The world knows me not but I have come now to reveal myself. I am the harbinger of perfection. I have been chosen to announce HER coming. The world has changed since it was decided that I would be the one to guide her back. But the mechanics are the same, and I will abide. No, I *must* abide. We humans are but children caught in a tumultuous flood. We are swirling in an everlasting pool of chaos with neither handhold to grasp for momentarily relief nor precedent for the salvation of understanding. If we ponder any facet of existence long enough we shall see that there is no truth, no logic, no reality to anything at all. Our understanding is built by what is immediately presented to us and the moment is all we may live by. My moment has, and forever will be, red. In the beginning there was only I. I stayed close to the trees for dangerous creatures lurked in the dark. In the trees I was safe from harm. I could avoid their sharp claws and teeth. I could take refuge from the night. In the day I was free. The things that would hunt for me would flow back into their hiding places as the tide does when the moon has set and the sun rises. I was always alone. Pawing at the soft damp earth for hard bitter roots. Picking through ferns in search of berries bursting with juice. The world held many dangers, but it also provided in proportion to necessity. Looking back it is apparent that this was a time of simplicity in comparison to the modern world today. I was living based upon the singular purpose of survival. Any happiness or unhappiness I felt was purely visceral. If I found sustenance I would leap and whoop loudly in ecstasy, and if I went hungry I would moan and sob as pangs of starvation wracked my body without mercy. I was content in this way of life for I knew naught of any other. Until she revealed herself to me. She came as a vision during the deepest hour of darkness. There was no moon to light the trees and I was resting up in the shelter of the forest’s canopy. Though my eyes were closed I saw a glowing silver light dance before me. I had only seen the moon shine in my dreams with such beauty and I was dazzled by it. I opened my eyes and the light was gone. The night was impenetrably dark. When I closed my eyes once more the light was gone. For many days I thought of the light. It had been but a flicker amidst the darkness but it enticed within me a curiosity and longing that I had not known before. I had felt want many times when searching for sustenance, but this was a different want. It was a want based not in need but in something unknown. In the coming days as I foraged and slept I was no longer blithely living as I had. My thoughts were consumed for want of the light. Oh how beautiful it had been. How I longed for it. And it came again soon. As the first time it came when I was resting in the branches of the trees. Once more I saw it with my eyes closed. It came so softly that I did not perceive it at first. It revealed itself so gently that I had been unaware of it until it became so bright it could not be ignored. There it hovered in the bottomless darkness behind my closed eyes. I kept my eyes closed this time for fear that it would vanish once more. I watched as it glowed brightly and I was filled with sensations of wonder and contentment. I felt as if I had eaten my fill for the entirety of my life, that I had slept until I no longer needed sleep, that everything that may do me harm had vanished into nothingness for all time. I stayed there staring with eyes closed into its warmth and felt embraced and at peace. Until it began to move away. In panic I open my eyes, and quickly closed them again for fear that it would vanish once more. I saw that it was still moving away. I could not let it leave me. It was the only thing that had ever made me feel this way. I could not lose it again. So I followed it. It seemed to lead me down, and with eyes shut tight, I climbed down with it. I was adept at climbing the trees as I had lived among them my entire life. I had climbed up and down many times in utter darkness so I was familiar with moving without sight. As I touched down to the soft grass of the forest’s floor I felt no trepidation although I was unprotected in the night. I only felt excitement as I pursued the light. There was only the soft sounds of my footsteps through the forest. I did feel a kind of nervousness because the forest was usually filled with the sound of chirping insects and moving creatures at night. It was unusual for there to be complete silence. But I did not heed my trepidation as I followed the light. It was constantly moving, weaving its way through the endless darkness behind my closed eyes. I do not know how long I followed the light but I knew I had ventured further than I had ever dared to before. The ground beneath me felt different. The earth was packed harder and I stumbled a few times in this unfamiliar terrain. The light led me further and further into strange territory and I felt greatly displaced and disoriented as I kept my eyes tightly closed and followed it. The air began to feel different, almost wet. My footsteps reverberated with a strange echo I had never heard before. I continued on in this way for a long while until the light stopped suddenly. I became aware of a strange sound close by. It sounded wet and squelching. The light suddenly blinked out and I opened my eyes. I could not comprehend what I was seeing at first because my eyes were blurred from being shut for so long. As my eyes adjusted I realized I was not in complete darkness. There was a glow emanating from behind me and illuminating what was directly in front of me. My vision was filled with a singular sight. All I saw was red. I took a step back and almost stumbled. I realized that I was staring at a wall and I saw that the red ended in smeared edges at the periphery of my vision. It smelled just like the creatures of the night when they tore one another open and I knew I was in a dangerous place. My breathing quickened but I stayed quiet for I knew to become one with the darkness when there were hunters nearby. I slowly turned around. I was not prepared for the horror that lay before me. The light I had followed hung overhead. It was smaller and duller than the vision I had followed but it glowed with the same soothing shine that I had seen. However, what it shone upon was far from soothing. Dismembered bodies lay everywhere. I do not know how many poor souls were there in that place, but it seemed countless. Stacks of torn apart torsos, a large pile of arms and legs. And then there were the heads. The heads were lined up against the opposite wall in a neat line along its bottom. Their eyes had been torn out of their sockets and placed neatly on top of the heads with their cords still attached. They resembled the antennae of insects I had seen crawling along the ground or on the bark of trees. The line stretched out a far way on both sides and I knew it was too many to count. They were in varying states of decay but some looked as if they had been set there that day. And in the center of the carnage and directly underneath the light was the hunter. She was enormous. Even sitting on the floor she was twice as large as I was. Her brow was heavier set than mine and her hairy knuckles bulged from her hands. Her bottom lip jutted out as she picked at an oozing pile of entrails before her. She lifted up an intestine and her huge flat nose twitched as she sniffed at it. She let out a sharp guffaw and sank her teeth into it. I saw that she had three rows of razor sharp teeth. I sank down slowly into the corner where the wall met the floor onto my hands and feet. I was adept at crawling around on just my toes and fingertips and I could move noiselessly like this. I opened my mouth and breathed slowly to minimize any noise. I began to slink away in the direction I felt I had walked. I crawled and crawled my fingertips sinking into the coagulated blood that coated the floor. Past viscera and carnage I saw bodies pinned down by heavy stones. Some looked more whole than others. I did not look closely at them but maneuvered my way slowly past them. As I reached the edge of the bodies I saw a faint light ahead of me and I realized that it was the entrance to this place. I had never been in a cave before but I realized that this opening was my way out. I made a more direct line towards it. There was a body lying face-up. Its arms and legs had been torn off and its insides were spilling out. It looked incredibly fresh and I had to keep myself from retching as I stepped over it. My arm brushed its face as I squeezed between it and the wall and its eyes suddenly sprang open. I reeled back in shock as I realized this poor man was still alive. Then he started screaming. Blood and vomit gurgled in his howls and even under the heavy stone his torso twitched and bucked enough to displace it. It rolled off of him with a loud crash and he began writhing wildly. As he writhed his entrails spilled out further and blood spouted out from him. My head immediately turned back towards the hunter and I was full of fear and despair. The hunter was staring right at me with the intestine hanging out of her mouth. I jumped to my feet and sprinted towards the opening. I did not look back as I heard the intestine drop. A hunter roars after a successful hunt and its cries will pierce the night along with the scent of viscera. But, they are quiet before they make their kills. I did not hear her give chase but I knew she was coming. I burst out of the cave and into the night. I saw that the strange terrain I had felt was the hard earth of a clearing that led to the cave. There was only a short distance to a line of trees. I immediately ran towards them. Hunters had no hope of keeping up with me once I reached the trees. They could not climb because of their lumbering size. I was lightweight and could leap from branch to branch and escape them easily. If I could only make it to the trees I would be safe. I ran with all my might under the light of the moon that was barely showing itself from behind a layer of clouds. My chest roared in agony and my breath came ragged and frantic. My feet slammed against the hard earth and my arms swung wildly. My heart pounded and the wind rushed in my ears. The trees were close. They were right in front of me. I was so close I could touch them. I was going to make it. I HAD to make it. I felt relief and victory as I came to the nearest tree. I was almost there. Then she caught ahold of me. I actually did make it. I had leapt up and set a foot and a hand on the trunk of the nearest tree and I would have clambered up with ease in less than a second if she hadn’t been right behind me. The hunter had moved much much much faster and quieter than I had. I had hoped she was still in the cave. That is why the hunters ruled the forest’s floor in the night. I had no chance. She yanked me off the tree by my leg and swung me around. The world blurred and broke into a million pieces as she pirouetted and shattered me against the tree’s trunk. I knew I was dead as I felt my insides crack and burst and I saw blood immediately gush out of newly formed holes in me. I could not cry out for all the air inside me was gone and I hung limply in her grip as she held me up in the full brightness of the moon’s light that had come out from behind the clouds. The moon gazed down upon us with neither tender mercy nor vindictive cruelty. It simply watched as the hunter fulfilled her natural tendencies unto her prey. She seized one of my arms in her giant hand and, with a grunt, tore it from my body with ease. Like plucking a leaf from a tree. That’s when I screamed. But my scream was only momentary as I gurgled and coughed up blood and vomit spewed out of my mouth. She dropped me and I lay there a broken, bleeding, and dying heap as I watched her lift my arm up to her gaping maw and take a large bite from it. As she chewed she guffawed and inhaled heavily, then she let out a loud bellow to announce her victory to the forest. The leaves in the trees around us shook and I heard their rustling all around. Then everything was quiet and there was only the sound of us. My dying breaths coming out labored and ragged intermingled with my choking on vomit and blood, and her quiet grunts and slowly deliberate and wet chewing. Occasionally she would let out a quiet satisfied moan and I could hear her teeth scrape against the bone. I could not move my head and turn away so I watched as she ate my arm. My vision turned red and I blinked several times as blood spilled from my broken skull into my eyes. Everything was blurred and the corners of my vision were darkening. I knew when she was finished with my arm she would tear another piece from me. She would keep going until she was satisfied and then she would take me into the cave and weigh me down with a heavy rock. I was full of despair and was wishing to die quickly so I would not be like the screaming torso that had alerted her to my presence. Blood was leaking out from my face and I could see a pool forming on the earth in front of me. That’s when my blood came alive. It seemed to rise up as it gathered itself and formed itself into a perfect sphere about the size of one of the hunter’s fists. Two thin tendril-like appendages shot out from either side of the sphere and they ended with an extremity that looked like a fingerless hand equipped with a flat thumb. It seemed as if its extremities were good for mobility and gripping but not for actual grabbing. The sphere stayed still for a brief moment then twitched and began moving its appendages wildly as it scrabbled quickly towards the hunter. She did not notice as it climbed onto her foot and up her leg. She took another bite from my arm as it moved its way up her torso. Then she saw it. She immediately dropped my arm and roared and swatted wildly at the blood creature. It evaded her swipes and climbed up past her flapping breasts, up her throbbing neck, and onto her face. She began bellowing as it latched onto her right eye and she clawed wildly at it to no avail. It used one of its appendages and as easily as she had torn my arm off it plucked her eye out of its socket. Her bellows became higher pitched and agonized. The blood creature shoved itself against the gaping socket and let the eye fall. The eye swung from her face with its cord attached and the hunter started slapping her face in a crazed and frenzied attempt to squash the blood creature. It took no heed as it pressed itself into the socket and slowly oozed in. I watched it disappear completely into her head. She fell to her knees directly in front of me and stopped struggling. Her arms dropped limply to her sides and her mouth hung open. Her face bulged and was full of pulsating veins as a teardrop of thick blood leaked down her cheek from the empty eye socket. It grew into a torrent. Blood gushed out of her eye suddenly like a forceful flood spraying into the night air and onto my already bloody face. I watched as it increased in pressure and her other eye popped out and blood spewed from both sockets. The blood kept coming and coming and her face cracked from the forehead down to the chin. A red line quickly seeped blood and then her face split completely open and intestines and entrails spilled out from her face. She fell back and began flailing in throes of anguished death as her insides continued to pour out from her face. It seemed her entire insides spilled out and lay as a heap on where her face used to be. When they finally stopped coming out she was still. Everything was quiet as the hunter and her steaming piles of organs lay there. Then SHE came. The perfect one. The hunter’s torso cracked and split open and, like an exquisite bird hatches, she rose up from the hunter’s desecration. She was as tall as the hunter but infinitely more elegant. Where the hunter had been knotted callouses and thick bones she was dainty curves and toned muscles. Her skin glowed with the same beauty as the light I had seen behind my closed eyes. The light of the moon I had seen in my dreams. The light of hope and comfort and safety. And I knew her name was Puricite. She turned to me and knelt down next to me and even through the filter of blood’s red I saw her face full of compassion and mercy. She cradled my broken body in her hands and lifted me up with ease. She rocked me as a mother rocks her child and I felt I was in the uppermost branches of the tallest tree riding a rustling wind of pure night. My breathing became less labored and I felt a hot searing sensation where my arm had been torn off. My insides creaked as my bones and organs stitched themselves back together. She gently placed me back down and I stood up. I saw that my arm was returned. It is by her grace that I am alive and have continued to live. Whenever I am dying she will cradle me and return me to a state of health. I have lived and served her for eons because of her ability to heal me. It is only the blood in my eyes that has never gone away. And the world was, is, and always will be red. She took me by the hand and led me through the forest. There were no hunters that approached us for the death cries of a hunter cause all the creatures of the forest to flee in fear. For what may slay a hunter is something unknown and a far greater danger than anything else. She led me a far way. To a place I did not know. The night faded away into bright day as we walked and walked until we reached the edge of the forest. We looked out from its edge and she gestured for me to look and I saw many more people like me moving in the light of the sun. I saw hunters too. The ones like me and the hunters were together. There were many of them. They had cut down trees and had shaped them into shelters. They were moving piles of food into an open flame and moving the food into containers. They were hanging furs and sitting together. There were children of both people and hunters frolicking and squealing in joy. As I stared in wonder and incomprehension I felt her grip my arm strongly. I whimpered in pain and turned to her and I saw her staring into my face. Her eyes were open far wider than any creature’s I had seen before. Her mouth was open in a smile that stretched to both sides of her face and I could see the seemingly endless rows of razor-sharp teeth that filled her mouth. She gripped my arm tighter and tighter and I looked down and saw that her nails had dug into my flesh. As pinpricks of blood began to leak out her beautiful glowing silver skin took on a darker crimson hue that matched my blood.


"Dipé!" The army stood up in unison. "Dilo ni movimentae!" The deafening sound of thousands of soldiers set in motion shook the earth beneath their feet. The small garrison destined to defend the hill looked with horror as their enemy, who outnumbered them by a wide margin, left their camp and prepared to fight once more. Both factions had met in past occasions, and the hill was always successfully defended. This time, however, was different. As problems at home called, only a reduced number of troops led by their captain, Justanantiam, were left behind, under the promise that more reinforcements would arrive soon. Throughout the morning and part of the afternoon, the battle raged. When their enemy charged against them, the garrison backed down to take cover behind the rocks, where it was easier for them to seek defense. But despite the strategies employed, the numerical advantage of the invading army had begun to take more and more lives from the defending garrison, and after several hours of fighting without ceded land, both captains called for an honorable ceasefire. "We will be annihilated before the reinforcements arrive." said an injured soldier to his captain, Justanantiam, who had already been contemplating that possibility. Justanantiam then came up with an idea; he grew up in the area and knew it perfectly, so it wouldn't suppose him a problem to sneak into the camp of his enemy, Teatacus, at night. He did so, but as soon as he appeared, the guards apprehended him and he was brought before their leader himself. Both characters couldn't be more disparate; Teatacus easily doubled Justanantiam in size and his presence was intimidating to say the least. "You are very daring to come here alone" The giant boomed. "I went out to stretch my legs and got lost" Justanantiam replied, with a dim, sarcastic smile. Teatacus knew that his rival had come looking for any possible weakness that could be used against him. But he was confident in his strength and subsequent victory the following day. So he skipped the interrogation and instead, invited Justanantiam for a walk under the stars. The captain didn't miss the opportunity to chatter about his colossal army, about how he had never been defeated in a melee combat in his life, how his rivals saw him with deep respect and fear. Teatacus spoke and spoke, blind to the fact that his rival was no longer walking beside him. "Teatacus, look ahead!" Justanantiam exclaimed from behind. Teatacus stopped immediately and saw an enormous spider emerge before him. Fortunately, the creature did not detect the captains, and returned again to its previous hunting position, hidden in the tall grass. Teatacus turned slowly toward Justanantiam, having closely experienced death for the first time in his life. "That spider was underground" said Teatacus, convinced that it would have been impossible not to have seen it had it not. "No, captain" Justanantiam refuted incredulous. "It was just in front of you." The captains undertook the return to their respective camps. Before leaving, Teatacus suggested his rival to withdraw from the battlefield and that if he did so, he and his garrison would be spared. To which Justanantiam responded only by cocking an antenna. But Teatacus did not intend to have mercy on any soldier, not after suffering the humiliation of being saved by his own enemy. He went to sleep and ordered his men to wake him up early in the morning. The next day, the powerful army marched up the hill, with Teatacus leading, ready to end the battle quickly. "The land is fertile, it will be a worthy acquisition." The captain thought to himself. On the other side, the garrison troops were just beginning to assemble, in complete silence, haunted by the high and low battle cries that the rival army used to demoralize them. Justanantiam positioned himself at the head of his troops contemplating his colossal rival, and he knew exactly who would stand victorious. Both sides collided violently. Teatacus was in the element he liked the most, painting the soil with the entrails of his enemies. At one point, Justanantiam calls for a withdrawal, and his troops descend the hill in disarray. "I didn't expect more from you, Justanantiam!" The mighty captain roared as he ordered his men to charge against their enemy, who was fleeing downhill, into the tall grass. Teatacus felt, rather than saw, the stake going through his torax. When he looked back to check the wound, he saw his own soldiers, also impaled. Once again, Teatacus had failed to see the danger before him. He could not see the stakes positioned under the tall grass. Nor could he see the rest of the garrison, who waited patiently for the false withdrawal to strike a surprise attack on those who avoided the stakes. And of course, he also couldn't see how the previous night, Justanantiam discovered an important flaw about his enemy. Teatacus collapsed on the ground, feeling his life passing. Before he died, he saw Justanantiam approaching him in the midst of the battle. "In your infinite arrogance, you failed to see the spider." Justanantiam said, extracting the stake from his rival's shivering body. "Even when it was right in front of you.


Man has always feared the dark. In the most ancient times we huddled around fires to hold back the dark. To hold back what the dark concealed. The light, the heat, the fire; it provided protection from the wolves and cold out there trying to kill us. Man used that energy to conquer a world; and then again to leave that world and slowly, ever so slowly, conquer a galaxy. It took billions of years, but man pushed back the dark. But it is not possible to overcome the basic nature of the universe. Heat dissipates, order devolves. Even stars must concede to entropy. Generations of stars died their explosive deaths, seeding space with the material for the next generation. Man escaped those worlds and moved on. But eventually, there wasn't enough density of matter for new stars to ignite. Man stepped in and brought the ingredients together, but even that only bought time. And time was the only thing the dark had. Finally the last generation of stars was dying. An entire galactic empire very slowly unraveled over uncounted eons. All the planets which had been hospitable to life were destroyed by novas or were left frozen by their stars collapse. Planets were abandoned by those with the ability, the rest perished. Generations lived and died in vast fleets, living off massive stockpiles of energy and food. Over the eons even these resources were depleted. The fleets grew cold and died, derelict graveyards floating un-powered in deep space. In a final desperate hope for warmth some small colonies were set up on brown dwarfs. They brought all the food and power available with them; leaving behind the cold dead hulks, suckling on the lingering warmth of aborted stars. After a few thousand more generations all their equipment and tools began to run down and wear out. Man receded to a simplistic life devoid of any appreciable technology other than hyperspace communications. Food and light and connection were all that mattered, and only what they had brought with them was available. They carefully planned and conserved the stabilized rations and chemical lamps they had inherited from their forefathers. But even those vast stores gradually reached an end. They managed their own decline, each generation bearing fewer and fewer children trying to make sure there would be enough resources for one more generation. There was no celebration in the final colony when the last messages went unanswered. They knew they were the last vestige of humanity, and in a few brief generations they too would succumb. The final couple knew they should end it, but could not resist the warmth and comfort they provided for each other and inadvertently had one last baby. At the end, the lonely man sat in a room deep inside a brown dwarf with piles of stabilized rations all around him. As the green glow from his last chemical light burned out, a complete darkness such as no human had ever experienced enveloped him utterly. And he knew fear, not because anything was out there to kill him, but because he knew nothing was.


All sorts of feelings It was late, almost midnight, and I was walking by the docks. My parents probably thought that I was at some party, like a normal 16-year-old guy would on a Friday night, but I never got invited to one of those, not in my old school and not in my new school. I just don’t hang out with a lot of people; most other guys think I’m too nerdy and girls think I’m ugly. Now it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I honestly enjoy spending time alone, taking walks along the dark water, breathing the coolish night air, away from school, stress and anxiety. I thought this would be a calm, regular night, but then I saw her. Or, at first I couldn't see if it was a he or she, it was really dark, the only light came from a few faint streetlights. I just saw the silhouette of a person standing on the, now abandoned, bridge for pedestrians, just above the big rocks right before the water started. It looked like the person was about to jump. I pulled out my hands from my jean jacket pockets and started walking faster. As I got closer I saw from behind that it was a girl. She had long, dark hair, average height and wore a black, hooded jacket and a dark skirt or dress - I wasn’t sure. Even if I had no idea who it was, I couldn’t just let her take her life. “Hey, what are you doing? You can’t just jump!” I shouted with a hoarse voice. “Leave me alone, you don’t know me!” It felt like I had heard her voice before, but I couldn’t place it. “Please don’t do this! You probably haven’t thought this through!” In fact didn’t know what to say, but now it felt like my responsibility to prevent her from killing herself. “Just let me do this, I literally don’t want to live anymore”, she replied angrily. Now I heard who it was. I was shocked. It was Lucy. My old classmate. I had no idea that she was suicidal, or even depressed. Well, she was never the happiest girl in school, but she never seemed to be really sad either. I called her name. She finally turned around. “Thomas?” “Yeah, remember me? From 11th grade?” “Yes...” “Then come down”, I begged. “We can talk!” “Look, you’re really not helping”, she said, but I could see that she kind of wanted to come down to me. She still didn’t move, so I decided to go up to her instead. The spiral staircase to the bridge was made of some sort of metal, so both she and I heard every step I took. When I came to the top I looked down. This pedestrians’ bridge went at least 15 feet (4.5 m) above the ground, so Lucy would definitely hurt herself and probably die if she jumped from there on the sharp stones. Why did she want to do that? Now I could see her clearly. She looked like she had done when we went to school together, her brown hair was a little longer and darker, and she looked older, even if it was less than a year since I saw her the last time. Her blue eyes were shiny and the makeup around them had smudged a bit. My heart somehow felt lighter when I looked at her. She was beautiful. “Um, hi…”, I said eventually, “Are you like, okay?” “Do I look okay?” she asked, “Do I fucking look okay? Do you think a person on their way to jump off a bridge like this is okay? What is wrong with you?” Yeah, what is wrong with me? Why did I say that? I don’t know. I started to think of how to apologize, but then I saw a tear running down her cheek. All at once, this hard-nosed girl seemed a lot more helpless. Hardly without thinking, I stepped forward and gave her a hug. Maybe physical comfort is better when you’re not good with words? As soon as I hugged her she burst into tears, but at least she hugged me back, so I guess it helped in some way. It felt a little strange. Feelings I didn’t know I still had started to come up. “Oh my God, what am I doing up here?”, Lucy sobbed. “‘You want to go down?” I asked carefully. She let go of the hug and nodded. I still felt a vibrating feeling from it. I took her arm and led her slowly down the stairs. I didn’t want to say anything to make her cry again, so I kept quiet when we started walking along the water. After she had calmed down a bit, Lucy asked me: “Do you still play the piano?” I was surprised that she remembered. “Yes, I do”, I replied. “Cool.” It was probably just small talk. Or, I thought so before Lucy cleared her throat and said: “I always thought you played beautiful. I know your friends mocked you when you played at the Christmas concerts, but I genuinely liked it. Once I was outside the music room and when I heard you practice I just stood outside a while and listened.” “Wow, thanks!” I said and looked down on my trainers. “I had no idea.” “Um”, I started, “How’s your new school? Where do you go?” The both of us switched to new schools after Secondary school. “I go to S:t Jacob’s and, well, the school itself is pretty nice, but I the people - not really.” Lucy looked away. “I never thought you felt this bad.” I had to ask eventually. “Well, it’s got worse this year. Before I was just sad a lot, I never seriously thought about taking my life, but now…” She took a break. I waited. She took a deep breath. “So ever since summer break last year, I’ve just felt empty, yet had so many feelings. I barely recognise myself when I look in the mirror, this body just doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Lately I’ve just felt like I’m drowning and my only choices are to keep swimming or to take ‘the lifeboat’, and it’s getting harder and harder to swim and there just isn’t another way out than..., you now.” Wow. Lucy and I took a turn and found a park bench among some trees where we sat down quietly. The bench was cold. We sat a little less than a foot apart. I remember when we were 14 or something and once sat next to each other like this in school, for a group project I think. I remembered the tension between us, how I could hear my heart beating and had all sorts of strange feelings inside of me. When we sat on this bench, it was like the group project all over again. Why did she make me feel like this? Lucy interrupted my thoughts by saying: “Also, in like 10th-11th grade I had things to live for. People liked talking to me, my parents cared about me, I did well in school. Now I’m just an ugly girl with no real friends and no social competence left, I never talk to my dad anymore and my mom only talks about her own life and her new boyfriend, everything in school is stressing the hell out of me and I just basically hate my life. If you wouldn't have been there when I stood on the bridge, I would probably be dead by now.” My heart started beating faster. First now I realised that I had literally saved someone’s life. Her life. When I was three, my mum saved my life when I almost drowned in the sea. Lucy’s mum didn't seem to care when her daughter drowned in her depression. She probably didn't even know about it. “Have you talked to your parents about this?” “No... They’d never understand, nor care. My dad doesn’t even live here in England anymore. And my mum, yeah you know.” “You should call her”, I said. “Tell her everything’s okay.” She hesitated, looked at me and reluctantly took up her phone. I noticed on the lock screen that the time was way past midnight. I hoped her mum would still answer. Five signals. Then I heard a “Hello?” on the other side of the line. “Hi, mum”, Lucy said. “I, I just wanted to let you now that I'm not feeling well. Or, I’ve actually felt horrible for the last couple of months, but I never wanted to be a burden. Tonight I tried to do something horrible, but a - friend, stopped me from doing it, so I’m safe now.” I couldn't really hear what her mother said, but soon I heard crying. “I love you too!” Lucy cried. “I'm so sorry. Yes, he sits next to me now. Yes, I will. I think so. Okay, I'll see you at home! Bye! ” Something like that. Lucy looked at me. More of her makeup had smudged by now and she looked really matt. To me, she was still the prettiest star in the night. She asked: “You can walk me home, right?” “Of course!” “Mum is driving home from her boyfriend's as soon as she can. She's going to call in sick for work tomorrow and cancel all her weekend plans, just to be with me. It's perhaps a little exaggerated, but it will definitely make me feel better. Yeah, I'll be fine. Also, she wants to thank you and I want to thank you too.” “Well, it was a matter of life or death, what was I supposed to do? And Lucy, your mother loves you, she is supposed to give you much attention after all this! Come!” As we started walking Lucy grabbed my hand. Her was cold, but holding it made me warm inside. I didn't know if it meant something that she wanted to hold hands, or if she just needed that comfort right now. I thought about how she complimented my piano playing. Maybe she liked me. I definitely liked her. I wished we could keep in touch after this night. “Should we maybe exchange mobile numbers before we say goodbye? I'm here if you want to talk some more.” “Yes, I'd really like that”, she replied. “You know, you're like my only friend right now!” The both of us smiled. Lucy didn't commit suicide and hopefully she would soon recover from her depression and be happy again. Even though I felt a huge compassion for her, it made me happy to be around her, and knowing that I saved her life made me feel a lot better than I had felt when I started my walk that night.


A family sat at a round kitchen table awaiting their meals to be served by the servants. This family was neither rich nor poor and consisted of four members; a father, a mother, a son, and a daughter who've been birthed recently. "How's school been?" the mother said to the son. The son replied with pleasure and tried to please his father with his accomplishments but the father simply looked passed his son, to the wall which had a new portrait that the servants had hung about almost a year and a half ago. The portrait was of the family in their best attire as the background was a dark hue which made it appear sinister. "What's wrong?" the mother asked. There was a brief silence and then father mutter "nothing" without ever breaking eye contact from the painting. He knew something was off with that portrait, but he didn't have an explanation why. Maybe, from where he was sitting at made the painting distorted he assumed but, he will always reject that idea since it would always look wrong, despite where he stood or what angle he gazed on it. The servants came out of the kitchen with a silver dome over the food. Once they set it down before each member, they began to show the food they've requested. Before they could eat, they first had to eat this pill that was issued to them from so long ago. Each member swallowed the pill and began their meal except for the father who only stared at the pill with bewildered eyes. "Aren't you going to take the pill papa." the son asked after he swallowed his pill. What exactly do we need this pill for? He wondered. "Silly father, you know you have to take the pill in order to keep living right?" Oh yeah that's right but... when exactly did I start taking these pills? And how come, my pill is a different color then everybody else's pill? The son sighed and got up from his chair. He walked towards the father. Why are we taking these pills for anyways? How come, nobody here ever questioned its purpose. Will something terrible happen if I don't eat it before the hand Strikes twelve? What will happen, then... will anything happen? The son picked up his father's pills and began to put it near his mouth, but the father grabbed his son's arms with a strong force and pushed it away from him. "I don't want to eat it!" the father yelled. Everybody was in shock. " father you need this pill or else you will become miserable." The father looked around the kitchen table to see his wife's upset face as she cradled the now crying toddler. Out of guilt, he took the pill from his sons hand and observed it. " it's for your own good." The mother responded. The pill inches closer to the father lips, but the closer it got the more anguish he became. He put the pill in his mouth and the mother and son's response became relieved. "Was that so hard father?" the son says. The father locked his eyes with his son for the first time and the son can see the rage that laid within him. He spat his pill out towards his son's face. "I don't want to eat this pill! I must know what will happen!" the son picks up the pill hastily and battles his father onto the floor. "You must!" he screams. The father fought back even though his son was more powerful than he was. He tilted his head towards the portrait and realized the painting became more distorted every passing second, which gave the father the strength to overpower his son. He ran towards the portrait and began to laugh hysterically as the painting presumed to show a twisted hallucinogenic scene that can only be found in someone's worst nightmares. The second hand on the clock began to tick louder when it started itching closer to twelve, but this didn't bother the father's curiosity and his pleas for rationality. A sudden silence fell over the family when The old fashioned clock rang, which the father knew he was free and he looked back to his son who was on the marble floor. The son wiped his now bloody lip and says in a soft and concerned voice, " we were only trying to protect you." And in that instant the father knew the deed he committed. His son became transparent and the father extended his hand out to the son for the first time where he has shown sincerity but the connection their newly found bound was short lived when the son vanished. The father looked at his wife who was covering her mouth as her other hand held the toddler who was screaming. The father went towards the wife and grabbed the child before she fell on the floor. "This hurts so much," she cried. "Why couldn't you have taken the pill." she slowly grown transpicuous. " Because, I had to see the truth." The wife's eyes widen in fear then she closes them, so she doesn't have to show the pain and disappointment she felt at that moment. She vanished into thin air when her tears began to fall from her chin. The father cradled the baby who was in a small thin blue blanket and turned back to the portrait which was now only a plain folded piece of paper that is taped loosely on the white wall. He walked somewhat slowly towards it because he was terrified to see it but, at the same time he was eager. After he hesitated to take his last step, he traced his index finger behind the paper and set his thumb on the paper and peeled off the paper off the wall slowly. Once it was off the wall he examined the folded paper and started to open it until he saw what it contained inside; There were words that seemed to have been written hurriedly on a Typewriter. He read the contents of that letter and when he read that last sentence his jaw dropped open as his hands began to tremble. "No...this can't be." tears began to flow out his eyes. He looked down to his arms to realize his precious daughter was no longer there and shortly a strong throbbing sensation in his head began to deteriorate the way he's perceived things. One moment he would see them huddled around laughing, and the next moment he would see himself alone in that depressing room. He was going mad, and he knew that. He at first hit his head with the palm of his hands but he kept on remembering so he then resorted to banging his head against the wall but all that did was with a worsen the splitting headache. He fell onto his side and presumed the unwanted memories but, he saw that there was something he didn't notice in the room. Where the kitchen was supposed to be was replaced by a somewhat large porcelain bowl located in the middle of the room that was under white fluorescent lights. He pushed himself up and began to stumble towards it but he kept on falling out of revelation and fear. He instead began to crawl as memories of the accident flooded his head.the sounds of screeching tires was the only thing that kept him from passing out from the horror he felt. He reached to the bowl and found thousands of those pills in the bowl. With shaky hands, he managed to pick a singular pill and examined its vibrant turquoise color. He began to put the pill near his mouth but stopped when it touched his lips. I've already seen what I longed for but now I am thinking should I eat it. If I don't eat this pill I would only be stuck here in this desolate place stuck with my thoughts. But... if I do eat this pill I will be reunited with my family and be loved by them but I will always know that deep inside that they are not real.


The upside of conducting experiments over the Colorado River is that if things go haywire, there's a cleanup system of currents. The test site above the Grand Canyon had more than five thousand tests under its belt. That didn't hide it from the critical eye of budget evaluators from the interior office. Science for the sake of progress fell far short of science for military or economic gain. It's all about the dollar signs, baby. Jerry Fallington presided as the head of the Icarian project. Two post-grad degrees from MIT marked him for greatness, but he felt chinks in the armor of that idea with every thousand-foot splatter scream. The council for strategic growth tasked Jerry with overseeing the genetic modulation for human flight. Yes, you heard that right, and no, officially the US government wasn't funding Dr. Thoreau style experiments. Officially, they were simulating multi-layered defenses to hypothetical Soviet aggressions. After the discovery of the Soviet Mermaids, the president privately agreed that America had to fight fire with fire. "Retired" German scientists of questionable moral standing operated under isolated free rein to enact an unorthodox defense plan. After the unmitigated disaster of the Bayou based alligator people, acting department heads added an addendum requiring a moral supervisor, ideally of Midwestern stock, to avoid the heretical contaminants that infect the intellectual communities of both coasts. And thus, mid-level manager, Jerry Fallington rose to his position as head of the Icarian project. Cold name credit to his petulant teenage daughter, Sabrina, who everyone agreed was too smart for any of the crop heavy state schools. Under the dry eye of the Arizonan sun, Jerry learned not to squawk every time a test subject wet their wings in the river below. The Germans joked that he was two screams away from a Sauerkraut queen. Which baffled Jerry, as he believed Germany to now operate democratically. The Germans tsked. They knew they were funny; the whole world be damned. It wasn't until their bittersweet triumph on test number 5322 that Jerry mused as to why they hadn't installed a trapeze style net below their test site. He curdled the mood like a vegan at a hot dog eating contest. "Fear of the unknown is necessary, Jerry." "Yes, Jerry, we couldn't let the failures spend life with their worthless wings tucked in shame. They flew fast, just in the wrong direction." Jerry could only stare at his morally questionable white lab coat clad collaborators. "I guess you're right, boys." Never one to be out of the group, Jerry swallowed his good intentions and canceled his order for nets. At least he could chuckle at the mad scientists flailing in vain as they tried to capture off-brand angels like oversized butterflies after the first successful trial. Officially, Jerry Fallington retired to Sioux City, but legend has it that he stayed on to oversee Operation Ocean Overwatch as the birdmen took to the skies. Like hawks in pursuit of fish, they flew over the Pacific, only their bounty was Russian and genetically melded between Babushka and bluefin. The Soviet aquatic espionage effort was quickly picked clean via wing and harpoon. The Feathered Furies, as they called themselves, were granted leave and took up residence in the wilderness of Papua New Guinea. Whether ground-bound Jerry followed can't be confirmed. But the locals speak of a kind legend that prefers brown loafers and sliced cheese.


You know, this whole thing is really crazy. At the moment, I'm on a small yacht. In the middle of the ocean. I haven't seen land in weeks, maybe even months. It's been so long since I've seen a calendar. Oh yeah, I bet you wonder what happened to get me here. It's actually impossibly crazy. So, let me tell you what happened. It was a few years ago when I first realized that the world was going to a dark place. It was obvious that something was going on that would change the planet forever. The summer was getting hotter, the winter was getting less snowy. And, I know most people would say how this was global warming, but it was happening so much faster than ever before. Also, not too far off base, California had another wildfire. Which didn't help the environment in any way, obviously. And this one was the worst one yet, it spread out to all of the coast, and even all the way to Texas in some places. It was not good, to be short about it. That was disturbing. Although, in the end, it did get put out. Although, not before the next disaster started. It wasn't really a disaster, other than the fact that it really messed the world up. The poles were moving, rapidly. Which, with it, came the change in the weather. It started off with something small. I lived in Ohio at the time. Which, if you don't know, is pretty much ignored by any costal storms (Hurricanes, tropical storms, etc…) And then Ohio got hit with a hurricane. We usually get hit with the backlash of it, but this time it was still a level 3 when it got to us. And the coast got hit by tornadoes. That was even crazier. It was really horrible. They had no preparations made. And not a lot of people there have a use for basements, so they don't have them. At least Ohio was ready for storms. Heavy storms at that. At this moment I was on the road to the one place nearby that hasn't been affected by anything abnormal yet. Canada. But as soon as I settled in stuff got bad. Have you watched the movie 'the day after tomorrow'? If so, it was like that scene where everything is freezing crazily fast. It started in the upper part and slowly came down. It happened slowly. 5 degrees lower in one day. Then it happened the next few days. That was when I decided to leave. I was driving back to the U.S. When I got a call from someone I hadn't talked to in months. My brother. He told me about everything that happened. Oh yeah, he was a meteorologist. He said that the deep ocean, about the mid-pacific hadn't been affected by anything yet. I kept him on the phone for hours. He said the reason this was happening was because the poles were moving rapidly. Miles in days. I came to his house in California and we caught up. He told me it was time to go. I went out and bought a ton of water. He had an oven on the boat so we could boil water from salt to drink. I also grabbed about 100 boxes of those nature valley crunch™ bars. Also a few fishing rods. When I came back I saw a storm coming from the mainland. I saw so much rain pouring out of it. When I got back I ran to the boat with my bags of food and water and got on. He was already there. He said he had hundreds of gallons of gas in the floor. We wouldn't need to go back on land for months, maybe years. And, obviously, I've survived till now. No problems yet. I hope this somehow ends soon. Although I hope I find more people. I'm starting to go crazy here. I love my brother, but, after a year of only talking to one person. It gets boring. But, I gotta go help stable the boat. The waves are starting to pick up. I'll keep you updated.


Most people have at least one talent that they really excel at. Some special people have never met anyone who could outclass them at their talent. Fortunately for Arnold York, he was one of them. His special talent was duelling with pistols. As a member of high society, the opportunity to duel his rival noblemen presented itself rather frequently. It was customary in this place and time for gentlemen to settle their disagreements in combat, and pistols were currently the most popular weapon. As he gained his reputation as an 'unbeatable' duelist, he was provided target practice in the form of a few fools who fancied themselves a good shot. York accepted every challenge he received, and won them too. His skill made him essentially untouchable for most. Any man who had a qualm with him would back down rather than face death. As you might expect, this safety made him a troublemaker. An avid womaniser, he did not fear the anger of fathers. Yes, he had plenty of enemies, but he stayed on the good side of the right powerful people, protecting himself from assassination. He took care to make enemies only with the weak. His flamboyant character kept him in the good graces of the public. York always used the same strategy in a duel; once the start had been called, rather than turning to fire immediately, he would duck or throw himself to the ground. His opponent would then miss his shot, and York would take his time aiming properly, shooting the other man dead every time. Any commander worth his salt knows it is foolish to use the same strategy so frequently, but it worked for York. His opponents knew what he would do, but they still could never hit him. The secret to York's victory was simple: he was a cheat. Were he born two hundred years earlier, he would be a court Jester. Two hundred years later, a stage magician. He was a master of showmanship and sleight of hand. Everywhere he went, he would carry with him a duelling pistol with a blank shot. He would put on a show before the duel, captivating the attention of all who were watching, then diverting it elsewhere for a brief moment, during which he switched one pistol for the one loaded with a blank. Alternatively, he would have his servant replace it beforehand. If he was being challenged, he would provide his own set, and then use body language and subtle suggestion to coax his unaware opponent into choosing the sabotaged pistol. The reason he always let the other man fire first was so that the blank shot would not be discovered afterward. York's latest duel was with a stranger named Harrow. York had not wronged Harrow, but Harrow had challenged him nevertheless. Harrow claimed merely to be seeking a challenge, but York suspected he was hired by a certain local landowner whose daughter York had recently slept with. He was not bothered by the deception; he would win the duel regardless of Harrow's motive and leave for the next town. Since Harrow had challenged York, York provided the weapons and Harrow would choose first. This meant that York did not have to switch the pistols in the presence of witnesses, but he did have to force Harrow to choose the sabotaged pistol. This always proved trickier, but it was a skill he practiced extensively on his servants. The pistols were always prepared such that the steel components on the sabotaged one were slightly more polished, mostly to make a more attractive choice to the unsuspecting victim, but also to tell York which was which. As York's servant opened the pistol case, York checked that the shinier one was on the left as always. York took care to always stand on the right, as the challenger would be more likely to choose the pistol closest to himself. Noticing that the sabotaged pistol had sunken deeper into the velvet than its sibling (making it less prominent), he flourished his hand towards a nearby tree, making idle conversation about Autumn's early colours. It is natural for humans to follow a moving object with their eyes. If the object moves in a straight line, the natural response is to snap back to where the object started. But if the object moves in an arc, people's eyes will remain fixed on it when it stops. This effect is what York was taking advantage of. He moved his hand in a large arc towards the tree, diverting everyone's eyes from the pistol case as he lifted the sabotaged one into a more attractive spot. When everyone finally returned their gaze to York, they were none the wiser to his little adjustment. Suddenly, Harrow slapped York's hat off his head. The hat fell behind him and York stumbled in surprise. After York had regained his hat and balance, Harrow explained that there had been a wasp on the hat and he was simply saving him from a sting. This unconvincing story put York in a foul mood. "I'll be glad to shoot this impudent bastard!" he thought. "Enough talk, choose your weapon." he said disdainfully. He smiled as Harrow picked up the pistol on the left and walked to his position. York took the other pistol and did the same. They turned their backs and waited for the signal. As it came, York ducked down immediately and spun around. But strangely, Harrow had not fired. He was just standing there, watching York. He wasn't even aiming his pistol. "What is he playing at? Is he just trying to do something differently from the others? I ought to shoot him anyway. I'll fire the other pistol into the air later to get rid of the blank." he thought. He stood up, aimed his pistol at Harrow, and pulled the trigger. A blast came from the barrel, but as the smoke cleared, Harrow was unharmed. Harrow grinned sardonically as he raised his pistol to level with York's chest, the flintlock glinting in the sunlight.


**"Green," the patient replied, so thoroughly convinced of his answer that he said without even a moment's hesitation. This was the third time they had tried the crayon test and he still wasn’t showing any sign of improvement. Michael sighed, trying to keep his exasperation as slight as possible.** **He had to remember that this man suffered from a debilitating neurological disorder that caused one to see and experience things the way they were. Some suffered from this disease more than others; many merly lapsing into employing logic or making a factual statement on occasion like a mental hiccup, but resuming a normal state immediately after. Others showed symptoms more consistently, but could be easily coaxed out of it each time. Michael Gumstead's current patient was what most would consider a helpless case, and the more the usually dauntless Doctor Gumstead worked with him, the more he was starting to agree.** **"We've been over this," he said. "It's yellow."** **Doctor Gumstead put the crayon back into the box and pulled out a blue one.** **"How about this one?" He asked.** **"Blue." The patient replied.** **"White," the doctor corrected, his sigh a bit more audible this time. The weather was undoubtedly contributing to his foul mood. He found himself wishing that time had ended yesterday when it was hot and sunny. Yesterday had been his day off and he spent much of it outside, revealing in the wonderfully intense, skin-charing heat; enjoying the suffocating sensation of his clothes fusing to his skin while prickly-inch ravaged his crotch. The earthly incarnation of Heaven.** **Today was a direct opposite; the air was crisp, cool and, worst of all, breathable and the sun was slightly obscured by clouds, denying him the pleasure of having abrasive sun-rays penetrate his eyes like fiery daggers. Instead, his surroundings were rendered disgustingly seeable while the slight chill in the air filled him with a loathsome feeling of life and vitality. Of course, the patient he was working with wasn't helping much either. It was funny how someone referred to as a "patient" could make you feel anything but.** **This patient was strange in many ways; he was one of those that actually preferred the horrendous livable weather to the pleasantly soul-scorching days that every normal human being full-heartedly embraced. He was also a vegan as he considered the consumption of flesh and bodily fluids to be "kinda gross". Ironically, while he considered that gross, his diet consisted of plants; green things that sprouted from the dirt and contained neither blood nor mucus (okra being the only exception). The mere thought of such a diet made Doctor Gumstead feel nauseous.** **In one of several unsuccessful attempts to bring the patient back into normality, he had offered him a bite of his ham sandwich and when the offer was inevitably declined, Michael, not being one to skirt around the issues, asked very plainly why. This conversation was what followed:** **"I don't like meat."** **"Why not?"** **"It doesn't appeal to me."** **"Let's not be vague; if I'm to help you, I must know more about your illness. Trust me."** **"I don't even know what illness I have."** **Michael had expected that. Few patients were able to accept their condition right off the bat.** **"It's something you're going to have to face sometime or another and the longer you put it off, the more difficult it's going to be. Now why doesn't it appeal to you? I must insist on a straight answer."** **The doctor's permission had evidently emboldened the patient to speak more candidly, "I find it more than a little gross. You're eating slices of someone's body."** **"Is that any different from what you're eating? What's the difference between cutting the head off a cow and cutting off a head of lettuce?"** **The patient was confused. This was made evident by his reply--"Huh?"** **The one saving grace of those with his disorder is that they are very easy to confuse.** **"I’m examining the hypocrisy of your position; you find it disgusting to eat animal bodies but are fine with eating decaying plant bodies."** **"I don't eat them when they're decaying," said the patient, elaborating his backward point of view.** **"Plants do decay, do they not?" Gumstead insisted, eyeing his patient with fierce scrutiny.** **"Yes, but I--"** **"So you eat decaying plants,"** **The patient started stupidly at him, then opened his mouth as if to respond, then let his head drop to his chest, managing only a weak, "Sure."** **Ah, progress.** **"And meat decays too, so it’s essentially the same thing."** **The patient raised his head slowly as if he were struggling with the weight of his own skull. Doctor Gumstead was slightly offended; what right did he have to be tired? If anyone had the right to be exhausted, it was the good doctor.** **"Well," the patient began, "I guess it's because nature intended them to be eaten, by humans I mean--"** **"And animals aren't?"** **"Not when you get right down to it. When you consider that the seeds in fruit are--"** **"Animals were meant to be eaten," doctor Gunstead interrupted, not willing to put up any more deluded ravings, "why else would they be marketed as food?"** **"Profit," came the predictable answer. People with this condition held on to a paranoiac belief that corporations are run for the sake of a profit without necessarily being interested in the public's well being which, to be fair, was sometimes true, but not when it suited Michael Gumstead to believe otherwise. In any case, it was nothing that a bit of positive thinking couldn’t fix.** **Gradually, the topic of the discussion came to focus on life's imperfections, which was just where doctor Gumstead had hoped the conversation would lead, as he had recently taken a vehement interest in spirituality; not organized religion, of course, which was just a celestial form of brainwashing, but real spirituality; the logical kind that respected the intelligence of the individual and worked for the betterment of mankind as a whole rather than a perverse desire to control others. It was rather unorthodox to treat a patient according to the spiritual teachings, but nothing else had worked so far, so he gave it a try. He asked the patient about any personal problems he may have had in the past that might still be influencing his behavior today.** **The patient pondered for a moment then said, "Well, back in--"** ***"NOOOOOOOO*****," Doctor Gumstead bellowed, "it only seeeeeeemed that waaaaaaay because of your negatiiiiiiiiive perceeeeeeeeption."** **"I didn't even tell yo--"** **"You'rrrrrrre respooooooooonsiblllllllllle for yoooou'rrrrre owwwwwwwwn experieeeeeeeeeeence," said Doctor Gumstead, proud of himself for having remembered to gratuitously elongate nearly every word; an intricate part of any spiritual lecture, "The “prooooobleeeeeeem” you** ***thiiiiiiiink*** **you haaaaad would neverrrrrrr have exiiiiiiiiisteeeeeed had you not acknooooowledged it in the firrrrrrrrst plaaaaaaaaaaaace!"** **"You mean, I wouldn't have broken my leg skiing that day had I simply not noticed it?"** ***"Yes!"*** **Doctor Gumstead almost shouted, astounded by his patient’s inability to figure out the obvious. Gumstead’s heart sank just a bit as he realised his mistake in letting the patient finish a sentence, which is as much a taboo in the spiritual realm as logical consistency. This mistake at first prompted Doctor Gumstead to think that he was not yet ready to apply his spiritual lessons to everyday matters, but then, upon realizing that centering advice on something you know little to nothing about was about the most spiritual thing one could do, he knew he was on the right track.** **The patient stared at him for a moment and finally said, "But how--?"** **"I don't know why you have to take such a hostile position," Doctor Gumstead said quickly.** **"I'm a little confused," the patient said, "How could I have noticed my injury before--"** **"I’ll have to cut this session short," said Gunstead, "if you continue with that hostile tone."** **"What hostility?" The patient demanded rather hostility, "I was simply pointing out illogicality of--"** **"OK, so now you’re insulting me. It's little outbursts like that that got you sent here in the first place."** **The outburst to which doctor Michael Gumstead had referred had taken place at the patient's place of employment where he had questioned the need to update the "perfectly good" software of each company computer in order to make them more difficult to use. His employers tried their best to explain how the functional software was now well out of date, having been in existence for more than three minutes, whereas the update would needlessly complicate each task for the convenience of every employee.** **Somehow this logic, as sound as it was, didn't satisfy him and he exposed his unstable mental condition with the decolonization that the explanation didn't "make sense", after which he proceeded into an incoherent rant about how newer wasn't inherently better, and how it “actually needed to improve on something”.** **Soon, the entire office had gathered around the post-patient to try and understand just what in the hell he was talking about. Needless to say, no one understood a thing. Everything he said made too much sense for anyone to make sense of.** **His office manager had tried especially hard to comprehend his position, but every attempt at an explanation proved futile, difficulty in communication being another common symptom. Finally, the office manager; name of George, made him take the rest of the day off, believing that his inexplicable outburst of critical-thinking was merely exhaustion brought on by overwork.** **His wife was the first to witness the full extent of her husband's insanity. It came when she asked him to fill up the bathtub for her and he did so, prompting him to wonder why he hadn't started making the enchiladas that she had requested for dinner and why he was pouring a bath so early in the evening. His perplexing response was as follows: "You told me to draw a bath."** **The wife, Isabelle, replied, "But that wasn’t what I** ***meant*****."** **When he asked Isabelle why she didn't say what she meant, she backed away from him; slowly at first, then made a quick dash to the bedroom, where she locked herself inside and called the police.** **Now here was Michael Gumstead; trying to reason with a man who probably couldn't be reasoned with. Gumstead had started the case fully and enthusiastically embracing the challenge, but now it was getting to the point where he was beginning to question his own sanity.** **"You have been hostile to people," Gumstead insisted, "don't try to tell me otherwise. You are capable of hostility."** **"Um, sure. So that means that I'm hostile in every instance of my life?"** ***"Yes!"*** **Gumstead said excitedly, barely suppressing a mirthless laugh. He couldn't believe this really had to be explained, "You've been displaying copious quantities of hostility since you arrived here! With your relentless questions and endless scrutiny. Disputing my authority and undermining me at every turn!"** **We are allllllllllllll of one consciousness;" Gumstead said, quickly preventing the patient from saying anything else, "we are aaaaaall perfect! We are aaaaaall compleeeeeeeetelyyyyyyyyy eeee-*****qual!*****”Gumstead made sure to state how equal they were with the most smugly condescending tone and smile he could manage. It was always important for the spiritually evolved to let people know that they were just a little more completely equal than those around them, “buuuuut if I didn't teeeeeeeell yooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu, what your** ***thooooouuuuughts*****,** ***feeliiiiiiiiiiiiings*** **and** ***intentioooooooooooons*** **are than hoooooooow would you** ***everrrrrr*** **knoooooooow?"** **"I'm sure I know my own thoughts, feelings and intentions." He was getting frustrated. A definite sign of hostility.** **This time Gumstead didn't bother hiding his sigh at this poor, silly, deluded man as he pondered what he could say that would get through to him.** **"Don't be so hostile." He said at last.** **A week went by with no noticeable improvements. If anything, his hyper-sensitivity had gotten worse. When Doctor Gumstead was having his lunch, the patient, in a fit of entitlement, asked if he could close his mouth when he chewed. Doctor Gumstead reacted by chewing louder; “In Norway, it’s considered a compliment to chew as loudly as possible,” he explained, “and I’m not going to stop being polite just because you don’t like it.”** **“It is not polite precisely** ***because*** **you** ***know*** **that I don’t like it!” Portested the patient.** **Doctor Gumstead said with a tight smile that would seem patronizing to lesser sentient beings, but which was actually very evolved and free of the slightest hint of judgment; “what’s polite and what isn't doesn’t change to match your feelings. Politeness was invented to show respect. Respect, I will argue, is about the most important thing one human being can have for another; it’s the cornerstone of our civilization, and why shouldn’t it be? It helps to be courteous to those around us; to eliminate the potential tensions and live in harmony with those we encounter in our daily lives, so with that in mind, I will force my respect on you whether you like it or not!”** **The patient slumped in his chair, his chin nearly reaching his chest.** ***So damn dramatic,*** **Doctor Gumstead thought, rolling his eyes. He made sure the patient saw it as that was often worked as a way to deter further arguments, then he resumed eating his sandwich, making each chew louder than the last.** **Within the next week, they had tried shock-therapy, past regression therapy and speaking in patronizing tones whenever he had expressed a coherent thought, and he had managed to resist every step of the way. Doctor Gumstead had considered temporarily forgetting his compassionate nature and employing corporeal punishment, but had always managed to resist the urge.** **Michael Gumstead returned to work feeling an odd emotion composed of being simultaneously fatigued and refreshed. He was fatigued for the most obvious reason-- his pain-in-the-ass patient, though, thankfully, this would be the last day that he would have to work with him. They would go through the motions once more and then he would write him off as a helpless case. Sadly, every alternative, much like Doctor Gumstead himself, had been completely exhausted. The simultaneous feeling of exuberance came from having had his opinion swayed by an interview he saw on television; they were interviewing the now notorious Narvadan prosecutor, Christopher Butterfield, who had just gotten a death sentence for a man that had strangled his wife to death with a phone cord.** **The prosecutor was under fire by a small percentage of the public for organizing a celebration party when the verdict was announced; the party had shot-glasses designed to look like syringes and a cake that was in the form of a tombstone, pictures of which were proudly uploaded to Facebook along with a video in which Mr. Butterfield, clad in a blond wig and formal blue dress, doing a mocking impression of the condemned man's sister for the amusement of his guests. Some people, the family of the condemned included, saw fit to question Mr. Butterfield's ethics. Doctor Gumstead counted himself among them; a prosecutor who would stoop so low couldn't be any better than the remorseless killer he had put on death-row.** **Still, he listened attentively while the prosecutor made his case; "I showed the offender exactly the same amount of mercy he showed his victim," Butterfield had said, "if you want to say I'm crass and maybe a little callous because of the way I conducted myself at a private party, fine. Just keep in mind how callous it was for that vermin to coldly and meticulously wrap a phone cord around Ms. Stratten's neck and squeeze until all the life drained from her body while she struggled, helpless and frightened. I'll bet the Stratten family are suffering too, but, of course, nobody cares about them. Nobody in the entirety of human history has ever cared about the victim, but I've been doing my damndest to try and change that!” At this point, tears formed in his eyes and his voice shook with uncontrolled emotion.“I gues**s **I just care** ***too much*** **about human life!" he bawled.** **The more parallels Christopher Butterfield drew between himself and the scum he had put on death-row, the more Doctor Gumstead came to realize that he had misjudged the noble prosecutor. Chris Butterfield was really a very compassionate man, he was just fed up with the way the media had always given sympathy and recognition to violent criminals while treating the victims and their families with cold indifference. He knew the media didn’t care about the victims of violent crime because TV and radio networks would helpfully remind him. Gumstead decided that Mr. Butterfield was a great attorney after all, and he did a pretty good female-impersonator to boot! Doctor Gumstead felt good knowing that he had been proven wrong. He liked knowing that he was never too wise to learn.** **The doctor entered the small chilly room where the patient was waiting. The patient looked the way the doctor felt; haggard, exhausted and eager to get the day over with. Doctor Gumstead produced a purple crayon from his pocket. "What color is this?" He asked in a dismal monotone.** **"Orange." Said the patient.** **Doctor Gumstead reached for the next crayon then stopped, unsure of what he had just heard. He asked again and this time got "Green". Gumstead looked at the crayon then looked back at the patient. His hope suddenly renewed for the first time in months. Excitedly he produced a green crayon.** **"Brown." Said the patient.** ***I’ll be damned!*** **Though Doctor Gumstead,** ***I will be DAMNED!*** **The breakthrough that he had been hoping for, but thought unobtainable had been reached! Gumstead couldn’t hide his excitement. He vibrated in his chair and grinned like a rambunctious child as he produced an orange crayon--"No color," the patient said, "it's transparent."** **Doctor Gumstead jumped from his seat and shouted something to the equivalent of “Yahoooooo!” Had he been wearing a hat, he would have beaten it against the side of his pants. He called up Mr. Mondale, the head of the hospital, and asked him to come down as soon as he could.** **"Which way is up?" Asked Gumstead.** **"Down." The patient responded.** **"Which way is left?" Asked Gumstead.** **"Right." The patient responded.** **"When is today?" Gumstead asked.** **"Yesterday;" the patient responded, "today was already tomorrow."** **“How would you describe the name Caroline?” asked doctor Gumstead.** **“A beautiful name for a beautiful person.” the patient said.** **It was then that doctor Gumstead began nudging Mr. Mondale in the ribs while saying, "Huh? Huh?"** **Mr. Mondale was impressed. He gave doctor Gumstead a firm handshake and enthusiastic congratulations. Then, just for the hell of it, a hug and a big sloppy kiss on the cheek...and he wasn't even Italian!** **The following week, they brought the patient in to meet with the country's foremost experts on human psychology to show them the results. After performing a series of cartwheels, backflips and aerial somersaults in an uncontrollably robust display of joy, they unanimously agreed that the patient, this David Miller, was finally ready to be reintroduced to the outside world.** **Doctor Gumstead wished David Miller luck and sent him on his way. For the next couple months, doctor Gumstead would respond to every mention of the word "hero" with an embarrassed smile and a modest shake of his head. "I just did my job." he would say, "I was on the verge of giving up, but then I got lucky."** **Still, Michael Gumstead would have been lying if he said that he didn't feel some sense of pride as he watched David Miller walk backwards through the gates of the institution with his backpack wrapped around his chest and his eyes staring directly into the mid-afternoon sun.** **Once a mental defect, now fit for normal society.


7** new messages New message* Hey.. it's me. I uh, I know we haven't talked in awhile but a friend of mine asked me something that I really thought you'd get a kick out of. So, your doctor tells you that you only have 24 hours left to live. By the time he's done explaining it and you’re standing outside his office you’re down to 23:30. Whaddya do? Anyway, call me back when you get this.. I miss you. *End message New message* Hey, it's me again. I couldn't stop thinking about that hypothetical so I figured I’d call you with a similar one, but a little further along the line. So, same start but now you've got your affairs in order. Important account information written down, utilities handled, any pets have a new home to go to, all that sorta stuff. You've got about 18 hours left and none of the paperwork left to waste time on. Whaddya do? Call me back when you get this.. I miss you. *End message New message* Me again. I've got a confession to make. There isn't any friend with a hypothetical, I just wanted a reason to call you. I’m actually just sitting at home, alone, a little drunk. Kinda pathetic but, you know, I'm not the most likable guy. Anyway, back on the hypothetical, picture that you've got enough booze to pickle a pastor and no real place to go. Down to about 12 hours, whaddya do? Call me back when you get this. I miss you. *End message New message* Hey. I went to see my Dad. No I didn’t drive, I… I learned that lesson. Someone planted flowers for him, Tiger Lilies. Probably, you know I’m awful with flowers. They were orange and dotty though, he would've loved them. For our one sided voicemail game, you're drunk and wandering with 8 hours left. Where do you go, what do you want to see? Whaddya do? Call me back when you get this. I miss you. *End message New message* So I went and got Sharky's. You remember that crazy old dude with the taco truck that would park down the street from the graveyard? He finally got a restaurant, right where he used to park that old beater. Saw me staggering around and brought me inside. We talked while he cooked up some dinner, turns out his wife is buried a few rows down from Dad. Anyway, I'm sure you figured it out by now but I’m down to about 5 hours. Sharky just got the biggest tip he’s ever seen and I’m sobered up, so, what should I do? I know you're not gonna call me back but… I miss you. *End message New message* I think I maybe fell asleep after I ate, woke up in a booth with a blanket over me. Sharky left a key with a note to bring it back tomorrow.. I dropped it in his mail slot. I wandered back over to the graveyard, it’s been too long since I visited. So, I've got about an hour, no loose ends to tie up, and nothing exciting to do. Guess I'll come say hi. Sorry you won't hear this. I miss you. *End message New message* Well, it may have taken me two years to get here but I made it. I’m so sorry you got here before me. If there is an after, I'm curious how you're going to meet me. In anger? Joy? Will you even be there? Or is there nothing and I’m just talking into a voicemail that's never gonna get checked? Guess I'll know soon enough. No need to call me back. I love you. *End of messages.


He approached me from the direction the sun was setting and asked me: “Where’s the end?” “What end? End of the World?” “Yes, precisely.” I was amused and pointed in the direction i never even looked before. I was hoping to get rid of unwanted company. The man left and I continued watching the sunset. But then I saw him again in the distance. He approached me from the direction the sun was setting and asked me: “Im afraid I can’t find it. Could you please do me a favor and guide me to it?” I checked the time. “I can’t, I don’t have time. Try it again, you must’ve taken the wrong turn somewhere along the way.” “I will, thank you.” He left in the same direction as before. My neck started to twitch, my head started to turn. My curiosity made me look after the wandering man. He was heading in an interesting new direction, interesting landscape, but without any sunsets. I gazed at the world with no sunsets for a while. But then I saw him again in the distance. He approached me from the opposite of the direction the sun was setting, he was shielding his eyes from the light and he asked me: “I went all the way and back and I still can’t find it. I’m afraid I’m in need of your assistance. Would you be so kind and come with me?” I looked at him and then checked the time. I do have some time but do I want to turn away from the sunset? I was unsure. “In that case you must be looking for a different end of the world. The one I know about is in this direction. I’m certain of that.” “That might be the case,” he agreed. “Thank you for the help anyways, I’ll try my luck and go this way now. You’re a good man, I’ll make sure to let you know where I’ll end up.” He left in the direction I never even knew existed the moment he was done speaking. The curiosity took over me again and I tried to turn my head to look at the leaving figure, but it simply couldn’t be done. My neck wasn’t meant to look in that direction. I resumed staring at the sunset. But it wasnt as majestic and impressive as before. Something was missing all of the sudden, but I couldn’t figure out what it was . I was too busy thinking about the end of the world and how to get there. So I sat there, blinded by the sun, lost in my thoughts. He approached me out of nowhere, just as I was starting to get sad about never seeing him again and never venturing in new directions. He asked me: “I found it and memorized the way. I can lead you there if you want. Do you?” I smiled at him and checked the time. I didn’t care what time it was. “Sure, I have a moment to spare.” \ This is my first story i wrote in english, so apologies if there are any grammar errors.


“What have we got, Maya?” “Port and starboard are online, sir. Aft visuals are online. Forward visuals…” “Maya? Maya?!” “Forward visuals working fine, sir. Just messing with you.” “Ugh. When did you get a sense of humor?” “Sometime around the last staff briefing, sir.” “Well that was clearly a mistake. I’ll have to send you back.” “Yes sir,” Maya chuckled. “How are the legs holding up?” “Holding up fine, sir. Permission to leave dock?” “Granted, Maya.” And with that, the door slid open, and the universe revealed itself. Maya’s mech put one massive foot in front of the other. The suit came up to a total of fifty feet in height, ten tons in weight. She used the mech’s two massive hands to grab onto the edges of the dock, then launched herself into the endless night. “Are you squealing, Maya?” “I am indeed, sir,” Maya said though a wide, toothy smile. “You’ve been out here before.” “And yet it never gets old.” The distant stars, dead yet undying, called to her, and she forced herself not to reach for them. She turned left, and the torso of her behemoth rotated on its axis before being joined by the legs. Stella Eranti took a more complete view as Maya drifted further out. She was to stay at a half-mile perimeter as she circumnavigated that floating city, to prep her for patrol duty. A week prior, she’d woken up in her pod. The barracks’ design was taken from old Japanese hotels, cots built into walls inside of folding doors. Apparently the aim was to save space and help the troops overcome any latent claustrophobia they might be suffering from. Maya, as far as she remembered, had never had that problem. Tight spaces had only ever been cozy to her. They’d opened her door, pulled her out, and told her she was going to pilot the *Maisu*. Nobody was entirely sure where the *Maisu 0* came from. It was an old model of mech rig, and it was found in an unclaimed solar system. On the planet now called Rangi, a massive sprawl of green sand and boulders, they’d found her. Buried beneath what was eventually decided as a collapsed mineshaft, they found her. The most perfectly designed mech-rig ever imagined. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been preserved well, but after several years of debate over who could claim ownership, the Duke of Stella Eranti was able to take her home. From there, his scientists analyzed the behemoth, and eventually reverse-engineered the *Maisu 1.* … Which, as Maya and everyone else in Stella Eranti learned in middle school history, collapsed instantly when someone tried to get inside and pilot the damn thing. *Maisu 2* had fared little better, and *3* and *4* were improvements, but it wasn’t until the *Maisu 5* that any of the Duke’s people were able to bring the beast into the space, where it belonged. Maya remembered the first time she’d read those words, in her school textbooks. It had been a revelation: the Rangians, whoever they word, whatever they’d truly called themselves, had been space-faring. She could recall the exact moment the information had entered her developing mind: a ten year old girl, black hair in pigtails, sitting in a cramped classroom at a desk already too small for her. Her classmates were so close beside her that everyone had no choice but to get used to it. Handed the text, a pad projecting holographic words onto holographic paper: *40,000 years ago, the Rangians reached for the stars and took hold. The only question is just how high they climbed.* Maya steered around the turn of the bottled city. They floating through unclaimed space, and nobody was on their sensors. They were all alone. Maya was all alone. But she didn’t feel that way. She never felt that way. Rangi was with her. *Maisu* was with her, all six of them. And it was perfect. She pushed forward. “Maya, what are you doing?” “Just testing her out a bit, Sir.” “You’re not authorized to do that, Maya.” “I know, but… I think I can push her a bit more, Sir.” “No, you can’t, Maya.” “But Sir!” “Maya! Report back immediately.” Maya looked out at the cosmos unfolding before her. She reached out, one hand her own and one the *Maisu.* The stars were there. She reached. She grabbed hold. The only question was how far she could get. At full thrust, the *Maisu* was capable of similar speeds to a runabout, but with far greater firepower and maneuverability. She launched, and she went forward. The others were after her immediately, and she fired before they did. The backlash was mostly absorbed by the machine itself, but there was still a small jolt from firing that many times. Maya’s heart thundered, sweat bursting from her pores. Yet her hands remained steady, and she refused to blink. She didn’t know why she was doing this, only that… Only that it was important. Important that she get to Rangi. The other mechs started firing back. They weren’t as strong or as fast as her *Maisu*, but there were dozens of them. Indirect hit after indirect hit- they were targeting her life support systems. They were trying to save the mech. Maya took down five, ten, twenty mechs before carbon dioxide flooded her cockpit. Then her hands stopped moving. Then her arms. Then everything. Her entire body began to stop. Simply… Stop. The last thing she saw was the stars. She wanted to reach out for them. She wanted more than anything for them to reach back. But she understood: they were already dead. \*\*\* “How are you feeling, Sir?” “Very good, Your Excellence.” “Sorry about the newest Maya. I knew you’d grown attached to that one.” “She was certainly the most successful thus far. But she wasn’t good enough. Not for the *Maisu*, and not for me.” “Too much of the original pilot’s DNA, you think?” “Perhaps. More human DNA might make Maya 21 easier to control.” “Very good.” “And the mech?” “Damaged. Not irreparably, but frankly it’d be more efficient to simply start work on *Maisu 6.*” “How long until I have a body again, Your Excellence?” “Three weeks at most. And again, I apologize for your having to shut down the last one. I understand that’s rather a painful process for you.” “It is. Is there anything else, or may I rest, Duke?” “One more thing: the Maya program is growing rather costly. We may have to face the reality that it’s not worth the effort or the expense.” “So I’m on thin ice, then?” “You are.” “Very well. You do understand, though: the rig only responds to Rangian DNA. It has to be a Rangian, or at least someone with primarily Rangian DNA.” “I do. I also understand that someone else can figure that out rather easily. So if this next Maya fails-” “Then you kill me and the *Maisu* both?” “That’s correct, Sir. You may rest now.” And with that, the Duke left the room in which Sir slept. Extracted from Maya 20, placed in computer storage, the personality drifted off. It slept, and it dreamt of the stars reaching back. More than anything, Sir wanted to go home. He suspected that was Maya’s problem as well. Home to where they’d been found, home to where they’d been pulled out of their sleep. They wanted the same thing, but they didn’t want it the same way.