from the massive facility built into the side of the planet, and connects to the landing craft’s door. Joe is so happy to know that his species is ok and he can finally see someone again, that he runs down the tunnel the moment the door opens. He gets to the end finding another door, and as he walks up to it he can't help but remember how the ship said there were no heat signatures on the planet, and that voice he heard was automated too. “Oh well” he thinks, “that commercial said that the AI does everything for them right?”. The door opens, and Joe looks into the facility, to see hundreds of humanoid robots standing, looking at him [21].


Hello everyone! I'm not a usual poster but I'm not exactly sure where to post this question. If this isn't a good sub for this, please let me know and I'll ask elsewhere! My Grampa is over 90 now, and has been living great--still driving around, living alone in his house, self sufficient. Recently he has slipped on ice and his neck is now broken. He's stable but has no feeling from the chest down... He's gone from living a solid life to just laying in bed all day at the hospital. He's being moved but I can't imagine how ungodly bored he must be. I'd like to go read him something but I have no idea what might be appropriate. He's lucid and he's really intelligent. His brain is working fine. He is Lutheran, knows I'm atheist, and doesn't mind. I wanted maybe something kinda metaphorical or just generally interesting or... Yeah I'm really lost as to where to start. My other grandparents that have been in similar situations were when I was very young. My rambling aside, would anyone happen to have a recommendation as to something kinda short I could read to him? I don't wanna pick something and have it be lame or patronizing or something.


They lay in the dark. The quiet of the room enveloping them like a thick, comforting blanket, much in the same manner as his arms wrapped around her. There they lay, enjoying the simple pleasure of existing with each other. The soft smell of her fruity shampoo and perfume gently tickling his nose as her golden hair brushed against his face. She rolled over, wrapping her arms around him, her breath on his neck, as she pressed herself closer to him, taking in his musky scent, mixed with the sweet aroma of his cologne, and a slight hint of stale cigarettes. He could feel her smile, as she took a deep breath. “Why can’t you love me?” She asked. A hint of sadness reflected in her soft voice as she spoke gently in his ear. He sat, quiet for a long moment as he thought about it. About why he couldn’t be what she wanted, despite her being everything he needed. His thoughts swirled around, madly, in his head as he reflected upon his past experiences, thoughts, and feelings. Then she came to mind. It was her, she always invaded his thoughts at the worst time. The absolute worst moments. Just when he thought he was going to be okay, and that she wouldn’t, she appeared. He thought about the first time they met, their first date, their first time. He thought about every vacation they took, every secret they shared. He thought about the time they realized they were so, so in love. He thought about the day he asked her to marry him, and the day she agreed. He thought about moving in with her, being with her all the time, building, creating, living; a life with her. He thought about planning for the wedding. Then he thought about that night. The night it all ended, and he could do nothing. He smiled, a sad smile, then kissed the top of her head; the girl that lay in his arms. He took a breath, pulled her close, and said, “It’s because… It’s because you can’t make me forget.” She tensed up. He felt it as her arms pulled him closer, the back of his shirt scrunching up as she clenched her hands into tight fists. She exhaled, half breathing, half exhaling a soft sob of defeat. He felt her gently nod her head. She remained quiet for a moment, her breath seemingly caught in her throat as she struggled to speak the words. “I understand,” hardly escaping her lips as he felt the warm breath of her speech painfully floating through the air, smashing into his eardrums as she spoke the words that caused her so much pain. She gently sobbed. He pulled her closer. Neither were sure what to do. She inhaled sharply, bearing her soul to him, “I really loved you, you know?” A choked sob escaping as she attempted to gasp out the words. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t feel the same.” They lay there for a while, letting the time pass in silence. Neither of them knowing what would come next. Half asleep, it woke them up. The bright, cheery sound of an alarm, out of place, in light of the current situation. The alarm meant only one thing; it was time for her to go. She sat up quickly, wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go.” He looked at her, a sad smile on his face. “I guess so,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “Unless you want to stay?” She smiled a sad smile and let out half a laugh, “My husband will be expecting me. I was supposed to leave an hour ago.” She looked around the room, “And it’s about time I actually left. You’re not worth ruining my life over anymore.” She gave a small shrug and tossed his t-shirt to the ground, as she searched the room in the dark for the clothing she came over in. He covered his face with his hands and exhaled sharply, taking a drink from the cup filled with smoky scented liquid, sitting atop a side table, next to his bed, before sitting up. “Your clothes are over there.” He pointed towards the living room, in the general direction of where her clothes were resting; having been there since shortly after she arrived. She laughed a quick, “Thanks,” and went to go retrieve them. She dressed quickly. All the while replying to a message from him on her phone. In no time at all, she had assembled her things and neatly organized them into her bag. He smiled, “Guess it’s time for you to go?” She lay down next to him and pressed her lips against his. “I guess so, for now.” He shivered as her breath rushed past his ear. She kissed him once, quickly, then once again for good measure. She headed towards the door. “Hang on. I’ll walk you out.” He said. He quickly pulled on a pair of pants, and walked her to her car, the pouring rain soaking them both to the bone, despite the short distance to their destination. He looked at her. She looked at him. Thunder and lightning rumbled and exploded in the distance. They kissed, one last time, in the rain. She looked at him, again with a sad smile on her face, before he spoke. “I guess this means we probably shouldn’t talk for a while, huh?” “Yes,” she said. Then climbed into her car. She closed the door and the vehicle sprung to life. She waved and blew him a kiss, as she backed out of the parking space; driving off into the cold, gloomy evening. He watched as she turned the corner out of his neighborhood, the taillights of her car illuminating the fog surrounding the area. Then, just like that, the lights disappeared, and so did she. That was the last time they ever spoke.


It is 4:00 AM. I am with my demons. Because sometimes that is what you have to do. You have to lie next to it. The hurt, the heartache. Breathe it in like a lover’s perfume. Taste it like a kiss and touch it like making love. Alone, in your empty bedroom as the rain taps the window, and the yellow streetlights flicker. Alone in your tiny apartment. Among your coffee mugs and paper plates. In the crooked pictures that hang sadly on the water stained wall. In your couch-less living room with the faded blue shag carpet. Contemplation. Rolling around with the uncomfortable and scratchy things that happened to you. The shame. The guilt. The things left unsaid…. It is 4:30 AM. I cried. And my tears tapped the pillow, until they became a flood. Alone in my tiny apartment with the yellow streetlights flickering. Among my coffee mugs and paper plates. I felt the sadness wander in through the uneven hallway, towards my empty bedroom. I felt it fill the spaces between moments and breaths. I felt it overwhelm me. And then, it quietly left through the window, as I opened it to let in the smell of a new rainy morning. I’ve been told to stay away from lonely places, because they can be fresh-made bullshit, because sometimes it can be an opinion or a thought you believe to be true, when in reality, it is not. It is not the truth at all. And in these singular regions of thought, I find clarity. I dissect the emotions and feelings. I carve them away from the reasons of heartache and hurt. Peel back the layers to find the soul, the places where my demons hide. It’s an intimate process, much like foreplay, that the truth and purpose of my pain is found. Meditation. I find peace in prayer and introspection. I never stop. No matter how dark and claustrophobic things become, I keep my faith. In the early morning grey haze, when I am restless and weeping, in my reverie and rumination, the demons are met as old lovers. The sheets are pulled off the corners of the bed, it is raw, the tears come, the feelings can then be felt, the uncomfortable and scratchy things are then acknowledged, and like a secret affair, the demons slip away into the morning light and I am left alone. Naked. And at peace. There are universes that live in black holes-not galaxies-but universes. Some expand and contract, while others permit time travel. Some universes lie on top of the other like teenagers in lust. And there are those universes that come and go as they please. And my favorites are those that collide and intertwine like they cannot exist without the other. I think of universes like rattlesnakes that uncurl, geometric and precise. The Fibonacci sequence unraveling. A woman’s legs uncrossing. It’s all math, science, and our pathetic attempts at making sense of it all. On one planet in one galaxy in one universe of infinite universes we try to make ourselves so important, the most important infinitesimal speck of all the other insignificant specks. We are stardust and imperfect fractions. And it is okay to not fully understand oneself, as long as we continue to unfurl and grow. A budding rose in spring. God is in the rain that lightly comes down outside. The mischief is in the details, the numbers, and the sequences. I sip my morning coffee and ponder this, as I figure out what to wear.


The desert lay calm at sunset. The main star that gave the planet its daytime had long been gone, and her smaller cousin was following the same path. At this hour, the human eye could only recognize shadows before the horizon. Among the shapes of copious cacti, something stood out: the figure of a woman in a squatting position. Lena grabbed some of the fern-like plants she had gathered earlier and proceeded to clean herself. She then pulled her black leather pants up and walked towards her motorcycle. The woman gazed into the rear view mirror and noticed that her hair was getting too long, so she grabbed her bowie knife and began to shave it off. The short black strings that fell off her scalp got carried away by the warm desert wind and quickly disappeared. The young bounty huntress knew that her destination was close. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to spend another night out in the hot desert. Unfortunately, that delicious can of beans she kept in one of the pockets of her bike would have to wait. Lena stepped on her black chopper and took off, leaving a thick cloud of sand behind her back. An hour later, in the dark of the night, Lena spotted a beacon. A huge neon sign that stood in the distance read “Welcome to Yuma”. The woman smiled at the sight of the only non-astral light that could be spotted in miles. In spite of it, this wasn’t a smile of joy. The word “welcome” seemed almost ironic. Not a concept someone would link to the capital. The old chopper went straight through the unguarded gates of the city. The place had definitely made a change. At one point in time, the compound was meant to serve as the main prison of the largest penal colony the Earth kept in the galaxy. But this was long before Lena’s birth, and not particularly of her interest. She had her own reasons to visit that big old dump for the first time. The sights weren’t what most would call pretty. The city seemed to never sleep. The dirty streets were crowded with junkies and criminals of the worst kind. Everyone out in the desert knew that Yuma was only good for two things: getting hooked or getting killed. But Lena had something else in mind. She knew that drugs and thugs were attracted to money like a moth to a flame, and she was going to get her share. The loud roar of the bike began to fade when it arrived in the main street of block P-113. The young woman parked it right outside a filthy looking joint with a sign that read “The Bushy Juicy”. Without further ado, she walked towards the door and entered the place. The inside looked just as expected. The floor was exquisitely decorated with cigarette butts, spit, and a couple of used condoms here and there. The rest looked very much like the cellblock it once was, except for some added furniture. The tavern appeared to be empty. Lena walked towards the bar and sat on one of the stools. Soon enough, a shabby looking old man appeared from inside a room behind the bar. He then walked up to Lena, took his dirty apron off and began to dust the counter with it. “What can I do you for?” he asked, while shamelessly inspecting Lena’s body with his eyes. “I think I’ll start with some black tequila,” she replied in a deep voice. Lena loosened the zipper on her leather jacket, exposing more of her bosom. The bartender smiled. “I take it you are a desert dweller... Not many people in the city have a stomach for the local cacti,” he claimed while picking up a bottle from the shelf and pouring its black liquid into a glass. “I guess I’m a wildflower, I am not fond of greenhouse plants.” Lena quickly swallowed the tequila and placed the glass back on the wooden bar. “Like this wood… You don’t see much of it around these parts.” The woman knocked on the counter. “I have some connections… But I take it you aren’t here to talk about wood…” Lena let out a smirk. “Well… as a matter of fact, I am. I’ve heard you deal with whores that could make one night in the city worthwhile.” Lena grabbed the bottle and filled her glass again. “I’ve got both guys and dolls that could fuck you senseless. Even I could be up for the task… I’d give you a fair price of course...” The old man looked at Lena’s cleavage and bit his lower lip with his toothless gums. “I came here looking for someone in particular. A friend of mine recommended me a young hooker called Romeo.” Lena emptied her glass again in one quick motion. The barkeeper laughed. “Romeo? I am sorry dear but the only Romeo I know does not have a taste for women… You need someone who knows how to treat you right…” the man leaned against the bar, getting closer to Lena. “I must insist. I came all the way here to see if this man is worthy of his fame. I could pay double his usual price!” Suddenly a harsh, loud voice was heard. It came from the top of the staircase situated behind Lena. “Double eh?” A remarkably tall and muscular man walked down the stairs with nothing on but his skin and a pair of sleepers. “Even with all the moaning upstairs, I can still hear the chiming of coins.” “You must be the man I’ve heard so much about!” exclaimed Lena, while taking a long look at Romeo’s body. “I hear you only deal with men… I hope you are willing to make an exception,” she then said while detaching a bag from her belt and throwing it towards the naked man. Romeo caught the bag and opened it, revealing rhodium coins worth five times what he was used to. He looked at the woman and smiled. “Where I come from there’s a saying: ‘a hole is a hole’. The rooms are upstairs.” Romeo made a gesture with his arm, inviting Lena to head to the top floor. The woman led the way. While following her, Romeo turned towards the bartender and nodded his head. The old man seemed to understand the meaning of it instantly and nodded back. The moans of pleasure kept getting louder as they walked towards the upper floor. When they got there, Lena stopped and observed the scene. A long line of metal doors extended before her eyes. Those were undoubtedly recycled cells, now used for a much merrier purpose. Romeo walked in front of Lena and entered a room that had the number ‘389’ printed on the door. The woman followed and shut the door behind her back. “Let me get more comfortable…” she then said. Lena took off her leather jacket and placed it on a metal chair. This left her upper body bare, except for a pair of leather gloves. “Just lay on that bed and I’ll do what you paid me to do,” answered Romeo while pointing at the cot. His voice seemed reluctant, perhaps suspicious. Lena took off her belt and threw it on the floor. Romeo quickly noticed that it had a sheath attached, where she kept her bowie knife. The eager woman lay on the bed and began to unzip her leather pants. “Come here, baby.” Her voice sounded both demanding and eager. She extended her arm. When the man approached her she held the back of his head. Then, she gently pushed it towards her hips, until his lips met her labia. The hooker gave his best performance. He could barely remember the last time he had lain with a woman. Nonetheless, Lena appeared to be satisfied by his skills. Every time that Romeo tried to lift his head up she pushed it back down, keeping it tight between her legs. The intense procedure lasted about twenty minutes. After a long and intense orgasm, the girl released her lover and allowed him to move. The man stood up and walked straight to the table where he had left his payment. He began to count the coins. Meanwhile, Lena wiped herself with the sheet and put her pants back on. “We are done. I hope you enjoyed yourself. You can come back at any time,” said Romeo. His eyes were still fixated in the rhodium coins. “You seem to like money an awful lot. There’s more where that came from, you know?” asked Lena while rubbing her crotch. “Maybe I could trade it for something else…” The man quickly turned his head towards Lena and frowned. “What are we talking about?” “I am looking for a man that goes by the name of Sanchez… Perhaps you could tell me where—” Romeo didn’t allow Lena to finish her sentence. “I knew it! You are a bounty hunter! You damn bitch, I knew it since the moment you came in!” His look had completely transformed into one that Lena had seen many times before. The look a man gives only when he is about to kill someone. Romeo jumped on the bed ready to grab Lena by the neck, but she rolled away instantly. She fell on the floor and quickly regained balance. By the time the man could react, the bounty huntress had already clung to his back and was using her right arm to try to choke him. Lena was far from being a small woman, but this adversary seemed like a giant in comparison. Romeo stood up swiftly and carried the bounty hunter on his back showing no signs of effort. Then, he ran backward towards the metal wall and smashed the woman against it. Lena tried to keep choking the colossus, but she didn’t handle a second blow against the hard metal. The young bounty huntress fell on the ground and tried to reach for the knife she had left on the floor. The effort was futile. Romeo got ahead and grabbed the knife by the handle. He pulled it out of its sheath and, in one agile movement, he held it against her. “Don’t you move bitch! I told the barkeeper to call Sanchez and he must be about to get here… So it turns out you are gonna meet him after all... Now you’re just gonna stay put until he comes and takes care of—” Romeo’s voice seemed to fade away as he spoke. Eventually, his mouth stopped moving and he stood frozen with the knife still in his hand. Lena smiled and got back on her feet. She quietly picked up her jacket and belt and put them back on. “So… Long story short baby… I knew what goes on between Sanchez and you… And I know he will pay good money to save his sweet prince from the hands of a mean bounty hunter.” The woman picked up the knife from Romeo’s hand and put it back in its scabbard. Then she continued to speak. “I do have to give you props for making him come all the way here, though! You made my job so much easier… Now we just need to wait.” The woman waved her hand in front of Romeo’s eyes, but the man showed no reaction. “You may have already figured it out but… The handle of the knife is made with this cactus named ‘chollula’. It’s got these tiny toxic spines… It’s truly fascinating, you should look it up. It’s also the reason why I always wear gloves.” The young woman made a big effort to lay the man on the bed. She then picked up the key to the room, walked towards the door and opened it. “I just have to pick something up from my bike, I’ll be right back. You’re gonna stay like that for at least two more hours… And trying to move will only make it hurt more.” Lena looked back at the paralyzed man for an instant. She then turned and slowly walked back towards him. The woman leaned on the bed and whispered in the man’s ear: “We had some good times, didn’t we…” The bounty huntress bit the man’s earlobe and walked towards the door again with a wide smile on her face. The bounty huntress managed to slip out of the joint without being noticed. She gathered various pieces of equipment from her bike and took a good look around the street. Sanchez was nowhere to be seen. She knew that she didn’t have much time before he arrived. It was very likely that Romeo had given the bartender specific instructions about how to act. If so, enough time had passed for him to start worrying, and to lead Sanchez upstairs as soon as he arrived. When the woman went back in she noticed the bartender had come out of his room and was walking around nervously. She sneakily passed behind his back, headed upstairs and locked herself in the room with Romeo. She pulled out the bag with the gear she had picked up and started preparing to welcome Sanchez as fast as she could. Lena was right to make haste. Less than five minutes had passed when she heard someone banging on the door of the cell she was in. The banging came accompanied by the angry voice of a man. “Open up for the mighty Sanchez! You’ve gotten yourself in some deep trouble bitch!” “I don’t respond to goons! Tell Sanchez to step forward and we’ll talk!” yelled Lena from inside the room. The men outside started to speak to each other. From the babble, Lena determined it must have been five or six men that were waiting outside for her, including the bartender. The chatter stopped. Only the footsteps of a heavy man were heard from inside the room. He was approaching the door. A man with a raspy, high pitched voice began to speak. “This is Sanchez. If you have a plan to get out of here alive I suggest you reveal it now. If not I ask you to come out and die. I am a busy man, I’ll be quick.” The man coughed loudly. “I guess I have what you might call a plan… If you consider holding a detonator that would make your boyfriend’s pretty face blow up into a million pieces a plan… Then I do have a plan.” Sanchez sighed. “How much?” “500 rhodium coins. I know that for you that’s just pocket change. Gather it, put it right outside the door and leave the way free for me to come out.” Lena heard the man step back and turn towards his minions. “You heard her boys! Empty your pockets and do as she said!” When the money was ready, Sanchez gave the bounty huntress notice of it and, without further ado, she opened the door. When she did, she revealed that the hooker was tied to the bed. He seemed to be still paralyzed, and he had what appeared to be an explosive charge held with tape in his mouth. Lena was holding the detonator on her left hand high above her head. Her right hand was carrying a revolver. She looked down and saw that the bags of money were already on the floor. Next, she looked up and saw Sanchez surrounded by the barkeep and four other thugs. It wasn’t hard for her to recognize the kingpin. He was by far the bulkiest and tallest of the bunch. While all the others sported long brown trench coats, he wore only a sweaty sleeveless white t-shirt and shorts. He was also displaying a long, thick mustache. The bounty huntress had no doubt that this was the man that had been described to her. “You!” —She pointed at one of the thugs with her gun.— “You are going to count the money right in front of me… Then you are all going to follow me downstairs, put it in my bike and watch me run away with it… Understood?” They nodded and proceeded to follow her instructions. Everything happened according to plan. Lena got on her chopper with the detonator still in hand and disappeared in seconds. The thugs were left behind. The barkeep looked astonished at the woman that was leaving the scene with more money than he would see in a whole year. Swift as a bullet, Lena left the city and headed west. She stopped at a gas station in which she ordered a room for the night. Neither of the suns would come out until at least 10 hours later, so she had time to rest before her appointment. She couldn’t wait for that job to be over. There wasn’t any reason for it to not go smoothly from now on. The light of the first sun coming through the window woke Lena up. The second would rise soon, and she had to get ready for her meeting. She picked up her knife and her revolver and she stepped outside. She waited for around one hour until she saw two rusty cars pull over. Sanchez and his men had arrived just in time. The fat boss stepped out of his car and walked up to the bounty huntress. She lit up a cigarette, and used it to lit a second, that she offered to Sanchez. He picked it up and leaned against the wall, next to Lena. “Duane... the fucking barkeep...” he said “he can’t mind his fucking business. If he hadn’t followed us everywhere we could have ended the deal right there.” The man took a puff “I’m surprised you didn’t just run off with all my money… That was a smart decision.” “I was paid to do a job, and I’ll take only what was part of the deal.” Lena picked up four bags full of coins from her belt and handed them to the kingpin. “I’ll keep the one hundred coins we agreed on and the satisfaction of a job well done. Did I manage to scare your boyfriend off?” “You did… Everything went just as I planned. I convinced him that being out on the streets would be dangerous for him.” Sanchez looked at Lena. “He’s not a bad guy… He just liked his job too much… He belonged with me and that’s where I want him to stay. I can protect him you know… If we hadn’t faked it this would have happened sooner or later anyway…” Lena smiled. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. We put up a good show for the poor bastard… I hope you two are very happy,” she said while giving her cigarette one last puff. “If you need me again just send your contact back for me, she’ll know how to find me. A pleasure doing business with you.” The bounty huntress threw her cigarette butt on the sand and stepped on it. Then she walked slowly towards her bike and hopped on. “Hey!” yelled Sanchez. Lena turned her head and looked at him. “I don’t remember any pussy licking being a part of the deal!” Lena couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t remember anyone forbidding it either!” Sanchez shook his head and smiled, then he went back into one of the cars. Lena started the bike and headed east once more. The young bounty huntress knew she would cross paths with Sanchez again. But she didn’t need anyone else for the time being. As she sped up she felt the liberty that only a bag full of coins and a tank full of gas could bring her. After a long time, she was finally free to chase the horizon once more. THE END -- I wrote this so I could post it here. This is the first time I post a short story! I would really love some feedback. -- My idea is to write a bunch of short stories all based in this same world. -- I would also be very pleased if you could point out mistakes. English is not my first language and I might have slipped a couple of times.


Finally, a moment to close my eyes and listen to Elvis play on the record player. Love me tender, love me sweet. Gosh, he makes my heart soar. What a dreamboat. For a few songs I can pretend that everything is normal. I imagine I’m laying on my fluffy white comforter from before. Our record player is one of the only luxuries left. My aunt got it for me last Christmas, it's one of those neat, new portable ones that doesn’t need to be plugged in. The sound isn’t as full, but it’s so swell to be able to listen to some music and relax for- “Amelia! Amelia. Amelia. Amelia.” If I acknowledge him maybe he will shut up, “What Carson? What?” Eight year olds are so unnecessary. “Ethan says he feels sick again.” On second thought, maybe they are slightly necessary. In one swift movement, I grab a bucket, dampen a washcloth, and slide on my homemade mask. Here’s a quick how to on my “do it yourself” mask: Take an empty orange juice bottle and cut off part of the side, place a few coffee filters around the spout, poke a few holes in the cap, and slap a giant rubber band around it, you've got a homemade gas mask. Like magic. Other helpful hints for surviving after a Nuclear war: keep occupied- being bored will drive you insane, ration everything you have, block all windows with mattresses, don’t drink water that comes from outside, don't eat live food from outside, don't go outside. Outside is dangerous. Outside is radiation. Outside means sickness. The only way you'll survive is by having sufficient shelter with enough to food and water that has been completely sealed off from radiation. Even then, you probably won't survive. I booked it into Ethan's room with just enough time to get the bucket under him and catch the last meal we fed him. His room is the darkest in the house, our “house” being the basement of my and Carson's former home. I say former, because the aftershock of an atom bomb making contact somewhere under 10 miles away sent our home into complete ruins. Our father was a wealthy man, and he blessed us with our giant 4 story home which is, was, in Pasadena, California. Father was a successful stock broker and Mother stayed at home to raise Carson and me. They liked to spoil us and when we begged for an entertainment room, we got it. Father furnished the basement and separated it into four rooms. A bathroom, a guest room, an entertainment room, and the bar. The largest room is complete with a carpet, couches, a pool table, and a television. Lucky for us survivors, the fridge in the bar made for my father and his colleagues was stocked with food and drinks. But when three people live off of the nutrients inside an average sized icebox, the things we needed most desperately disappeared just a week into our first nuclear winter. When we were down to the last 10 water bottles Ethan told us he was going to go outside. In our entire 4 year relationship Ethan never took charge, I was the one who asked him to go steady. So when his eyebrows set in so close together and with his voice deeper than usual, I took him seriously. I knew he was right anyways. When Ethan got back from his grocery store mission, he was shaking. Horrified, he told me about the sky raining ash. Saying over and over that the only bodies in sight were laying motionless on the ground, a white fungus like substance covering their mangled corpses. He was holding a bag full of food, medicine, and water. The bag hung on his arm. His red arm. His arm was bloody. I hadn’t planned for that. I had given him a mask. But I hadn’t planned that a metal rod sticking out from the ruins of a building would tear his skin open. I didn’t consider the possibility that the radiation would take over his body despite all of my precautions. Now I wish it had been me who went outside, so I could be the one who is sick. I can't stand seeing his honey brown hair scattered on the floor when it used to be so slick on his head. He didn't like greasing it too much but I thought it looked so rad when it was greased and combed. His chocolate brown eyes, that once sparkled at the mention of rugby, are dull now- lifeless and forever searching for something that's not there. Skin so translucent, it is easy to see the community of blood cells working hard to keep him alive. All symptoms of radiation poisoning are in full effect on my lovely, wonderful, caring boyfriend. He and Carson are the only people I have left. I bet you were wondering how we survived and my parents didn’t. It was complete luck, if you could describe our situation as 'lucky', that the three of us were in the basement when the bomb hit. My parents were upstairs. I don’t even want to know what the shock of the attack did to their poor, clueless bodies. Lucky they died together though. Lucky because nobody could’ve seen it coming, and who would want to die alone without even knowing it? And here we are, I estimate it has been 4 weeks. My once lovely, wonderful, caring boyfriend, now nearly a corpse. I use the damp cloth to cool him off. Ethan keeps dry heaving, like he needs to throw up, but this time all that comes up is blood. I yell for Carson, this hasn’t happened before. Carson comes running in. Without a mask. Ethan looks up and more blood spews, splattering on my stupid, naïve, little brother’s unmasked face. He stands there in awe. We are frozen, as if the radiation is a T-rex dinosaur and if we stay still long enough it will not attack. Ethan is crying and apologizing. And retching, retching, retching. After a few moments, I have enough sense to run and get a paper towel and gloves. I clean my boyfriends’ blood off of my brothers’ face. Scrub, scrub, scrub until his skin is raw and red. I scrub until he begs me to stop. We can’t continue to live this way. We are going to run out of food soon. And I am going to run out of people soon. I decide that if Carson gets sick, we will leave. There is no point in waiting until the two people I love most die, just so I can die alone. We will go out and find someone who can help us. There have to be some people out there. There has to be someone, right? In between being asleep and being awake, I see Ethan. He is playing rugby. Elvis sings, Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true. When I fully come around my heart drops. Instead of a dream that was once my reality, I awake to a nightmare. Carson is sitting on his couch holding a clump of his curly blonde hair. My eyes sting but I manage to choke out, “We can’t stay here anymore. We are leaving in an hour.” I walk into the guest room where Ethan is. “Ethan, do you think you can walk? We are going to find someone to cure you.” He responds and says he feels strong today. I know he is lying, but in the dim light I see him smile. He’s still in there. It’s that weak smile that makes me believe that someone might be able to cure him. If someone is so powerful to create the bomb that made this mess, aren’t there scientists with the knowledge of how to undo its destruction? In under an hour, I have fashioned head to toe protection from the radiation. A nuclear winter must be cold, so I grab all the jackets and sweaters that we have stored in the basement. Carson has gathered packaged food, water, and other necessities in a duffle bag and placed it at the base of the ladder to the exit of the basement. Getting Ethan out of bed wasn’t easy, but with my radiation ‘suit’ I could sling my arm around his waist without worrying about my bare skin making contact with any of his body fluids. Outside, the light is pale. It’s dark but a powdery snow covers the ground reflecting the dim light. Dark ash falls intermittently with the snow, and Carson complains that it burns his skin. Ethan still looks awful... but how should I even know? Last summer, I took a first aid class so I could be a life guard at our local swimming pool, but they never covered anything like this. They didn't even cover this is class when they discussed the possibility of a nuclear attack during the spread of communism. All they told us was that in case of this emergency, we should hide under our desks. They made is sound like an atomic bomb was the equivalent of a small earthquake. Surviving is different in this kind of war though, its every civilian for themselves, nobody is fighting for you. Nobody is looking for you. When a war starts like this, it becomes a battle against nature. A fight against your own body. But how could our teachers tell us that if a nuclear war did happen, the last thing we would want would be to survive it, all alone. We trekked on through the light and the dark, snow and ash, Ethan leaning on Carson and me. I notice that Ethan’s face is gaining color. Maybe the movement is good for him. He begs me for water. I know that if I give him too much he will just lose it 10 minutes later. I absolve to giving him 3 sips. He says his skin is burning too, it’s not the color returning to his face. He’s being sunburnt. But from what sun? We have been walking all day. With an 8 year old and a very sick young adult, I can only make it so far. I start looking for a good place to sleep. This area looks familiar, it might be Glendale. It’s really hard to tell, everywhere looks the same now. Ashy, barren, dull. I find a segment of a building that looks pretty reliable. I force some cold canned soup down my throat and give what’s left to Ethan. Carson says he isn’t hungry. He looks pale, withdrawn, and in just one day he looks as if he aged from 8 to 30. As they get settled in to sleep, I go look around. A few months ago it must’ve been highly populated, it kind of looks like a business district. This might’ve been where father came to work. I search for any sign of life. All I return to the boys with is some dry packaged fruit and a blanket that looked fairly clean. I fall asleep with ease and wake up only to the sound of Ethan retching. When he is done, the light suggests it is morning. “Ethan, are you well enough to travel?” He nods, wiping his mouth. Lie. I let Carson sleep a bit more as I gather our things. When I’m done, he wakes up reluctantly and I see that his almond shaped eyes are blood shot, pupils dilated. We walk in silence and I start to hum Hound Dog to break the tension. This makes Ethan giggle. He’s still there. He always makes fun of me for being another girly Presley fan. We pass hundreds of ruined buildings. I imagine that each of the buildings were for something really swell, something like fashion or music. Maybe one of them was a candy factory. When Carson asks for something to eat, I smile and some of my energy comes back. I give the dried fruit, it is nutritious, filling, and sweet. To make the time pass more quickly I start to tell them stories. I tell my boys stories I have never told anyone. I tell them about the first time that Annabelle and I stole liquor from her parents cabinet and we drank until we believed we sounded as good as Elvis himself. I tell Ethan that he is the loveliest boy I have ever met, and if we can make a home in a post nuclear war setting, I want him to be my husband. I don’t even need to fib. It’s true. I tell Ethan that I know I will never love a boy, person, animal, or thing as much as I love him. I say that even if he doesn’t know it, he has completely ruined me and recreated me all at once. I go on and on about how much I hate one smelly boy from my mathematics class, and if I ever had a chance to be a big, famous singer I would take it even if that meant I wouldn’t get a normal life. I would love for the paparazzi to follow me around, wondering what I had for breakfast or where I got my blouse. Begging me for just one photograph. When I notice that Carson is starting to slouch I tell him that even though he’s my younger brother, I have always looked up to the way he loves school. I tell him he is going to graduate top of his class, and go to Harvard Law. I tell him that he will probably also be the starting quarterback on the football team and the girls will all vote for him for Homecoming king. I talk for hours, my words paint the bleak ruins into a beautiful sunset with bright pinks, oranges, and yellows. I feel lightheaded. I don’t know if it’s from the talking or lack of good oxygen. I stop talking because I see something out of the corner of my eye. It’s a mouse. It darts underneath a garage door. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.” I tell the boys. I go to the garage where the mouse went. With every bit of strength I have I pry the door up. It’s a car. My cheeks feel wet. It’s an amazing automobile in a garage and it is still completely intact. I search the ground frantically for keys. Then I see them already in the key hole. I open the car and get in the drivers' seat. I have only driven once. Just down Ethan’s street after he first got his car. I wasn’t so bad, just driving forward like that. I put the key in the ignition. I close my eyes and turn it. A low grumble. It’s on. I pull forward out of the garage and help the boys into the back seat. I don’t know where I’m headed but I drive forward, the only way I know how to. The building ruins start to fade away and I realize I’m on some highway. “Amelia what are we gonna do.” Carson's’ little voice pipes up from the back seat. I don’t need to answer him, he is aware that I have no idea. I keep driving fast until I see houses again, still partially standing. Wherever we are, we must be at least 70 miles from where the mushroom was. I slow down and look for signs of life. For 10 or 15 blocks, there is nothing. Then, I see more than just a sign of life. I see a sign for life. A giant piece of metal has one word on it. “SURVIVORS” I begin to cry. I yell at Carson and Ethan to look out the window. To show them they are saved. We are saved. The gas runs on empty. I drive towards the metal sign. The boys are sleeping in the back. They need the rest. They need to rest so they can be cured. So they can get better. Sleep it off and someone will fix me. Them. Someone will fix them. “Amelia!” Love me tender “Amelia.” Don’t be cruel “Amelia.” Love me sweet “Amelia.” To a heart that's true. Ethan's voice. Is he singing Elvis? Is that just in my mind? My eyes are so heavy. It's like that one time when I went to the sock hop with Ethan, and after he drove me to the beach and we got milkshakes. It was 3 in the morning on the best night of my life, and I was trying not to fall to sleep in the passenger seat because if I did, the perfect night would be over. As Ethan drove us up the coast, however, playing his soft rock and smiling his soft smile, I couldn't help but drift off. My eyes were heavy like that now but it was the opposite. They were so heavy that I couldn't open them, I didn't want to wake up. But his beautiful voice sounded so worried and so far away. “Amelia.” Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away. “Amelia, it’s Ethan.” I listen anyway. “Carson is right here too. He’s fine. The sickness you have is not contagious through the air. It’s something that has to go inside of you. Don’t worry I make sure he wears a mask and gloves and covers his body anyway, just like you asked. We talked to a guy we met outside. He said his dad was a scientist. He knows about these things. You were right. It’s radioactivity. The ozone layer is depleted from the bomb. The sun burns, the ash is acidic, and radiation is in the air, in everything outside. You look miserable. I’m so sorry, I should have never let you go to the store, it should be me. I should be the sick one and you should be surviving this hell. I’m so sorry.” What is Ethan talking about, I’m not sick, he’s sick. Wait, is he crying? Don’t cry Ethan, I try to tell him. But my mouth is so dry and my muscles so sore and the taste so bitter, I can’t even move my lips. I feel my face drenched with sweat. I feel Ethan place a damp cloth on my forehead. “I love you so much,” he says. I feel a bandage on my arm over where the wire from the building on the way back from the store cut me. My skin burns where the ash touched it. There is no hair tickling my neck. I taste blood. Nobody ever told us anything about radioactivity. Nobody mentioned this wouldn’t be like regular warfare, where they kill from the outside. This kind is slow, a bullet from the inside. I figured it out the hard way. I don’t hate many things, now I’m filled with the hatred of people I never met and never will. People that used this hatred to build the instrument that started the world’s shortest war. Their hatred floats around my body, carried on the backs of my blood cells. Ethan tells me they want to go with this guy they met. He says he might know where a bunker is. He says I can come too. “Only if you feel up to it. If not, I will stay here with you. I will stay here forever.” Either way, at least I won’t die alone.


After Adam eventually died of lower back pain, nine or ten generations passed on Earth. These generations all slept with each other and slowly became more and more retarded from chromosome problems, until Noah was born. This was before "retarded" was a bad word to use. Way before. God looked down on the Earth and saw the damaged DNA fornicating and drinking and doing mad endos with Hummers that were unaffordable and not to be endo'd. This angered God. But, Noah seemed OK. Somehow, through the work of natural sele...eh....God, Noah was born with a healthy set of genes and chromosomes and was, eh, not a bad guy. He wasn't the greatest guy. Not by a long shot. It would be a few thousand years before THAT guy came about, but Noah was someone who you might trust to mow your lawn. Anyway, Noah was married and had a wife and they lived on a grand farm and everyday Noah would go running through the valleys holding hands with his wife and singing to butterflies and they would go to a Community College and learn sign language and knit sweaters, with the butterflies. This angered all of the people in the land who were genetic jerks and they would throw stones at Noah and catcall his wife and knock on Noah's door and then run and borrow Noah's chainsaw and not return it and commit upper deckers in Noah's toilet and generally be mean to Noah. God saw this and God was pissed. He also was pissed that the genetic failures would listen to bands that sucked and had numerous wood instruments to somehow make it seem like they were an adult band with real musical knowledge, when in fact it only takes a person with soul and three or four strings to make a good album. I mean, I don't get these Arcade Fire types with their banjos and suspenders - I'm not buying it and God isn't either. But I digress. So, God started thinking about the Earth and how it had water on it. So, he froze the water so no one could drink it. This created ice ages. But then people developed fire and melted the ice and that stumped God. So, then he decided that he would flood the Earth. God was a logical man and realized that in order to flood the entire Earth, he would need more water. So, he took the water from Mars and just kinda put it in this huge Ziploc bag that he floated over the Earth as a threat. That's how Martians were wiped out. Anyway, so the people on Earth looked up and saw the giant Ziploc bag of water and they figured it was just another moon or star or something - they were stupid. Also, you must give them credit as they did not know what a Ziploc bag was. This was like way before even that movie The Land Before Time. God then spoke to Noah and said "Dude. Dude. DUDE!" Noah was passed out. He had been drinking all night and partying out in the field with some giraffes and skunks. That's the kind of guy Noah was. He partied with animals, making him the original party animal. Noah awoke. "Dude?" "Dude." God confirmed. Noah looked upon God. "Dude." God had taken the form of an elephant with a blazer on and sunglasses. It was Risky Business meets National Geographic and it was totally uncalled for. But Noah could hang. "Noah, in the beginning after the light and stuff, I made man and man was good for awhile. But then I never made another strain of man, so all of these men and women started having sex with their family members and that's way wrong and makes way messed up kids. Like that dorkus Jerry you hang out with. Do you see how he wears his pants down to his knees and listens to really shitty hip hop music and doesn't even know who NWA were?" Noah nodded. Jerry was a douchebag, but he was the only person that would hang out with Noah and go singing in the fields with him and ferment oranges to make really bomb ass alcohol. God continued. "And how he always has everything just a little bit wrong. Like he reads a little bit about something and then just makes up the rest and when you call him out on it, he'll act like he knew it all the whole time? Or how he rides a bike in traffic and doesn't follow any of the traffic rules and - " "Yes. Jerry. I know him." "Well, anyway, these guys have to die. We must get rid of them. You are the only person on Earth that I can stand. It's like watching TV and it's all just Jerry Springer and reality shows and - well, not now. That's when I flood the Earth again. After I promise I won't. Shit. Look, forget all that. Let's start at the top. K, so I'm going to kill all of humanity." Noah looked around and saw humanity in the streets, with their kids, shopping for school clothes and double parking. "OK." "And all the animals." "Wait. What am I gonna eat?" "Plants. I will leave you plants to eat. And smoke." "No way. Animals taste good. Can't you leave the animals?" "OK. But we must kill them all first, but we'll save enough to breed. Like two a species." "But aren't you gonna get that genetic problem again?" "Shut up! Now, listen, I will flood the -" Noah then had a moment of reflection and thought about the time Jerry loaned him an ox to help him fight the dinosaurs that were attacking his house. "Wait, God. Can't you give humanity another chance? You know? For the 'oah?" God thought about it and said "No." "Wait. What if I sacrifice some stuff?" "No." "K. What if you give me like a week to tell everyone to be cool?" "OK. But I don't think it's going to make a difference." And God was right. Noah began preaching about the people's sins and about how stupid making bags in markets illegal was and how owning twelve axes to protect yourself was stupid and how Siracha sauce is the best way to spot a douchebag. But no one listened and Noah went home and had a real American meal with Tabasco sauce, thousands of years before America was invented, which kinda made Noah a hipster douchebag, but who cares. "K, God. You win." And Noah went off into the forest collecting animals like Dr. Moreau. So, God opened the Ziploc bag full of water. It took him awhile because it was hard to get his huge God fingers between the plastic folds. But then the flood rained down on Earth for a shit load of time. Noah would occasionally put his hand out the window and go "Still raining." to his wife and she got really upset because the joke was way old and she was tired of Noah and the kids and the shit load of animals that smelled like shit. Eventually, Noah's wife made Noah kick all the dinosaurs off the boat because they were smoking in the ark. And she kicked the unicorns off for gambling and not having fishing licenses. Finally, Noah saw a bird. An eagle. The eagle was holding an American flag in its talons and winking at Noah. Noah landed the ark on Plymouth and everyone got out and started stretching because it was a way long boat trip. Then God came out of the sky and said "Check out this fresh rainbow!" Noah and his family and all the animals looked at the rainbow and realized, yea, it twas fresh. "Noah, this rainbow is a covenant that I will never ever flood the Earth again." God was crossing his giant God fingers behind his giant God back. "Thanks, God! But why a rainbow?" "Oh, no reason." Then God went back to heaven to his husband Timothy and they went antiquing. The End.


One day, as I'm scrolling through my Instagram feed, I notice that an 8/10 has just posted a photo. Naturally, I like the photo and gawk at it for several minutes. After snapping out of my trance, I check the comments for some reason. I see the usual stuff: guys (all of which are infinitely more attractive than me) talking about how hot she is. I'm getting bored of reading the same generic compliment over and over again when suddenly, I spot it. A girl commented, "Oh, my god! You're so pretty". The OP replied, "No you are". Curious, I click on this girls profile. Based on her profile picture, she's a solid 9/10. Unfortunately, her account is private. I sigh and send her a follow request, not expecting to be accepted. After a few minutes, I get an Instagram notification on my phone. My eyes bulge. My knees weaken. Tears of joy start streaming down my face, and I collapse on my living room floor. My mom looks at me like I'm crazy, but I don't care. I'm accepted. I proceed to go through all of her photos. I read every caption, and see who she's following. I see what artists she's into, what school she goes to, and who her friends are. After a while, I feel like I know this girl. Needless to say, I'm in love. Unfortunately, after reading a few comments on her posts, I realize that I'm not the only guy who's into her. I go through their profiles. I see that they're all in football, conventionally attractive, and aren't pieces of human garbage like me. My self-esteem plummets. My knees weaken. My eyes begin to water. I collapse on my living room floor. My mom doesn't even bother looking at me this time. She just sighs, gets up from the couch, and walks into the kitchen. I can feel her disappointed from the floor. As I lay there crying, I close my eyes and try imagining going on a date with this girl. I cry harder because even in my head I suck at talking to girls. Suddenly, my whining is interrupted by an Instagram notification. A 10/10 has just posted a photo. Naturally, I like the photo and gawk at it for several minutes.


Prologue I’m an adult now. I’ve got bills, and rent, and I have to put gas in my car. I’ve damaged my body over the years and I feel it more now than back then. I have a hard time sleeping. On the outside I look mostly normal. Caucasian male, standing about 5’9” and 155lbs. Later on in my life I’ve come to learn that I’m actually quite beautiful. I also really enjoy my privacy, so if you’re readying this and you know who I am, please keep quiet. Also, I’m not a writer. People who know of me would say I’m a good enough person. I give money to homeless people and I take good care of my friends and I treat my significant others well. I’ve got a good relationship with my mother. I’ve been known to stick up for the weaker person more than once in my life. The people that know me a bit more personally would tell you that I’ve got a bit of a dark side. I’ve got a tendency to disregard rules. I’ve pushed the envelope many times. I’ve committed crimes when it suited me. I’m charismatic, I always have been. I didn’t really understand that until my 20s. I never really cared much for image or sex appeal unless it was to get something that I wanted. I’m very good at that, getting the things I want. It’s certainly a contributing factor to my hedonistic tendencies. I’m a great liar with an amazing poker face. I’ve got a knack for being hyper analytical. I generally lack remorse and regret. I’m not known for being merciful. I’m mostly driven by purpose. There is little I do without forethought, and I’m a great tactician. When I decide to do something, I always seem to make it happen. It’s always been that way. On to the point This is about when I was younger.