Madeline watched the emotions flit across Liam’s face as he considered her question, small hands turning white as they gripped the kitchen table. Without meaning to, she soon found her leg was bouncing up and down. The tapping sound from her heel knocking against the cupboard filled the silence. In an attempt to alleviate the nervous energy, she hopped down off the counter and paced back and forth. Eventually, the wait became too much for her. “Come on, you had all night to think about it. Am I taking you back to the store? Or are you staying with me?” “I– I think I’d like to stay with you,” he said before hurriedly adding, “If that’s okay, that is.” Now it was Madeline’s turn to leave him waiting. Her mouth slowly opened and closed as she processed his answer. While she thought it was the right thing for him to do, she had somehow never really believed he’d be happy to leave the store – and any hope of seeing his father again – for good. It was part of what had made it easier to offer to keep looking after him. But now… Now she had to actually follow through. The thought made her chest tighten and sucked the saliva from her mouth. “Madeline? *Is* that okay?” His plaintive voice snapped her out of the rising panic. “Yes, yes of course. It just… surprised me. That’s all.” “Yeah,” Liam sighed, looking down at the table. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to go back. But everything you said last night made me realise it isn’t what my Dad would want. He left me there to be safe. But it isn’t safe there anymore.” Madeline nodded to herself, glad he’d taken her words to heart. “Well then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “We should get moving. I’ve packed as many of the supplies here as I can carry. Is there anything you can think of that you want to take?” Liam looked around and shook his head. “Okay. Let’s go.” After heaving her full bag onto her back and tucking her copy of *Emma* back under her arm, Madeline headed out the back door. Liam seemed keen to hang back again, keeping at least a few metres away, as he always did. By the time he was outside, she was already hauling herself over the fence. Together, they made their way across the gardens. When they reached the end of the row of houses, Madeline peered out into the street. Confident enough that it was clear, she stepped out and began her careful path along the road, clinging to the edge of the buildings as best she could. Now and then, she paused to consult her map, unsure whether sticking to the shortest route was best, or getting back to roads she knew as soon as possible. The comfort of familiarity won out over speed, and soon they were once again surrounded by the grey concrete of the city centre. As noon approached, she noticed Liam lagging further and further behind. Given that there was still plenty of daylight left, a short stop probably wouldn’t do much harm. She waited for Liam to catch up a bit, before beckoning him towards an old clothes shop. When she was sure he’d seen her, she stepped inside, broken glass crunching underfoot as she walked through the empty doorway. Inside, most of the stock lay untouched, covered in a thin layer of dust. Madeline picked her way through, stopping at the far side of the room to sling her bag off her back and sit cross-legged on the floor, book nestled on her lap. Liam's face poked through the clothes, and she gestured for him to join her. “I thought a break for some food and water would do us both some good.” “Yeah,” Liam replied as he lowered himself to the ground. “Thanks.” She threw him a pack of nuts and tore another open for herself. “Are you doing okay?” she asked before tossing a handful into her mouth. “I’m good.” “Really? We’ve got around the same distance to cover again. Perhaps a bit less. If you’re going to struggle I’d rather know now so I can find us somewhere safe to stay for the night.” “Really,” he confirmed. “But…” “Yes?” “I *would* like to know where we’re going.” Madeline paused in her chewing. While she fully understood his desire to not be kept in the dark, sharing any information about where she lived felt like a risk. If they came across a Poiloog on the way – if he got captured and she didn’t – she wanted to minimise what they could find out. “It’s… You’ll see when we get there, okay? For now, just know that it’s somewhere I’ve found to be safe and comfortable. And we’ll be there in a couple of hours.” He regarded her closely. “Okay then. But is there anything else you can tell me? Is it big, with plenty of space for both of us? Is there anyone else there?” “It’s pretty big, much bigger than the house we just came from. And no, it’s just me.” “For how long?” he asked. “A while,” she said, smiling at the look of frustration that crossed his face. “What? That’s all the detail you gave me at first?” “Yeah… but I did tell you more in the end.” “Alright. Like you, I’m not sure exactly. But definitely over a year.” Liam went back to eating his nuts, but his gaze kept flicking over to her. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?” “Yes…” “Go on then,” she said before tipping the last remnants of her packet into her mouth. “Why are you helping me?” The question caught her off-guard. She gave herself time to formulate an answer by chewing slowly, only swallowing when ready. “At first, you were right. I felt guilty that I might have put you in danger.” “And what about now?” “Now? I suppose I’ve just become used to having someone else around.” She scrunched up her empty packet and tucked it into her pocket as she stood. “Are you ready to go?” “Yeah,” Liam said, hurrying to finish up his food before scrambling to his feet. “Make sure to take that with you,” Madeline said, gesturing to his empty packet. “It’s best to avoid leaving traces where you’ve been. Just in case.” Nodding, he stuffed it into a pocket before backing up against the wall to maintain the distance between them as she walked past. Then they were back on their way. It was good to be in more familiar territory once again. While she had tried to avoid forming a sentimental attachment to any one place, she had to admit she had missed her library – and the streets around it. She could try and pretend it was all tactical. The home advantage gained from knowing the area like the back of her hand. But there was something more to it. It was her home. A home that she was about to share with someone else. The thought sent a rush of emotion through her. The cold flood of dread. The tingling of nervous excitement. The warm glow of hope. They made good time and soon the roof of the library could be seen peeking out of the city skyline. The sight set Madeline’s heart racing, hands trembling. It was difficult to control her pace – the surge of energy had to go somewhere – but Liam seemed able to keep up. When they finally reached it she wanted nothing more than to charge inside. But, excited as she was, she could not throw caution to the wind. She had been gone longer than planned – longer than ever before. The Poiloogs could have found it. Other people could have found it. Before she went inside, she needed to be as sure as possible that it was safe. Especially if she was taking Liam with her. A quick circuit of the building revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Windows were still either intact or boarded up. The front door was sealed. The only entrance left to check was the one she used. She made her way around to the wall that separated the library garden from the street. It was only then that a thought occurred. She beckoned Liam closer, and he edged forwards a fraction of an inch at a time. When he was a little over two metres away she gave up and whispered, “Do you think you can climb that wall?” He considered it carefully, doubt written across his face. “I didn’t think so,” she muttered. “That leaves us with a bit of a problem. I can help you over, but that requires letting me near you which you don’t seem keen on doing. Or I can leave you here while I go let you in another entrance. But that could take a while. And you’d be vulnerable. Alone.” “I– Errr… Maybe I could…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Can you help me over? But as quickly as possible, please?” “Okay.” Madeline strode over to the wall and jumped, seizing the top with both hands. Forcing her boots into the cracks between the bricks for extra support, she hauled herself up. Rather than swinging herself over fully, she paused with a leg on either side and held out a hand for Liam. He hurried forwards and grabbed it. With a heave, Madeline pulled him up and over, depositing him in the garden. He immediately hurried over to the far side, leaving her plenty of room to jump down herself. After some fumbling in her bag for the key, Madeline opened the bike lock that sealed the door and stepped inside. A familiar smell greeted her. One she hadn’t realised she’d missed, but that she could never quite put her finger on. It wrapped her in the comfort of home.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion When creating engaging and immersive stories a writer often begins with worldbuilding. It can involve complex history, religion, politics, geography, and even weather. This week I’d like to hear about one of the worlds that you have created. - Describe it. - How did you begin to plan for it? - What is the most unique thing about it? - Was your world always the way it is now? If not, what was it like before the change? *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


This is my first story, so please tell me what I can improve on. It has boy x boy down the line, so if you're uncomfortable with this, don't read. There will be violence as well. Also, there are perspective changes. **Part 1: Overreaction** *\*Beep beep\** I opened my heavy eyelids, slowly rising out of bed. "What time is it?" I thought, checking my alarm clock. *11:00 am* I was late. I cursed, throwing on the closest clothes on to me. I didn't care that the clothes smelled like day-old unwashed feet, I had to go. I ran out of my house, panicked and out of breath. As I reached the abandoned station we all agreed to meet at, I saw my friends impatiently waiting for me. As I approached them, the most impatient of all noticed me and angrily stormed towards me. "Charlie", the name in quotation marks because we don't really know his real name. It's kind of a name we gave him. His hair was straight in most parts, until the end were they curl up slightly. Anyways, Charlie stormed up to me and started screaming his head off. "**WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU FUCKING BEEN?! THERE BETTER BE A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOU WERE 5 FUCKING HOURS LATE!!**" "Jeez...." I thought. "He screamed so loudly his text turned bold." "ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION, DUMBASS!" "I overslept," I sheepishly replied. His face was pure anger. "How the FUCK did you sleep until 11:00 am?!" He yelled at me. "Now, now, Charlie, it's pretty rude for you to keep swearing, isn't it? I bet that if your mom found out she'd be pretty disappointed!" said Alex, one of my friends. Alex was almost the complete opposite of Charlie. He was tall, had wavy, sandy brown hair, and he usually wears a mischievous smirk. He's one of the most attractive guys in our group. He had multiple relationships since high school. However, all his relationships always ended within a week, with the girl often left crying and heartbroken. By the way, when I said complete opposite, I mean it. Charlie was the loyal friend who had near-perfect grades. Alex was the playboy who couldn't raise his grades for the life of him. However, while he has horrible grades, he's one of the smartest people I've ever met. And, Charlie was the super rich kid. Alex was the kid who'd be lucky to have something other than takeout for dinner. He's broke, and often borrows money from us. Plus, Charlie is an orphan. "....You bastard," Charlie whispered in a barely audible voice. "Take back what you said." "And what if I don't? What're you gonna do, huh? Go tell your mom?" Alex smirked. He liked making Charlie angry. It’s a hobby of his. Charlie screamed and launched himself at Alex, fist-first, and would've landed a hit on Alex if it wasn't for Nicholas, who grabbed his leg and pulled him back. "Woah, what the heck? Stop trying to attack people just because of jokes!" Nicholas laughed. "As if you can tell me that! You literally killed someone because they insulted you!" Charlie snarled. "Well, that jerk had it coming!" Nicholas pouted. Nicholas was, surprisingly enough, one of the oldest in our group, at 27 years old. He has long, wavy, soft whitish-silver hair that he ties into a braid. "By the way, where is Damian? We're leaving any minute," I mused. "Oh, real talk coming from you, Miss I-overslept-until-11:00am!" Charlie shot at me an angry look. "Hey!" I shouted. "Hey, I'm here..Sorry for being late.." Damian mumbled. Damian is a tall and thin man with raven-black hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. He’s 27 years old, like Nicholas. He ran up to us, embarrassed for making us wait for him. He quickly apologized. “But where are we going? I have to go in 5 hours,” He sighed. “Aw come on, Damian! Even though it’s cool to be friends with an international pop-star, you never have time for us anymore!” Nicholas whined, shaking Damian. Damian blushed slightly from the contact, then pushed Nicholas away. He cleared his throat and stopped blushing. “Ah, what a shame. Damian blushing was pretty pathetic and funny,” Alex mused. “Is it just me, or are you gay for-” “Shut it, Alex. You can finish that sentence when you get a girlfriend for more than a week. Or is that too hard of a task?” Damian smirked. Alex gritted his teeth and balled up his fists, but after a few seconds, relaxed and grinned. “Of course it’s too hard, Damian! All the girls here are dense! They can’t see anything beyond my bad days! How can I keep someone who doesn’t look beyond the surface?!” Alex’s smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “But how would you know? You’ve never had the guts to talk to anyone outside our group that aren’t in the rodent family. What’s so fascinating about hamsters and rats, anyways?” The air around the two of them turned cold. I couldn’t tell what Damian was feeling. His face was like a blank canvas. Suddenly everything went blank for half a second, and everything returned to normal, with the exception of Alex. He was on the floor, shivering, and his hands was grabbing his face. His eyes showed pure shock. We all looked at Damian. His eyes were blank, and his face was splattered with blood. His gloved hands were stained with blood. He dropped something. It was Alex’s nose and the skin around it\*.\* We all were in shock. Alex was silent for a few seconds, as the reality hit him. He started screaming in pain, and immediately Charlie ran to his side and tried to help him up. By this time, the floor where Alex’s head was had a pool of blood, Alex’s hair and clothes were stained with blood, and his face had blood. Blood was running down his arms, and now staining Charlie’s shirt a dark red. A minute of tension between us and Damian and Nicholas. Finally, Damian opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. Eventually, the second time he opened it, words spilled out. “That bastard deserved it." “THE ONLY THING ALEX DID WAS JOKE ABOUT YOU NOT TALKING TO ANYONE OTHER THAN US AND RATS! WHAT ABOUT THAT DESERVED YOU RIPPING HIS FUCKING NOSE OFF?!” "SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND A THING, ANYWAYS!" Charlie opened his mouth, probably to scream at Damian again, but he stopped. I didn’t understand why until I noticed. Alex was weakly tugging at Charlie’s sleeve, and Alex looked like he was about to pass out soon. Charlie quickly picked him up and ran off to the direction of the closest hospital. All we could do was hope Alex survives long enough to reach the hospital. We all turned to Damian and Nicholas, enraged that Damian did this all for a simple joke. We charged him, but before we could get to close, Nicholas stepped in and shielded Damian. “Move aside, Nicholas. We don’t want to hurt you,” Cassandra said. “I know, but don’t hurt Damian. You’d understand why he did all this if you knew what happened to him,” Nicholas pleaded. We all stared at them for a solid 2 minutes. "Whatever," I finally said in a flat tone. "Let's go home, guys." While we were walking home, we all felt an odd way. “What was up with Damian, anyway?” Cassandra whined, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I bet he let the fame go to his head! He better not forget that he’s the weakest in our group!” Jay sighed. “He was always odd like that. He’s always been emotionally unstable, it was quite a surprise he became a celebrity.” “Whatever. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I said, trying to break the ice. “Shut up,” they all snapped. We walked home in silence after that.


The Death of us “Amelia, you’ve been in cryosleep for quite some time your duty calls.” said the onboard AI Jack. “What’s the problem, Jack?” I asked with a tone of slight annoyance. “The station's power grid is failing causing all cryo-pods to be shut down. The emergency power generators are only powering all essential systems including your cryo-pod. Unfortunately, the rest of the staff’s cryo pods have severe malfunctions that cannot be repaired.” Jack said with a tone of disappointment. “What about the plant life? We need that to create a colony on Planet X-1789.” I asked with a worried tone. “The plant life has died Amelia. There is nothing we can do to revive the plants.” Jack said in a serious tone “Well, there has to be a solution. There is always a solution.” I said in denial “Amelia there is one hope for the survival of the human race.” Jack said in a slightly hopeful tone. “Well, what is the solution Jack?” I asked “There are signs of bacterial life on the dwarf planet Pluto. If you can bring a sample then I could modify the genetic code to that of a human being and allow the bacteria to transform into a human being under my constant supervision slowly.” Jack said doubtfully. “Then prepare a shuttle to Pluto.” I said not knowing what to expect. Jack prepared me on what to expect when I arrived. And I was nervous, to say the least in fact I was trembling thinking about if I would crash and die on impact. I looked at Earth and thought of the time I spent there before boarding the space station. Remembering friends and family the sky and the feel of the warm summer sun with occasional breezes. The days when the climate was habitable before climate change before you had to wear an oxygen mask and tank on your back just to breathe oxygen. Now there was nothing special about earth it was a planet among all the others just another lifeless planet. Eventually, I landed on Pluto and began to drill through the ice when the drill had drilled 500ft there was liquid water. I rejoiced at the fact that there was hope however, it was only a puddle of liquid water. I quickly collected the water and went back to the shuttle. Upon returning to the station I gabbed the sample of water and put it in a storage compartment for Jack to collect and I had a moment of realization when jack said “Amelia what have you done. You have damned all of humanity.” “How I did what I was told?” I said still not fully comprehending what I had done. “You put the sample in the incinerator shute.” When I had fully realized the reality of the situation I knew what I must do. I walked back to the shuttle bay and I sent the shuttle to the destination Planet X-1789. I added special instructions to open the shuttle upon impact. And set the shuttle on course to Planet X-1789 in approximately 1000 years. In the hopes that my DNA would be preserved and spread life.


###An Important Message I’ve been seeing quite a few zeros for feedback over the last few weeks. Please remember that **feedback is a requirement for this feature**. Each week that you write, you must leave 2 feedback comments on the thread. Keep in mind that feedback can be ways to improve and/or praise! You can tell the author the specific things you liked about their story and the writing as feedback. If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on the Discord. #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Yearning! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘Yearning’. What do your characters long for? Is it a person? A feeling? A state of being for themselves or the world around them? How do these things drive them forward, and push them to achieve their goals? How does it affect their behavior and interactions with one another? What happens when a character longs for someone or something that they know is bad for them? How does the story change when the one they’ve been yearning for unexpectedly shows up? These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - July 10 - Yearning (this week) - July 17 - Alliance - July 24 - Brotherhood   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. *Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title.* If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** Our bot will not be able to log these. - **On Saturdays, I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. **We now start at 1pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server!** Be sure to grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including new posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings ###Two Week Ago - “Visitor” - **First place:** - by u/mattswritingaccount   - **Second place:** - by u/Zetakh   - **Third place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/AshColeVT   - **Crit Star:** u/FyeNite ###Last Week - “Weakness” - **First place:** - by u/mattswritingaccount   - **Second place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Third place:** - by u/MeganBessel   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/FyeNite   - **Crit Star:** u/FyeNite - **Crit Star:** u/rainbow\-\-penguin *Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques (on the thread) and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC or have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .*   *** ###Subreddit News - Call for voters for our on r/WritingPrompts! Check out the post and comment to become a voter! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


"A demon." "Yeah man, that's what I've been trying to tell you. A demon wrecked my place last night." Dave looked up from his phone. "Are you sure it's not just your latest excuse for your crappy housekeeping habits? I mean, really? A demon?" I shook my head a little. "Come on man, that's harsh. But yeah, really, a demon. You know the PS5 controller I borrowed from you last week?" Dave nodded and laid his phone on the breakroom table. He sat back as he said, "Yeah, what about it?" "The demon stepped on it!" I stomped my foot "smash, into a hundred pieces!" Dave glanced down at his phone then back up at me. "Ok, let's say it was a demon. How did a demon get into your living room?" I stepped back a half step and looked down at the table. "Well, I, uh, I kinda summoned it" I mumbled, trying to say it without saying it. "You summoned a demon. Ok. How, exactly, did you summon a demon?" I looked back up at him. "Well, that book I told you I found, the one in that weird language, remember?" Dave nodded. "Well, it turns out that there's a translator app that can use your camera to read it. So, I went through and translated a bunch of stuff and read it and figured out how to do a summoning ritual." Dave leaned forward and put his forearms on the table, palms flat. "You did all this? Really?" "Hey man, I'm not stupid you know. I know how to do a lot of stuff and I can figure things out pretty good sometimes." Dave nodded as he shifted back again and crossed his arms. "And yet you summoned a demon in your living room and let it trash the place." I could only nod a little. "Well, yeah, I did do that, but I didn't expect him to trash the place. That wasn't part of the plan." "Ok, so, what was the plan? What are you planning that requires a demon?" I smiled. "Well, getting rich and stuff. You know, and not having to be afraid of anyone or having to work or whatever. Just doing anything I want whenever I want." Dave just looked at me. He stared at me until it got uncomfortable. I started shifting my weight back and forth until I couldn't take it anyomre. "What, man? Why are you just staring at me?" He spoke slowly and carefully. "I can see why someone might try to summon a demon to get all those things, freedom and stuff. But I'm still not sure I can believe you actually did it." I nodded a little. "Yeah, ok, I get it man. That's fair I guess. But I'm not lying, I swear." Dave nodded. "I can see that you believe it. So I'm not going to try and argue with you. But now I have to ask, what's next? Is your demon going to give you what you ask for?" I nodded. "Yep. Today! Just as soon as he's done, uh, taking care of a few things... a few, you know, demon things..." Dave started to speak but before he could we heard screaming out on the plant floor. His eyes darted to the door then back at me. I nodded. "Look man, I really like you so I decided to give you a chance. If you stay in here with me then you won't get hurt. Because I'm in here this room is off limits. But," I turned and pointed towards the door. There was more screaming and the sound of machinery and stuff being thrown around. "If you decide you just have to run out and try to help or save anyone then you're fair game." I turned back to face him, leaned over and put my hands on the table. "Stay here, man. You've got a family. I'll hook you up and..." Dave slid his chair back and stood up, eyes wide and completely freaked out. "You crazy or something? What the hell is wrong with you?" The screams and the sounds of destruction were overwhelming as he ran out the door. It faded some when the door closed. I stood back up, put my hands on my hips and looked at the door. "Dangit Dave, that's why I really wanted you to stay with me. You always were such a great guy.


Hi im new to reddit but i would like to share some of my stories ive written. If any of my formating is wrong please do inform me. Symphony of Symmetry The soft pitter patter of the rain was contrasted by the baritone clop of boots. It was a sound all of us had grown used to these days. From one place to another we marched. The muted browns of our heavy cloaks offset by the soft reds, quiet yellows, and heavy blacks underneath. Most of us rested our tools on our shoulders, me? I held mine at my side where it belonged. Picking up my pace I could hear my brothers voice carry over the wind. He spoke of a new job. One were we would no longer be cold and hungry, and most importantly, out of this twice damned rain. Settling by his side I asked him of just where we were going. Speaking tersely and quickly he told me it was merely a good day of travel away. I could only scoff at that. Merely a day he says. The ground beneath our feet will have turned to mud and water by then. But at last it was still too good of a job to pass up. So I could only grumble softly to myself as we walked. It was a cold and dreary night fit only for the most desperate and foolish. Unfortunately I guess that includes me, and this half dead band of misfits. As we settled and made camp for the night I could feel the pit in my gut grow deep. I hate being right, and I most definitely hate when my advice is not heeded. The soft whispers of steel through air clashed with the hissing and sharp clanging of metal meeting metal. It was a sound I wish I could have forgotten and moved past. Alas fate has deemed me it’s bitch. And so I drew the tool upon my side and waded into the thick of it. Blade singing as blood was freed from its warm prison, coating the dirt and myself as if it was spilled ink. My tool was one well cared for and despite my misgivings my body remembered the motions well. Bodies fell as if grain before a sickle. But I had grow blind to my own shortcomings, arrogant in my prowess. And as I felt pain blossom from beneath my lungs I could only chuckle wetly. A man once told me that those who killed should be prepared to be killed themselves. I had agreed with him that day. Yet as pins and needles spread from my feet and fingers and my breaths grew shallower and sharper I could only think of my regrets, of the what if’s. Of what I could have done better. But as the tears dried upon my face and the rattle of my breath finally faded I could hear a most beautiful sound. One of duality, of the good and bad, of the right and wrong. Of bright stars and a cold abyss. And it felt so right. Like a missing piece of a whole I did not know was incomplete. And so as I died I knew death. And so as I breathed again I knew life.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Image: ** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - Something is repaired. This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e., the title, subject, setting, etc.). The bonus constraint is not required. *** #How It Works - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them a comment on the thread with some feedback.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.** Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback on the thread:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out as an example.   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/FyeNite - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/PrimitiveDreams - **Crit Star** - u/randallus *Note: Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Practice those poetry skills with our brand new feature, , on r/WritingPrompts! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Like a tidal wave he crashed through the first rank of shields and spears. Sweeping through them, his axe connected with flesh, muscle and bone. The smell of iron hung heavy around him, blood spilling like water from mortal fountains. This was his home, this was his domain. The frenzied screams of agony sounded far away, even though he could see writhing faces before him. He danced the dance of gods, to the music of death and decay. His every movement calculated, no one was left alone – or alive. Soon, the enemy soldiers began retreating. No amount of wages would ever be enough for them to face the warrior god. His friends and allies came rushing past him as he stood unmoving in silence, a single tear escaping his left eye. The ululating screams of victory roamed about in the forest. The trees danced in the wind as if they were celebrating. With limbs and armour in hand, his friends came back to find Aramon kneeling. They stood in silence with eyes closed, joining their friend and champion in prayer. The moment he rose up, he saw their grins widening. They quickly swarmed him and howled like wolves to the invisible moon. He too howled, but not for the same reason as them. *I live to see another day, Elmira. Our victory was almost absolute, but we did sustain losses. Losses that the earth can bear, but my heart cannot. Ra’ik fell today. I will forever remember his eyes looking up at me. In them I saw only scorn and disappointment. Even though he died a warrior’s death, the only death of honour that he knew of – I need to believe that he would have preferred to have died in silence, in his own home. I know I would. Being away from you is torture enough, but to constantly fear for my life takes its own toll. Being awake has become a nightmare and I wish for sleep to take me early each night. You see, I dream of our garden. Of our lives and our children that will one day roam about. I see their faces clear as day. Their smiles brighten my existence almost as much as yours. It is enough to keep me going. No matter what I see and experience in the hell that is war, I go on until I can feel your embrace yet again.* About two hundred warriors clad in leather and mail marched with eerie silence through the thick forest. According to their scouts, they were outnumbered three to one. However, they had the advantage of knowing this. Each soldier was expected to scout and learn the lay of the land. This way they were able to move through it swiftly and without much noise. It didn’t matter if they were on their own territory or far away. And they were definitely not close to home. So far they had been able to ambush their enemies and steadily dwindle their numbers without taking too many casualties. They pushed on until night arrived with its fierce darkness. The moon’s rays of light weren’t able to penetrate the thick canopy. Aramon missed its silver light and the shadows it formed within the forest, but found the warmth from the campfire to be sufficient. While enjoying ale and roasted boar, they talked amongst themselves loudly. They were sure enough that their enemies had no idea where they were, and so they were free to shout and laugh. Some reminisced about former battles, others tried to figure out what the enemy soldiers were fighting for. Even though they would fight to the death to protect their land, they couldn’t fathom why their enemies would. Knowing what came for them should be reason enough to surrender. Everyone but Aramon laughed as someone pointed this out, flagons of ale clashing together. The warm embrace of intoxication soon lulled them off to sleep. Lying on the forest floor, eyes closed but not being able to sleep, Aramon felt the cool summer breeze suddenly envelop him. It reminded him of the soft touch of his beloved and soon after fell into a deep slumber. Their force was perhaps outnumbered in size, but not in spirit. They had all communed with their god of war before preparing for what was hopefully the last battle of this campaign. After today they would enjoy the spoils of war and new land for their king to call his own. A mighty warrior king, Lothric stood taller than most men and his body was covered in scars from deadly battles. He alone refrained from using heavy armour, complaining about how it hampered his movements. His great axe was made by the clans’ best blacksmith and gilded with silver and gold. He stood before them now, a giant amongst men, his voice thundering as his eyes glittered with bloodlust and greed. On the other side stood terrified men. Men who had heart the terrifying tales from their comrades who’d survived previous skirmishes. They fought for their freedom and their land. They fought for their wives and their children. They fought for their honour. Nonetheless, they were frightened to their very core. They knew what the king was capable of. Gruesome and passionate, he slashed people in two while laughing maniacally. However, the tales of the one who danced through the battle, killing indiscriminately with cold eyes and an expressionless face made their bones quiver. Rushing towards the others, Aramon pushed away all thoughts of Elmira and any hopes and dreams that persisted within him. He had to become what he hated, a machine void of emotions. He had honed his skills over many years and a seemingly endless cycle of violence. He saw the fear in the faces of his enemies as he came closer. The frigid blood within their veins would soon soak the earth. These men had done nothing to Aramon, but any doubts or thoughts regarding their right to live was quickly squashed by his now glacial mind. Crashing into the first soldier, his force was overwhelming. His axe crushed bone, severed sinew and muscle like it was soft clay. He ducked, dodged and blocked attacks from all directions. It was like he had seen this happen a thousand times before and had rehearsed his role perfectly. Lothric saw this splendid choreography of death which was unveiling before his eyes. A roar of passion escaped him and he laughed loudly, his eyes widening as he stared down the soldier in front of him. “The god of death is upon us men! Run! Run for your lives! He will take your soul to the underworld and keep it caged for all eternity. Run if you value your souls!” The terror of their screams and their panicked eyes were but a distant hum for Aramon. His lithe and deadly movements ground to a halt as the people before him ran. He stood still, his breathing slow and steady. As so many times before, his fellow tribesmen ran past him, weapons ready and their minds bent on bloodshed. Aramon hoped that this truly was enough for the others to finally surrender. He looked around, the twisted faces of the fallen gazing upon him with fear and hatred. Not wanting to disrespect their bodies by forcing their eyes shut, he closed his own. *It is finally over. Lothric told us that we are staying for a few weeks more, but at least we can both rest easy knowing that the fighting is done. Regarding what you said in your last letter – I agree. I more than anyone wish that I could do something else than being a cog in Lothric’s war-machine. Alas, I have nothing else to give this world. I have no other talents. This terrible gift which was thrusted upon me by my poor excuse of a father. With every beating grew a rage which could only be harnessed through violence. If he knew that he was creating a monster or did so in ignorance, I do not know. The only man who could answer that question was killed by his creation on that fateful night that still haunts my dreams. I hate that my gift takes me far away from the one who gave me a life worth living. A life I fight to survive for. But my fate was sealed that night. Unknowingly I spun myself deeper into a web of violence until I was completely caught in it. Within that web is where I hide my deepest self, the one that only you have seen and no one but our children will ever see. Within that web I am caught, but somehow I also remain free. Trying to do anything else but what I hate scares me more than I have perhaps been willing to admit. I was bred not only to survive, but actually thrive in this hellscape. The cowardice propels me forward toward the ones they call our enemies. People with hopes and dreams and fears and love. I hope with all my soul that I will one day become a courageous man.


“Adem! It looks like we have a problem.” Eugene was sitting with crossed arms in his office chair when Adem arrived at his manager’s desk. He gestured towards the computer screen with a subtle nod. “What is this about, Euge?” Adem suppressed his urge to sigh, but like almost everyone, it seemed Eugene could read him like a book. “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something important?” “Well, actually-” Adem knew he would not make it to the end of his sentence. Even getting shit on by his boss only felt like acting out an uninspired play at this point. Eugene interrupted him, “Because I could swear I just saw you cracking jokes with the guys when I walked by your desk earlier.” Adem pressed his lips together. The truth was, Sandy and Carl were making fun of his skin, which, according to them, looked more translucent every day. He had attempted to save face by laughing it off as if he were in on the jokes. But he wouldn’t give Eugene the satisfaction of clarifying this misunderstanding. Adem lifted his head. “I got a few calls to make. We got two new orders from PC Whiz and they didn’t clarify the end customer.” With a quick jump-like motion, Eugene uncrossed his arms and grabbed the computer mouse on his desk. “You know, since you brought it up, Adem,” he started frantically scrolling the mouse wheel, “I’m a little concerned. I just checked your daily outbound calls and… Adem.” Eugene loved to throw in Adem’s name as often and as condescendingly as possible, “correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember that we agreed upon a minimum of 20 calls a day.” Somehow Eugene managed to make even his mouse clicks sound unbearably disappointing. “Yet I am reading here that you made only 17 calls today. Adem, I thought we had a deal…” For a brief moment, the image of his doctor’s face swiftly appeared in Adem's head. He didn’t eat and sleep well lately, and it clearly showed during his check-up at the clinic the other day. His boss had the same rehearsed, worried look on his face right now. But unlike Dr. Phelps’, Eugene’s expression provoked an emotional reaction in him. “As I said,” Adem noticed his voice becoming increasingly desperate. “I still have to do a few calls today.” “Uh-huh…” Eugene muttered, while dramatically lifting his left hand, checking his watch. It was late afternoon. Had Adem not been summoned away from his cubicle, he probably would have ended his two calls with PC Whiz and the supplier by now, scoring him a total of 19 calls for the day. For the twentieth, Adem usually called up his mom to let her know he was still hanging in there. He hated doing that after work. But it looked like this cheat was becoming a bit risky, given Eugene’s newfound attention to detail when it came to outbound calls. Management loved to use phone call numbers as some arbitrary indicator for sales performance. Nobody seemed to care that Skype and Zoom, next to email, had become the predominant methods of communication among their tech-oriented business customers. Of course, tracking any communication channels involving anything more modern than a landline would require new infrastructure, new software, new processes… generally things management wasn’t really interested in. At least that was Adem’s impression. For all he was concerned, phone calls remained the ‘key performance indicator’. “So you’re working late today?” Eugene asked with an expectant glance up from his watch. “Yes.” Adem sighed. This time for real. “I’m working late today.” It was already dark when Adem left the office. Like every day, he was parked at the very end of the business center parking lot. It became a habit after a few awkward interactions with coworkers once he started spending lunchtime in his car. Just as he was reaching for the key to his battered Ford Focus, the magical glissando of a harp started sounding from his pocket. The intro to Catherine The Great by The Divine Comedy. Once again, Adem was embarrassingly reminded that he really should change his ringtone. He loved that song, but it wasn’t an ideal ringtone for this particular woman - the only person who called him anymore. Tonight, he wasn’t going to pick up the phone. Instead, he typed a short text message: “I’m okay mom, just very tired. Call you tomorrow. Good night!” The response came only a few seconds later: “I found Nora’s handbag. What should I do with it?” “What handbag?” Adem thought to himself. It didn’t matter. There were about a dozen of Nora’s old handbags collecting dust somewhere in the house. Alongside boxes of coats, shoes, jewelry, even a fully stocked cupboard of Irish breakfast tea which he still had to get rid of somehow. “Keep it.” he texted back and unlocked his car. Once he arrived back home Adem didn’t bother turning on a single light in the house. He liked it better this way. The darkness allowed him to go about his business without seeing the trash bags piling up in the hallway. It also prevented him from seeing all the dust and dirt that had accumulated after months of abandoning his homely duties. And as a bonus, it spared Adem from catching a glimpse of the old pictures on the walls. He’d considered taking them all down for a little while, but he could not bring it over himself. At some point, he contemplated covering the pictures with blankets, but the thought of that made him feel like a sociopath. Granted, living alone in a dark, cluttered mess of a house wouldn’t portray him as a mentally sound individual either. But it seemed like a good compromise. This way, theoretically, all that separated him from living in a relatively normal home was a couple of light switches and window blinds. As Adem dragged himself upstairs, a sudden feeling of dizziness made him freeze up. He hastily reached for the wooden stair railing. Something was off… There was a sudden warmth surrounding him, but not in a comfortable way. It was like the air just got heavy and viscous. Every movement seemed to generate heat and pressure on his skin as if the atmosphere was resisting him. At once, Adem could feel his heart pumping violently and loudly as if it had just started beating for the first time today. Sweat started running down his forehead. “I’m not getting sick, am I?” He thought to himself. “Goddammit, Euge is gonna have a field day with me tomorrow!”. In his head, he could hear Eugene gossiping about him with his coworkers, “I’m sorry guys, you gotta handle Adem’s customers. Little Fight Club called in sick today!” He could see Sandy rolling her eyes, “Again? Wasn’t he at the doctor’s literally two days ago?”, and Carl complaining, “If you ask me that dude’s a lazy fuck. That’s probably why his wife left him too.” In a delirious blur, Adem could suddenly see Nora’s face before his eyes. Smirking at him cheekily. Nora was the one person who never gave up on him. Who always tried to understand and alleviate his pain. But she never let him feel sorry for himself. “Leave the self-pity to those who don’t have a Nora in their life, gummy bear,” she used to say to him. Adem abruptly realized that he had never told the office what really happened to her. But just as he finished this thought, it all went away, only to leave behind a painful feeling of emptiness. The house was eerily silent and dark again. Adem just stood there alertly for a moment, before climbing the last couple of steps. “Maybe one light won’t hurt” he negotiated with himself as he walked through the hallway. In his bedroom, he flipped the switch next to the doorway. A warm light illuminated the room dimly. Apparently, one of the two bulbs had died, causing the lamp to cast uncanny shadows from the ceiling onto the junk-covered furniture and the beige, scruffy carpet. “Alright then. Bedtime it is.” “What the fuck.” When Adem woke up, something was definitely, one hundred percent, very wrong. “What the fuck.” he repeated intuitively before he had even fully opened his eyes. This wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like waking up. More like regaining control after a very strong trip. Adem tried to recall if he had smoked any pot before going to sleep. No, he was sure he didn’t. He sat upright in his bed. Except, it wasn’t actually his bed, it appeared. It certainly wasn’t his bedroom. In fact, there wasn’t a room at all! Somehow, the bed he was sitting on was surrounded only by what seemed like an endless void. The floor looked like his regular bedroom floor. He could make out the familiar discolored spots and stains on the carpet. But the floor did not reach any walls. It extended endlessly, blending with a clean, cloudless, orange-yellowish horizon somewhere far, far out in the distance. The ceiling was gone. So were all the walls and furniture. There was no obvious source of light, yet it was almost blindingly bright. Adem’s eyes hurt from the abrupt change, adjusting only slowly to the new ambiance. His body felt weak and shaky while he touched the fuzzy carpet with his toes, and as he stood up he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Adem.” He turned around back towards the bed. Standing on the other side - was Nora. Immediately, an unfathomable amount of time passed. Or no time at all. It was impossible to tell. At some point, Adem must have fallen onto his knees. At some point, he must have started crying uncontrollably. But when was that? The tears had already started to dry up and were dripping cold from his chin when he first noticed them. She was still standing there. But not really. How could she? Smiling gently, Nora walked around the bed towards Adem. Right in front of him, she joined him on the carpet floor. Kneeling, she reached for his hands. She held them with a soft grip and looked deep into his dark eyes. “I am dreaming?” Adem whispered. He couldn’t tell for sure if he was really saying anything, but Nora seemed to understand him. She smiled. “Maybe.” “I… I missed you so much,” he said in a jittery voice. “Where have you been all this time?” He gasped. Every spoken word felt like it sucked all the oxygen out of his lungs. Nora laughed one of her silent, wispy laughs. “Well… Right here, gummy bear.” Adem smiled back at her. Then they hugged each other, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Adem was happy.


When I was little, we lived in the apartment right above my grandfather’s shop. He was a tailor who, according to Dad, used to do quite well back in the day. Before fines forced him to shut down. Something to do with the IRS and unaccounted revenue. My poor grandfather was beside himself. I overheard Dad telling Uncle Eddie that their father was just too old to keep up with the place, and too stubborn to give it up. Now, the once thriving staple of their childhood sat fully stocked and lifeless. Dad was forced to find other work, running through a string of jobs before settling for a sales position at some insurance company downtown. He hated it. And so did Mom. She became miserable over our new lifestyle. She started drinking a lot, something even my young mind had picked up on. Then Dad caught her cheating and, rather than trying to save the family, she decided to run off with the new guy. It was strange how fast everything had changed. One night Mom was singing me to sleep, and the next, I was all alone. Dad did what he could, but he, too, was in pain and unable to truly explain to his six year old daughter what was going on. That was when the night terrors started. I’d wake to the sound of someone screaming, this bone chilling screech that would pierce through my own shrieks from under the blankets where I’d hide. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of a woman standing in the corner of my bedroom, staring at me from behind a curtain of long, dark hair, mouth agape. It sent me into hysterics. My dad’s hurried arrival would soon become a tired routine, his frustration less subtle each time he listened to me rant on about the Screamy Lady. He tried assuring me that my mind was making me see and hear things that weren’t there, all because I missed Mommy so much. He said that sometimes the things that make us sad on the inside had a way of coming out. This, of course, did nothing to make the Screamy Lady go away. She’d show up again and again, just as I was falling asleep. The neighbors must’ve hated me, and for a while I worried that my dad might too. Between the shop closing, my mother leaving, my grandfather’s steady decline, and the struggle to make ends meet, my dad was already going through enough. I didn’t want to add to it, and I knew that I was. Dad wasn’t sure what to do with me, nor was Uncle Eddie, who was kind enough to babysit from time to time so his brother could work the second job he so desperately needed. Therapy was too expensive. We tried changing my diet, changing my bed time, leaving the lights on. None of it worked. The screams continued to wake me. Knowing they were coming but not knowing when, I stopped sleeping altogether, which then began to affect the rest of my life. My behavior slipped, my grades plummeted. Teachers were calling home in shock, wondering what had happened to me. My dad explained it away with the divorce, but he knew this problem wasn’t going away. So he got creative. He made me a doll. One that loosely resembled my mother. It was shoddily made with scraps of old fabric that had long been sitting in the back room of the shop, but Dad assured me that the doll was special and would watch over me as I slept. I wasn’t receptive at first. Part of me was afraid of waking up in the middle of the night to find the thing screaming at me as I held it close to my face. I was pleasantly surprised when, on our very first try, I woke to a brightening pink sky. I’d made it to morning without any screams, peering into the dark corner to find nothing there. I hugged that doll so tight and never let go, going on to sleep with it for far longer into my childhood than I probably should have. My dad, of course, was elated. We were both finally sleeping again. It didn’t bother him that the doll needed its own dinner plate, or that it had to be buckled into the backseat, or that I’d spend all day speaking to it as though I was the mother and the doll was me. Dad would sometimes pretend to not know which one was me and which one was the doll, a gag I thoroughly enjoyed. I teased back that the Lilah doll was always wearing the same outfit! So he brought up more fabric for me to look through, smiling as he sewed to the sounds of my excitement. When I asked Dad if he could also get the Lilah doll a backpack and shoes, he laughed. But then a light went off in his head. He thought about turning this into something big. A fully customizable doll, with an array of attachable accessories. Fun enough to play with during the day, but soft enough to be held tight through the night. He pitched the idea to Uncle Eddie who was immediately on board and probably desperate for a reason to get out from behind the supermarket cash registers. With my little Lilah doll tucked under my arms, I’d creep out of bed some nights to find them tirelessly sewing or debating business plans far above my head. They made deals with local retailers and even went door-to-door, selling whatever they could in hopes of one day bringing the corpse of their father’s shop back to life. It wasn’t long before we were changing the modest, black sign from *Vinny’s Tailor Shop* to a loud pink and blue that read *The Lilah Door Store*. It was crazy how quickly our lives changed. Lilah Dolls sold faster than we could make them, and before we knew it, we were opening up a second store in the South Shore Mall. Dad moved us into a much nicer place, a house overlooking the hills of our downtown, the lights of the city shining into my bedroom window. I’d never seen him so happy, certainly not since my mother had left. When I asked if this meant she would come back, he got very stern and said no, a sharp and definitive refutal. I thought I’d done something wrong, and he must’ve felt bad because he softened his tone and apologized, telling me about how his mother had left him too, and that he knew how difficult it was growing up without a mommy. It would be okay, he said, because now he had me. I smiled as he tucked me in and kissed me goodnight, trying my best to swallow how deeply I missed my mother. When Grandpa passed later that year, I held my breath at the thought of her attending the funeral. It felt wrong anticipating such a thing at that time, as Dad was more upset than I’d ever seen him. Many people (most of whom I did not know) were stopping by the house for lengthy visits, distant family or friends of my grandfather. Even some loyal customers of years past who’d grown to care for him, telling tails of the work Grandpa had done to save their weddings and such. Dad accepted their sympathies as warmly as he could, as well as the never-ending onslaught of food he’d tasked Uncle Eddie with stuffing into our fridge somewhere. Uncle Eddie had been staying with us during that time and was trying to remain busy to keep his mind off this new reality of his. It was hard seeing my ever-jolly uncle so lost and empty. With so many people showing up over the course of that week, no one batted an eye when we received knocks on our door late one night. But the concern in Uncle Eddie’s voice when he called up to Dad got me out of bed and peeking from around the wall atop the staircase, my Lilah Doll laying limp in my hand. It was my mother. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a knowing smirk plastered upon her face. I gasped and dropped the doll, my Dad snapping back at the sound and ordering Uncle Eddie to take me back to my room. I cried out for my mother as Uncle Eddie marched up the stairs and carried me away. She wouldn’t look at me. Just kept her eyes on Dad who was ushering her outside. I hurried to the window while Uncle Eddie stood awkwardly by, unsure whether or not to stop me. I could hear their muffled voices spitting back and forth at one another. She was demanding something, putting my dad on the defensive, but about what I wasn’t sure. He told her to leave and then slammed the door in her face. I watched her turn around and head back into the night, crying out for her still even as she disappeared down the driveway and out of sight. When Dad came to check on me, I shouted at him for the very first time. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me see her. All he could say was that he was sorry, which wasn’t enough for me. I continued to shout, when he suddenly snapped. The look on his face, I’d never seen it before. Even Uncle Eddie looked down at his feet. Dad spat that Mom was poison, and that seeing her would only cause me harm. That one day I’d understand. He then ordered me to bed, and that was that. But I couldn’t sleep. Not that night, or the next. I’d stare out my window, waiting for Mom to come back. And when she didn’t, I started to slip again. I started hearing the screams. Dad was frantic. All the progress we’d made, lost. I remember him taking me into the shop early one morning, holding my hand as he showed me around the back room where countless boxes of accessories sat waiting to be put on display. He told me I could pick one for my Lilah Doll, anything I wanted. It was like Christmas! I wanted all of them! When I couldn’t decide, he allayed my stress by promising me that I could choose one new accessory every time another shipment came in. Within weeks my Lilah Doll was a whole new girl, dawning sunglasses and a bright yellow shirt, with a pretty little bow on top. I pressed each new accessory onto her like the bandaids they were. As I got older, the power of the doll faded, but my need for her remained. She sat on the shelf and watched as I snuck booze into my bedroom, my new remedy for nightmare-driven insomnia, one that, fortunately, would not last very long. The mere thought of vomiting into my toilet one more time was enough to make me sick. I knew I had to change, to find some other way to feel okay. My best friend knew it too. She dragged me with her to the animal shelter where she volunteered. It was there that I finally found some semblance of peace. I couldn’t believe how much of an immediate impact it had had on me. I started volunteering on my own most days after school. Still, Lilah Dolls remained a big part of my life. At 15, I got my first job working weekends at both stores, filling in whenever I was needed. Kids at school would make fun of me. They all knew I was the “doll girl”. It didn’t bother me. I took pride in my ability to run the store, and in my knowledge of the products we sold. As graduation drew nearer, Dad gifted me a managerial opportunity for the shop. I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t want it, or that I’d applied to a university several states away, with dreams of working in wildlife conservation. All that he had done for me, it hurt me to hurt him, to turn him down and abandon the empire he’d built for me. I cried when I finally told him. But he wasn’t mad, or even upset. He lifted my chin so I could see his smile and then pulled me in for a hug. As we rocked gently back and forth, he whispered to me that it was okay to chase the thing that silenced my demons. He let go but kept his hands on my shoulders, gazing at the young woman I now was. There was something else in his eye, an understanding of what I was going through, of everything I had been keeping from him. It all tempered with that one look. When I left for school, my Lilah Doll stayed behind, because I didn’t need her anymore. The next few years were like a dream. I loved my classes, my friends, the view from my dorm of the mountains I hiked every weekend. I even met a guy. Caleb. His friends called him Texas, something you understood the moment he spoke. He sat next to me in an ecology class but spent more time studying me than he did the material. He laughed when I told him I was practically famous, so I told him to look up Lilah Dolls. He was stunned. From that moment, he began calling me Lilah-doll (something I pretended to hate), and we were dating not long after. Everything seemed to be falling into place for me, and for the first time in my life I was happy. And then I got the call. Dad was sick. Cancer. It was awful how fast it took him. How rapidly he’d deteriorated before my eyes. I’d dropped out of school to take care of him, and within months he was gone. I could hardly look at him in the end. One of the last conversations we’d had, he’d taken my hand from the hospital bed in which he was bound, begging me to remember the man I knew him to be. I promised I would. My savior. The day he passed, I sat in my old room, waiting for him to come comfort me like he always did. It was just me now, and my Lilah Doll up on the shelf where I’d left her. She looked so different now than when I first got her, adorned in the very many accessories I’d collected over the years, the sunglasses still fixed upon hr face, her bright yellow shirt now torn and faded. I held her close like I used to, curling into a ball at the foot of my bed. It was the closest I could get to my dad being there. I never finished school. Dad left me his share of Lilah Doll and, with just four semesters left, I decided to run the stores instead. Caleb was supportive throughout the whole thing, as was Uncle Eddie who, of course, knew a whole lot more about how to run the business than I did. I picked up on it quick. The hardest part was being enveloped around a permanent and painful reminder of my dad, and wasn’t any easier when that pain went away. I didn’t even notice it had happened. I just woke up one day and went to work, carrying on with my new routine. Paid the bills, watched TV, ordered takeout. Laughed without remorse, and cried about other things. Things really took off after Caleb moved in. Within a year, we were engaged, married, and announcing our pregnancy to a room full of what was almost entirely Caleb’s loved ones. He could sense the hurt I was holding inside but was too kind to challenge me on my weak assurances. I’d sometimes catch his eye from across the room, gauging my demeanor. So I’d bury the pain deeper. None of it would matter after one cold, February morning. Sophia Grace was born healthy, beautiful, perfect. It took some time for me and Caleb to adjust to our new lives as parents. I loved being a mom, but it was exhausting, even with all the help from my amazing husband. Not only was he running around for me and the baby, he was also looking after the stores in my absence. It was a lot. He’d try so hard to pitch in when he got home but was almost always the first to fall asleep. I couldn’t fault him. I was used to functioning on limited sleep. Most nights I’d stare down into my little girl’s crib, studying her unconscious twitches until I was finally ready drift off, myself. Caleb caught me one time just as the sun was beginning to come up. I lied and said I had just woken up. He continued not to push, instead retrieving my old Lilah Doll and placing into the crib beside Sophia. The sunglasses were stuck permanently askew and the faded yellow shirt was becoming unstitched. Caleb joined me in admiring our daughter, wrapping his arms around me and assuring me we were safe. He then smacked me on the butt and said I should get some sleep. I wasn’t out long before I heard it. A shrill, violent scream. It shot me awake and sent me into the kind of frenzy I hadn’t experienced since I was a child. Caleb came rushing back into the room in a panic, checking first on Sophia, who was now awake and crying. Shaking, I asked Caleb if he heard the screams. He looked at me bewildered and said only the baby’s, and mine. This was his first experience with my night terrors, and I think it frightened him more than it did me. I had no idea why they were happening again, I just knew it was finally time to open up to Caleb about my long history with the Screamy Lady. He put Sophia down and held me close, rubbing my back as I sobbed and poured it all out. Once I was settled, he told me he knew what I needed to do: I needed to confront my mother. I had no idea where she was and hadn’t seen her since that night she showed up to our door. Neither had Uncle Eddie. Caleb dropped it for a while and continued to support me as best he could, trying to hide how much he, too, was plagued by the situation. A disposition I knew all too well. I worried it might tear us apart when, much like Dad had almost twenty years prior (and in the very same room, in fact), Caleb turned to me with excitement, the light bulb in his head shining brightly upon his face. He suggested I submit my DNA to an ancestry website to track down traces of my mother’s existence. There was a part of me that rejected the idea, this little pocket of fear that didn’t want to get my hopes up. But Caleb insisted, because he is the most wonderful man I know. And because my bouts of screaming in the middle of the night were scaring him more than he would admit. I was told I could expect my results in no less than eight weeks. When they finally arrived, I was afraid to look at them. Caleb came home and found me in the living room feeding Sophia, the envelope on the table before me. I’d run out of nails to bite. He opened it for me, my stomach sinking as I watched his eyes dance along the pages, when he suddenly stopped and grinned: I had a half-sister. Rachael and I messaged back and forth on the website before agreeing to meet in person. She actually lived nearby. I wondered how often we might have passed each other without realizing it. She invited me over for coffee and was very excited to meet, waving at me from her doorstep before I even stepped out of the car. She, too, was married, with three kids, as was evident from the state of her home, something I found endearing. Sophia was still only an infant and I was already thinking about having more. It was strange noting the familiarities in Rachael’s face as she spoke. Our eyes were especially similar. She told me that she’d always suspected Mom was hiding something, and that she was not at all surprised to learn exactly who I was, given that Mom would never allow her have a Lilah Doll. Rachael described Mom as conniving and manipulative, her father having filed for divorce after years of unhappiness. Now, Mom only came around when she needed something. Rachael was happy to give me her address but cautioned me not to expect very much from her. If only she’d known the scenario I’d played out in my head over and over. It flashed in my mind as I pulled up to Mom’s trailer later that very same afternoon. I sat frozen in my car for a while, anchored by the weight of this moment. There were people sitting in lawn chairs in front of the neighboring trailers, staring in my direction, increasing my nerves. I tried not to look at them as I marched up to my mother’s door and gave two crisp knocks. My hands grew numb as I waited. The door opened and my mother was standing there with a cigarette in her mouth, looking just as sour as she did the last time I’d seen her, only this time I was close enough to see the work she’d had done to her face. It was not appealing. She blew smoke out her nose and asked who I was, and when I told her it was Lilah, she continued to stare through me. Her daughter, I reminded her. She asked what I was doing here, and I wasn’t sure how to reply. It felt stupid having to say out loud that I was just looking to see her after all these years, that I was hoping she’d want to see me too. She hardly reacted. Just took another drag of her cigarette. I informed her that she had a new grandchild, taking out a photo for her to see. She glanced at it and scoffed, mumbling about how my dad must have been proud. When I told her that he died, she said she was sorry to hear it, and didn’t even try to sound sincere. I could feel the soul being ripped out of me. I politely apologized for showing up like this and assured her that I wasn’t trying to be a burden. But I meant so little to her, I was less than a burden. I was an annoyance. An inconvenience taking her away from the daytime television that was blaring in the background. When I ran out of things to say, we stood in momentary silence. She broke it with a groan and wondered if I was going to give her the money or not. I had no idea what she was talking about. She said it was the least I could do given how successful the business was. That she deserved some credit for giving me my name. I suddenly understood why she showed up in the middle of the night all those years ago, and why my dad never wanted me to see her. It was to shield me from the pain I felt in that moment. As spring rolled around, Caleb and I decided to throw a party. We both needed it, and there was still some family that had yet to meet Sophia. It was nice being able to turn our brains off while other people watched our kid. If anyone needed a drink, it was Caleb. I was more than happy to just sit back and bask in the glow of my new family, watching them take turns with my sweet little girl, her attentive eyes gazing out at all the love she did not yet know she had. It had suddenly hit me how much I missed my dad. It really sneaks up on you in those moments. Caleb must’ve noticed, because after hurrying upstairs he returned with my Lilah Doll in hand. I watched him wave it in front of Sophia’s face, making it dance and playing peekaboo with the sunglasses. My mother-in-law stood by looking bemused; all of the brand new toys we’d been gifted, and he went with the ragged, old doll with the very noticeable stain. But it made Sophia smile, which made me break down. A hush fell over the room as I was instantly consoled by those around me, Caleb’s sisters each rubbing my back while Uncle Eddie fetched me tissues. I always hated others’ sympathy, but this time was different. This time was okay. The moment was interrupted by loud knocks on the door. Everyone looked around at each other as though trying to figure out which relative wasn’t already present. Caleb announced that the door was open, but the knocks rang a second time, loud and impatient. The playful confusion had quickly turned into concern. We all listened as Caleb answered the door, trying to figure out whose voice was speaking to him from the other side. His curious cousins peeking from around the kitchen doorway suddenly parted, and my husband returned looking pale and serious. He said it was the FBI, and that they needed to speak with me about something. I could hear guests panicking in the background as I nervously escorted the two agents into the living room. They placed a folder onto the glass table and spread its contents across it. Crime scene photos. Reports. They were disturbing, something I’d wished they had prepared me for first. But they were very direct. They told me that they believed Dad was a serial killer. One that they’d been hunting for nearly two decades. I was more than confused. I told them they were mistaken. Dad was a doll-maker, and a great father. They said that when I submitted my DNA to the ancestry website, they were alerted to matches on over a dozen unsolved murders in the area. My arms were tingling. I couldn’t speak. They went on to describe their struggle in putting together a profile of who they’d long called The South Shore Strangler, explaining how he’d chosen his victims seemingly at random. I reluctantly gazed upon the photos once more. All women. There was something familiar about them. One was wearing sun glasses. Another, a yellow shirt. Caleb appeared in the doorway with Sophia in one arm and my Lilah Doll in the other. When I figured it out, I screamed.


_(note from author- I have posted both parts before on different subreddits, and this is an ongoing series. I'll add links to the orginal posts here if you want to read them in their OG format:_ _)_ _PART 1:_ AITA for leaving my bf over a cup of coffee? Before I start, I should establish a few things. I am F28 and he is M27. We have been in a long-term relationship for 3 years, and have been living together for the past year. Before this, he has done nothing to hurt me or offend me, he was practically the perfect partner. I guess that's a lie now though. Some outside perspective would be helpful. My bf has struggled throughout his life with a few addictions, the main one being teeth. He crushes them up and either sprinkles them on meals (including drinks) or just snorts it. He has been to rehab multiple times but was kicked out for trying to pry out the other residents' teeth and I have since given up on getting him to quit. I've just made him promise not to do anything of the sort near me (like when eating meals/drinking) and not to try and make me try, which he has done before. We've had a lot of problems in our relationship due to this, he's been arrested countless times after assaulting people on nights out for their teeth, and will sometimes even catfish on dating websites/apps to satisfy his teeth addiction. His friends don't seem to care about how much this is ruining his life, hes lost so many jobs because of this and sent us both into bankruptcy but they just ignore this obvious problem, encourage it even. I've broken up with him multiple times, just for a break whilst he got his life back on track a bit, and it worked for a while but now he's stopped caring. I'm scared for myself but also his health. I do love him and I can't bear to leave him when he's so vulnerable. That is, until today. Excuse spelling, my hands are still shaking and I'm still processing all the shit that went down. I woke up this morning with him hovering over me with a huge grin on his face. He thrusted a tray with a cup of coffee, some peanut-butter toast, and a single rose onto my lap and said "Suprise!!" He had prepared a whole tray of food so I could eat breakfast in bed, and, I'll be honest with you, I cried a little at this adorable gesture. Like I said before, our relationship has been really strained lately, and this out-of-the-blue act of romance seemed to be a sign to me that our rough patch was over and he was ready to move forward as a team, like we were before. Of course, I was a bit suspicious that maybe he'd done something drastic and was trying to soften the blow, but my naïve self pushed that thought to the back of my mind and settled down to enjoy my breakfast. I took one sip of the coffee and spat it out violently, retching. I looked back at my boyfriend fearfully and he was just sitting there on the other side of the bed, smiling thar strange smile. I admit I overreacted here, because I was scared he had tried to poison me or something, I yelled at him for about 5-10 mins, all "what the FUCK" this and "WHAT were you THINKING ASSHOLE" that and he just sat there with his stupid grin until i had finished. He then explained calmly that he hadn't meant to hurt me, he just put some ground teeth in my coffee because he was fed up with me trying to manipulate him into stopping when I hadn't even tried it myself. He thought maybe I'd change my perspective on the matter once I'd tried it but knew I would never do it willingly so he spiked my drink instead. I told him that this was a huge violation of my trust, and told him to "get the FUCK out of my house, IMMEDIATELY." He tried to object but, after realising I was not going to budge on the matter, picked up his stuff and left to go stay with a friend. I've since texted him saying that we are done, and to not contact me again. He's gotten all his friends to message me non-stop about how much of an AH I was, since it was an innocent attempt to get me to see things from his perspective, and that it's irrational and toxic to end such a meaningful and long relationship over a cup of coffee. I honestly don't know, so I need some outside perspective. Reddit, AITA for ending a relationship over a cup of coffee? EDIT: I fixed some spelling, have calmed down a lot now. For some reason I can't help but feel like this is just the calm before the storm, so here's my promise to make an update post if any more shit goes down. _PART 2:_ MY BOYFRIEND HAS A STRANGE ADDICTION AND IM SCARED ITS GETTING WORSE (UPDATE TO THE TEETH POST) So. A lot has happened (people of reddit, you are going to hate me). We... got back together. The situation stands as thus, for those who can't be bothered to read the previous post: -my (F28) bf (M27) is addicted to teeth. He refuses rehab and will go to drastic measures to get them. - he spiked my drink with ground teeth to get me to 'see from his point of view'. -I broke up with him and all his friends called me an AH over it. This was three weeks ago. ...about two weeks ago an adorably decorated basket with loads of cute shit inside it was left in front of my doorstep, along with a homemade card he (my bf) made himself. It was a picture of me and him with the note 'I'm a fucking idiot, I've given up teeth and EVERYTHING ELSE, please love me again, your dumb bitch of a bf, (his name here).' I was so taken aback by this cute as fuck show of love and guilt, he knew what he had done was wrong and call me an idiot but I was willing to give it another try. He had even started to give up his addiction for me, which truly meant something, right? The next week went by like a dream. He treated me well. We spend all day together (and the nights too... if you get what I mean). But, most importantly, he gave up teeth. I was so proud, honestly. He was doing so well. So, so well. Until last Monday (A week ago today). I- I dont really know the best way to say this. Holy shit. I'm still in shock, i- He killed someone. Scrap that. He killed multiple people. He was gone on a 'business trip' (he had found good work) for a few days and came back with a 'suprise' for me. (The business trip was about 4 hours away so I wasn't worried about him doing anything whilst he was gone, if you're worried) Anyway, the suprise was a cooler box full of this weird meat..? I thought it was strange that he just had this unpackaged meat in this box, but he wove this elaborate story about it being gourmet pork from a butchers in the area he thought I would enjoy. He said himself that he had some and said it was the best thing he'd ever had. By the end of his ...what i can only call a rant, saliva was practically dripping from his mouth, he was smiling broadly and had this rabid look in his eyes. I got scared, honestly. It was so unnerving. He looked like he was high, super dilated pupils and everything. His head was turned ever so slightly so that his cheekbones stuck out at unnatural angles and his neck was just too long for the rest of his body, making him look like some monster, not quite human. I cooked the meat to the best of my ability, turning it into some kind of stew, and I noticed as I was cooking that some especially bloody bits of meat kept on disappearing. I shrugged it off and put my stew into the slow cooker to cook overnight. It was only when I walked into our bedroom that night that I found out he was sneaking them out of the cooler and eating them raw, leaving blood and small chunks of raw meat all over the bed and carpet. I slept on the sofa that night. I didn't say anything, by now I knew something was up but I was scared to do anything about it. The stew was ready just in time for lunch, so I served it up with some roast potatoes and sat down at the table to eat. Bf was asleep, but woke up as soon as I called out that lunch was ready, and ate his whole plate (and all leftovers) in seemingly no time at all. Before I could say anything, he quickly hugged me tight and whispered into my ear, 'Thank you for seeing sense, I knew you would turn around in the end. We make a great pair, you and I.' He was breathing really heavily, and his breath had the unmistakable smell of teeth lingering on it, hidden slightly behind the stew. I spun around and grabbed his wrist just as he was retreating back into the bedroom, and I asked him 'what the fuck he meant by that'. He looked shocked, and then began violently punching himself in the face, yelling 'stupid, stupid, STUPID-' over and over again. I was super fucking freaked out, I grabbed his other wrist and sat him down, and waited until he stopped trying to hurt himself. Once he had calmed down, I calmly but firmly told him to tell me what he had done or I would call the police. Turns out the 'business trip' was an excuse to go out with his friends, who I had told him to cut out of his life because of their toxic behaviour, and do loads of teeth without me knowing. He also told me he had been dabbling in cannibalism, and was really enjoying it. He and his mates found a few people making out in an alleyway, and killed and ate (some of) them. The stuff they didn't eat, they split between them to take home. Bf sprinkled teeth over his portion for what he calls 'food of the gods'. He said that he doesn't see what he's doing as wrong, since he only eats what the gods tell him he can(?!), and believes that the gods thank him for exterminating the unholy and purifying them by eating them(?!?!?). Needless to say, I called the police anyway, and him and his friends are now being charged with multiple counts of murder (first degree). We are now officially broken up lol. People of reddit, I know I was wrong for giving him a second chance, but I have a bigger question that's been playing on my mind and eating me up from the inside ever since I found out about what he did. I feel like this is all partially my fault.


Paused surveillance footage at the downtown intersection of Park and Highland Avenue shows three teens mid stride wearing matching checkered hoodies. The next frame shows a red velvet spaghetti spiral. Unraveled rings of gore intersecting rings, each with splatter flare edges. A crime scene kaleidoscope seen through the cullet of a round brilliant cut diamond. Response teams are activated. Alert notifications are pushed. Individual contributors commuting to their home offices are automatically rerouted back for an emergency all-hands meeting. It had been eight years since car steering was centralized and driving fully automated. After a series of passive voice apologies, a consortium of manufacturers and industry partners was formed. They determined that the self-driving problem was a lot easier if vehicles could only go straight. Turning was where most of the complexity hid. Low slurred muttering about fuel efficiency, safety, the environment was smeared together and repeated by professionally charismatic people. Cars became fixed axles that could only move forward into the future. Asphalt disks, like engraved vinyl records, were embedded at intersections and corners. Trampoline sized Lazy Susans capable of 10,000 rotations per minute. Cars moving at highway pace could be redirected in any direction, instantly, without losing speed. Unmitigated, the G-Forces would be powerful enough to burst a fighter pilot. World class engineers solved the problem by filling car cabins with breathable liquid fluorocarbons. Internal documents describe the new driving experience like being a drowning fetus in the womb of a tumbling gymnast and completely safe. Commutes shortened and traffic jams become a memory. Focus groups reiterated decreased road trip satisfaction scores due to the perpetual sensation of drowning. The vehicles of essential personnel begin arriving at the offices of YouTurn. Park automatically engaged, occupants crown through driver and passenger side semi permeable membranes. One by one they fall unceremoniously onto the ground of the dirty parking garage, coughing and bleary eyed. Jelly covered men and women make their way to the main conference room, sprinkled with rock salt and gravel. In the cloud, automatic diagnostic systems begin root cause analysis of the company adjacent pedestrian liquefaction event. Artificial intelligence adjusts navigation routes to detour area cars towards Park and Highland. YouTurn regularly utilizes privately owned cars as mobile information gathering platforms. “Did you hear what happened?” “Yeah, some kids were crossing the street. They were wearing checkered hoodies a traffic camera thought was a QR code. It started a max speed test while they were standing on it… It’s still spinning. Just grisly. QA’s looking at it tomorrow.” An authoritative voice signals an end to small talk. “Thanks everyone for getting back here so fast. A pedestrian event near one of our downtown car routers is trending. Apparently the people of the land think this was some kind of religious thing. We need to react.” “Do they think we’re God?” “No. It looks like a surreal bandwagon thing. We should try to shape it. That’s what this brainstorming session is about.” “People are saying the splatter pattern looks like… according to my notes… They’re saying it looks like something called a \`Metatron’s Cube\`, I guess.” “Guy Madson here, remember when that chemical fire autopsy photo leak became a meme? From that chocolate milk plant. The crispy thing.” “I think I remember. Captions like \`crispiestiest\` over charred bodies?” “That’s the one. My team was in charge of the response.” Guy Madson laces his fingers and leans back in his ergonomic conference chair. “At first we were in a blind panic. Constant notifications, my phone chimed nonstop for days. It was a real battlefield. Ultimately we cut our ad spend for a while, it went away. That was that.” “Alright Guy, I want you to take point on this.” Guy Madson stretches his laced fingers to full extension, signaling his readiness to work. “Just in case this gets any worse, I’ll have my team start making memes.” “Thanks Guy, It’s good to be proactive. See to it. Meeting adjourned everyone. As a reminder, I’m out tomorrow so have a great weekend.” Guy Madson puts his palms on the long table to stand but they slip in thick breathable liquid. Startled by the lurch, for a fraction of a second his expression wavers. Everyone is still greasy with embryonic car fluid. It’s on everything. It’s just too much to clean. “It’s in my nose and my hair and it always will be.” Guy thinks to himself before pushing down the panic and refortifying his smile for the drowning home. Meanwhile, at Park and Highland cars converge from every direction as if drawn by the human sacrifice. None of the sensor data transmissions will reach the diagnostic system. All the relays are down while the car router runs an endless test. All night, request timeouts cascade into more and more diverted navigation routes. A mountain of fused metal, vitrified windshields and fiberglass erupts skyward as cars wantonly plunge themselves into an inferno of molten lithium.