, shouted Antonio who was perched precariously on Manarai peak, the highest peak in Monsanto. He has been shouting these words for a long time now. His vocal chords had turned stiff. By constantly uttering those words, he wanted to erase the blasphemous thoughts of running away from Luchesse. After some time, no matter how loud he shouted, he found his false pride about his birthplace withering away. He paused to gaze at the mountains that has been hugging his city, he calls it a bondage while others perceive it as protection. Antonio longed to fly above these mountains, get rid of his spiritual baggage and experience freedom. Knowing the kind of life he has led, he wasn’t sure if this was possible. But at that moment, he felt a surge so strong that he knew the mountains would crumble to let him do his bidding. Antonio is the only child of a Kaplan traders, who earned their livelihood by selling merchandise and souvenirs to the few tourists who visit Luchesse. Antonio was only three years old when his parents enrolled him into a monastery. Bells and prayer wheels were his toys. When Antonio grew older, he started to assist his parents in their trade. The tourists were eager to talk to this starry-eyed monk who shared their enthusiasm in equal measure. It was from these tourists that Antonio got a glimpse of what the outer world would actually look like, a world starkly different from his own. Unlike his world that stood the test of time with much disdain, the world from where these tourists came from was always changing. He noticed the shifting urban landscapes each time the tourists handed him over the photographs of their homelands. It was as if those places kept changing their masks every now and then. Few years after his parent’s death, Antonio became increasingly restless. He wanted to lose his loneliness among the festive crowds in Fiorina, he longed to climb to the top of Leaning tower of Pizza and his wish list started getting longer. He regretted his life that shunned all forms of materialism, a life that has been tuned to follow a strict code of ethics, a life that has laid a clear demarcation between good and bad. *“Of course, who are these people to decide what’s good for my life. I went to the monastery by design, not by choice”*, Antonio thought. But two decades of a rigid monastic upbringing is not going to be easy to be forgotten. He intently missed the prayers, faulted his morning prayers and skipped his classes. While guilt bore him down for a few days, hope of a new exciting life that lay ahead fogged his conscience. Finally when the pricks of guilt could hurt him no more, he knew he was ready to get away. He started planning his getaway from Linguina. From a tourist, he had learnt of a secret route through the Ortler mountain range. The route was not heavily guarded by border police and Antonio was confident in entering the quaint little town of Fiorina without any hassle. There he planned to start a trade shop which sold souvenirs and merchandise. *“I’ll have to start from there and go a long way to become a wealthy trader”.* With these thoughts firmly etched in his mind, Antonio packed his goods, discarded his robe for a cheap suit and boarded the early bus that will take him to Fiorina. The bus travelled down the friendship highway, which connected Monsanto all the way till Mondelez. At Mondelez, there would be stringent checking of the passenger visas by the border authorities. The secret route that Antonio planned to take started at Barila, which was few kilometers before Mondelez. The rickety journey by bus until Barila would last for two days. Antonio waved his hands impassively to the vast grasslands and the mountain vistas that he was leaving behind. A Ugandan tourist seated next to him quipped, *“What a lovely place! Place of the gods indeed."*. Antonio just smiled back. After an uneventful journey, the bus arrived at Barila two days later. Antonio got down and decided to stay overnight at that place. The place was barren except for a very huge monastery that he spotted few miles ahead. He was afraid that nostalgia would get the better of him if he sought rest there. Having failed to locate an alternative to seek refuge, he trudged towards the monastery through the heavy thickets of the Mondelez valley. He noticed that the monastery rested on the slopes of the trail that he would have to take to reach Fiorina.* “I am going to stay here only for the night. I would leave long before the first ray of sunlight strokes this place”*, he said to himself. It was dark by the time Antonio stepped into the monastery and the earthen lights made its walls reflect a sublime glow. The dome stood there majestically, ornamented by the crested moon. The peace was so filling, and the effect was magical. It hasn’t been even two days and invisible strings were drawing Antonio towards the life of prayer and solitude. But he held on to his mission. If his ascetic life gave him the will power to abstain from a common man’s desires, he could use the same will power to achieve the reverse effect. He walked up to a monk and asked him for a place to rest for the night. The monk took him to a huge hall where drifters were allowed to stay. The hall was empty save for a person huddled in a corner. Willing for an acquaintance, Antonio sat next to the small man. *“Where are you from?”* Antonio asked boldly, a trifle too loud, which shook the meek man from his slump. *“I am Rinaldi, a trader from Fiorina, on my way to Monsanto”*, he replied softly. *“Oh, you are a trader. Good. What goods do you sell?”* *“Gems, souvenirs, perfumes and other antiques”* *“Do you have any of these with you now?"*, inquired Antonio, who was more eager to learn about the kind of goods that are in demand. *“No I don’t have anything with me right now”*, Rinaldi retorted to Antonio. *“That’s strange. You don’t look like a tourist and I assumed you were going to Monsanto for business"* *“I am going to Monsanto to become a monk”* *“A monk? You want to become a monk?”* *“Yes”* *“But why?”* asked Antonio, bewildered. “You appear to be a man of means and why do you want to renounce it to lead a life of denial and contemplation?” *“Denial and contemplation. Yes those are the words. Those are the words that will make the rest of my life rich. All this time, I was running behind money, gems and fame. I was like this free bird, always seeking better opportunities far and beyond. I started as a small trader. Over time I set up many trade shops, my business flourished. I thought I knew what I wanted, but it was all a big mistake.”* *“Did you suffer losses in your business? You are broke?” “I am not broke, but I am a broken man. Fame and fortune are a bottomless pit. The way to it is deep, dark and limitless. I have been falling in this pit for years now. Nothing ever stops you.”* Antonio became disturbed. Here he was, determined to bury his caged past and forge a free life. Rinaldi, on the other hand, was getting more determined by the minute, to become a monk. He was swelling up in confidence and resolve as Antonio tried to talk him out of it. *“But what about freedom? Why do you want to spend the rest of your life in a cloister?”* *“Freedom.”* Rinaldi repeated. *“Freedom only creates chaos.”* Rinaldi stretched himself and laid down on the floor. He slept as soon as he hit the floor. Antonio had the premonition that Rinaldi would have left before he woke up the next day. He was very tired and set off to sleep. He was not able to catch any sleep.* “Strange. All these years in the monastery, of all the hardships I faced, I never faced a sleepless night.”* Antonio was awake the whole night, making futile attempts to remember the ideas that he had for the future. The next morning, Antonio saw Rinaldi wake up and heed towards Monsanto. Antonio pretended to be asleep. In one corner of his eye, he saw Rinaldi walk towards the rising sun. Rinaldi turned back and smiled, a smile of realization. As he continued walking, he heard someone shouting from behind. *“Wait. I am coming with you.”*, shouted Antonio running after Rinaldi. Rinaldi said nothing. Antonio and Rinaldi boarded the bus to Monsanto. The beauty of the rugged landscape was compounded by the inner peace that Antonio felt at that moment. They spoke nothing to each other, but it felt as if they knew the other person more than they knew themselves. The bus arrived at Monsanto and the driver woke up Antonio asking him to get down. Antonio searched for Rinaldi, the seat was empty, and he was nowhere to be found. The driver asked,*“What are you looking for?”.* Antonio stopped searching all of a sudden and stood transfixed. After some moments, he replied,* “Nothing. I think I found him.


“Help!” All I hear anymore. “Help” this, “help” that. Shut the fuck up. Nowadays, when I hear “Help,” I respond with “Bang.” That way, they can never say that filthy word again. I don’t know who I am anymore, to be perfectly honest. At this point, I’m just trying to get by. It’s hard sometimes – impossible, even – but I always pull through. I have to, for her. I walk about a half-mile back to “The Hole.” Well, to anyone else, I guess it’s just “A Hole” to everyone else, but that’s when I shoot them and tell them that that’s what I am. “I’m home,” I mumble, with a half-hearted smile. It’s hard, out here – but she keeps me going. She motivates me. However, I only have two for her today. *“What do you have for me, sweetheart?”* says that beautiful, silky-smooth voice. Buttery, almost; except I’m not fond of butter. Goddammit. I’ve only been her servant for a few weeks, but I already see that she isn’t happy with my progress for the day. *“This isn’t enough,”* she softly murmurs, *”It’s just not enough.”* I’m sorry. This is my fault. “My condolences, ma’am. I will make it up to you tomorrow, I swear upon my life.” I do swear. I mean it, honestly; she means everything to me, and I won’t disappoint her. I hope. Six hours pass, I open my eyes to see my brown, slightly molding ceiling. I walk to the bathroom and splash my face, not even noticing how dark and chunky the water is. On my way out of my bedroom, I catch a quick bite to eat – a slice of sweet, whole wheat bread, with only a little bit of dirt on it. “I’m out for today, ma’am,” I yell on my way out the door. No response, as usual; she knows where I am and where I need to go at all times. She’s so smart; I wish I could be as smart as her. The sun peeks out halfway over the eastern hillside as I feel a slight warm breeze on the back of my neck. It’s silent, as usual; No birds, no cicadas, no leaves rustling in the summer breeze, nothing. Just the way I like it. I stop, just as a hand on a clock with the batteries removed. Well, in my life, more like the hand on the clock bashed in with a sledgehammer before being eaten and shit out of a sumo wrestler. I see one, about 300 yards away from me, slightly north-west of “The Hole”. She’s probably in her 60s, if I was to guess, due to her greying hair pulled back into a neat bun and her fashion sense of disgusting flowers and neon colors. I hate flowers. I hold my arms out in front of me, waiting for the perfect shot - I can’t hold my breath yet, I have to wait until she’s perfectly in range – and I wait. She’s still running towards me, yelling the usual – “Help!” – I guess she has bad eyesight. I cock the revolver, waiting for this dumb bitch to notice that these are her last moments. I don’t know how she’s lived this long, honestly – most don’t make it past 30, if they make it at all. Whatever. It’s not my problem anymore. Five more for the day. Five! I get back to the hole with my bounty dragging behind me and leave it proudly on display for her to see once I call her. I’ve never achieved five before; my previous record was three and a half (it should’ve been four but she doesn’t like the smaller ones). “I’m home!” I say excitedly, without realizing that these will be the last words I have the honor to speak to her. *“What do you have for me, sweetheart?”* That silky smooth voice. I cut myself on one of her tendrils in my excitement to give her the score for the day. I watch, with much fascination, as she devours all five bodies for the day. *“I’m so, so proud of you, sweetie,”* she tells me in her voice that reminds me of warm blankets on a cold winter day, *“So proud. You can join me.”* What? Is she serious? This can’t be real. I nod with more vigor than a five-year-old boy after being asked if he wants ice cream after a fun day at the local pool. As I feel her warm, spiky tentacles absorb my pathetic human body, I finally feel at peace. I’ve ascended.


Made by Beeple, the artist for our collaborative worldbuilding project *Yaldev.* You can check out more of his art on - - - PRESSURE REACHING MAX CAPACITY “No, no!” Tan was doomed. Everyone in the bunker was doomed. Tan especially, since they’d all find a way to blame him. If he was to be honest, he'd have to admit they were probably right. It was his sole job to keep the pressure at bay while the others devised a plan of escape from the capital, and send an alert if it was too high, but he hadn’t paid attention. In his old age, he’d often zone out. He tried to tell them he might not be the most capable man for the job anymore, but he had a known name that everyone from the Exodus Academy could trust. A name for them to believe in when their ideals were shattering like the walls of Pelbee's shining buildings. Tan shifted the screens. Various coloured bars growing higher and higher, flashing on top of one another. In his prime, his eyes could follow them and interpret them without thinking. Now, they were just flashes that hurt his overworked mind. The bars were rising higher and higher every second. At this rate, the best case scenario was getting worse and worse. But hey, at least they could still escape further underground? The pressure didn’t need to be perfect- OXYGEN GENERATORS BLOCKED Hmm. If we move quickly- WALLS IN SECTOR 4 BREACHED Nevermind. Doomed. He knew exactly what was happening up there. Mana was flooding aggressively into the room, a colourful liquid which could flow through air and always ran like a raging river. It seemed to target people and artificial constructs, tearing them apart and dissolving them in their wrathful, magical waters. He could faintly hear its raging flood in floors above him. Then a resounding metal creaking and snapping sound as a floor gave way. There’d be the first few deaths. Would it be better to let everyone below die without expecting it? It was too late to fix anything, but should they all die in ignorance or in panic? Tan stared at the alarm button, then back at the screens. The walls wouldn’t last long, the entire ceiling could be destroyed in minutes. PRESSURE MAXIMUM SURPASSED. LOWER PRESSURE. Or seconds. Tan sighed and sat back in his wheelchair. He’d hoped he could make it past 70, but that hope was clearly in vain. He took solace in knowing that his life was a massive success, allowing him to become a renowned professor, even if his final act would be a failure. Unless this wouldn’t be his last act. Tan looked down at his right leg. A shrivelled, burned old limb damaged by a machine. He couldn’t walk, but he could stand. Professor Tan wasn’t going to die sitting down. Propping his leg up and wincing a bit in pain, Tan stood, his legs shaking a bit. He held his arms out to the sides to keep balance for a moment, then held them diagonally upwards, as though witnessing an act of Parc Pelbee himself. He was only a few moments off. The wall he faced broke into pieces. Chunks of the wall flew several feet forward before landing on the ground and breaking into smaller pieces on impact. Mana flooded into the room, a raging river that first flowed upwards into the air, then raged in all directions. The Aethereal river broke walls and smashed computers, the very tools which restricted the natural world it once knew. Then, all at once, it swept over the professor. Tan shut his eyes tight, and screamed in the undertow, not caring that the mana getting inside his body would cause it to dissolve faster. Mana dissolution is painless anyhow, and Tan wouldn’t be surviving this. He clenched his fists and lashed out in every direction with all three of his functioning limbs. Amidst the chaos, a voice came to him. Whether the mana itself spoke to him, or other noise just echoed through the magical floodwaters, or he was simply having a near-death experience due to being old and violently dying, the voice said a word to him: “Behold.” Tan opened his eyes, and the world around him could only be described as beautiful. Immersed in the Aether, he saw a glimpse of the natural world itself. He was suspended in a clear sea, above a coral reef glowing with bioluminescence. Aquatic life bloomed, glowing fish swam around him, and Aether was in the fabric of all. Between atoms. In the gills, eyes and minds of all animals here, in the lifeblood of all the plants. In his moment before death, either by drowning or dissolution - He did not care which, nor did he notice the pain of them - he realized the flaw in his whole approach to his life. He spent his whole life working for Aethereal technology, viewing it as another energy source to be harnessed. Never had he seen at like this. Never had he seen the magic of the world as anything less than an aspect of science. He saw nothing in terms of beauty and harmony until his final moment. The moment quickly passed. Tan’s body was carried and dissolved among the torrent of Aether, becoming more Aether, now one with his life’s focus. At least he didn't live to see them blame him. - - - *Yaldev is a fantasy/sci-fi worldbuilding project based entirely on Beeple art. It is the story of a world in mana-fuelled pandemonium, of the nation which rose to conquer it, of this empire's inevitable collapse, and of the new world which emerged in its wake. The project has major themes about perspective, imperialism, nationalism, nature and the metaphysical battle of law against chaos.


“Oh, Sweetie! Your antlers are starting to grow in!” said Artemis' mother as she ran her hand through her daughter's hair. “And just before your tenth birthday, too”! She pinched one with her cloven fingertips and tried to wiggle it at the base of her scalp. “Soon enough you'll be walking on hooves- just like your mother”! She rubbed her head one last time before walking into the kitchen with lithe steps that faintly clacked on the wooden floor. Artemis felt strange yet normal as she watched her walk out of the room. The moment she was out of sight, she too ran her hands through her hair to feel two hard nubs protruding from her skull. She remembered father saying things like this were normal for all humans though and tried to calm herself down. She looked down at her feet; they were small- but she was happy to see she still had all her toes. Caught off-guard, she jumped as the door flew open behind her. “I'm home, everyone!” boomed father's thunderous voice while he struggled to fit his horns through the doorway. Tall and bovine; he was as much a bull as he was a man. He towered over Artemis and almost stepped on her as he entered. He was still wearing his blood-speckled uniform from the slaughterhouse as he walked into the kitchen and hugged mother. Slim and cervine, one could easily have mistaken her for a doe were she not standing upright. She seemed to be almost engulfed by his enormous frame as Artemis watched. As they embraced, mother whispered something into his ear. He raised a brow, knelt down, and motioned for Artemis to come over. As she walked up to him he held his massive hand over her skull and gently rubbed her antlers. With a grin, he then grabbed Artemis and lifted her up in his arms. “My baby girl is finally growing up”! Artemis smiled, but still didn't feel right deep down. What was supposedly something almost everyone experiences somehow still felt strange to her; she was nervous. She looked at her father with timid curiosity on her face. “Dad? Why are my antlers important”? Father turned to mother and saw her smile almost joyously at the question. “Because we saved a lot to make you this way, Artemis. I don't know if you've gone over it in school yet- but Humans are... malleable. His beady brown eyes shot around as he thought of the best way to explain as Artemis didn't seem to understand. “The stuff that makes up other kinds of other animals makes us into... what we are. We made sure to make you something different- like your mother but more... exotic”. “And a little like me, too.” he chuckled. “You know what? Try asking mother later- I'm sure she can explain better than I can. I'm a butcher not a biologist after all”! He held her close as he rubbed her antlers again.“You're going to be our beautiful little gazelle, Artemis”. He then kissed her forehead and set her down. “But why Isn't Alex like you or me”? Father opened the refrigerator, pulled out a metal canister, and handed it to her. “This is why- I'm sure you've seen these before”. Artemis looked over the heavy metal cylinder and she struggled to hold it up. A large green toxic symbol was stamped on one side with the words “DANGER: EULSCENT MATERIAL”. Underneath, in smaller print, it continued “For unaltered infants only! All surrohumans must avoid consumption due to EXTREME TOXCICITY; doing so will also be punishable by the full extent of the law”. Succumbing to it's weight, Artemis set the container on the floor where father picked it back up and placed it back into the fridge. “Some mush for babies; goopy green stuff we're supposed to feed him instead of real food. I've heard that some people say that it's made from plants or something- but I think we know well enough that you can't eat those kind of things”. He carefully opened the canister and winced at the fibrous mash's ferrous stench. “Anyway, supposedly if the likes of you or me try it they say we'll be dead before we knew it. But as long as we feed it to Alex instead of normal food he won't change. Until these aren't sent to us any more, of course. Then we have to start feeding him normal food like we did with you. That's why you're changing and your brother isn't- understand”? He sealed the container and took a deep breath as the smell dissipated. “But why does he have to stop eating it”? Father took a long sigh and looked down at Artemis with a pensive glance. His tail swayed from side to side. “Look Artemis- You're too young to get how things are”. As he finished, heavy knocking came from the door. “Just before dinner? Who would be-”. He cut himself off as he glanced out through the window before quickly shooting away from it. His face was suddenly strained and pale under his brown coat; his eyes wide with fear. With a quiet monotone he tried to throw his voice across the kitchen “Honey- hide Alex”. She shouted back that she couldn't hear him. His voice was muffled by the loud knock of her knife against her cutting board as she prepared dinner. He leaned closer but not so much to be seen from the door's window. “Honey- hide Alex now”. His seemed to simultaneously shout and whisper as he spoke. Again, she said she couldn't hear him and put down her knife.. As walked toward him to ask what he was saying she looked out the window before briskly slinking away with sudden urgency. She paused for a moment and then began to sprint toward Alex's room with wide and wild eyes. Her small and sharp hooves tore and scuffed the floor as she carelessly bolted to him. As whoever was behind the door knocked once again, father wiped his brow with a bloodied rag from his pocket and went to the door. A solitary man stood in the doorway as a van sat parked on the side of the road behind him. They were a perfectly normal human- something Artemis had only seen on television before. They had no scales, no feathers, no pelt, hooves, horns, not even a muzzle like her parents- he was a pure, unaltered human wearing a black ministry uniform and a pair of sunglasses. Even as Father towered above him, he struggled to keep his composure as the man looked at a clipboard in his left hand; his right around a gun in it's holster. Under his breath he mumbled “Adult, male, bovine surrohuman.” as he made a tick on his board. “Check”. “Hello- is this the residence of mister and missus Frahum? His voice was professional and smooth is if what he was saying was said many times before. “Y-yes.” was all father managed to mutter. The man nodded and looked further down the clipboard and lifted a page “And I presume you are Angus; Angus Frahum”? “Yes.” said father almost instantly the moment the man finished talking. The man groveled at his urgency and pointed at another part of the clipboard. “And your wife is... Hera? Hera Frahum? “Y-y-yes.” said father behind chattering teeth. Artemis noticed his entire body was shaking now as the man continued to look down at his board. “Adult? Female? Cervine surrohuman”? “Yes” mumbled father. The man then looked ever so slightly over toward Artemis from behind his glasses, made a small wave, and checked off another part of his clipboard “Child, female, developing surrohuman. Check”. He then stuck his clipboard under his arm and stepped inside. “May I see her”? “Father's eyes darted to Artemis as he wiped a sheen of sweat that had started to appear on his brow with his rag, leaving a crimson stain between his eyes from where it was still wet with blood. “Yes, sir, you can see her- this is Artemis”. He flipped up her hair to reveal her antlers underneath, “As you can see- shes beginning to develop... we're feeding her-”. “Mister Frahum, I was referring to Hera- your wife. Not your daughter. Now by authority of the Ministry of Consumption- I want you to bring her to me... I have to see her”. Father began bawling as he collapsed to the floor. With fully-wide eyes, he looked at Artemis with a pain she never saw in him before. Minutes passed by as father seemed to grieve; the whole time the man stood absolutely silent as he waited for father to recompose himself. The entire time he stood there, the man never let go of the gun on his hip. At last, with an exasperated sigh, father turned down towards the hall where Alex's room was. “Honey- Someone would like to see you. Please... come talk to them”. His voice was almost unrecognizable as he almost choked while speaking. Mother stepped out from Alex's room while trying not to make eye contact with the man who whispered “Check.” after looking her over and making another tick on his clipboard. With short, timid steps, mother walked down the hall. Each time her hooves hit the floor a flat echo seemed to reverberate through the entire house; they were almost deafening amid the silence. She hadn't even gotten halfway down the hallway before Alex's muffled cries could be heard from his room. A look of dread washed over the faces of Artemis' parents as the man began walking toward the source of the crying while holding onto his gun with white knuckles. The three of them quietly stood as they watched him enter the room and listen to the sound of a closet door being opened. Mother hugged Artemis and held her close as tears streamed down her face while father stayed on the floor beside them and grieved. A minute went by before the man emerged into the hall holding Alex in one arm while he held out his gun with his other hand. As he passed mother, he turned to her and said “The ministries thank you for your cooperation in the selection of your child. You are performing a great service”. His voice was cold and robotic as if he was reading the words directly from a script. She looked back at him with all the repressed raged she could muster and was met with the blank gaze the man's sunglasses. “I know how you feel right now- about me, about the ministries... but know this- you are helping keep order”. As he stepped out of the house, another representative of the ministry- as perfectly human as the first- emerged and took Alex toward the van waiting outside. Instead of walking out with his accomplice though- he turned back and walked up of father who was still on the floor. Even sitting down, he was almost eye-level with the man as he spoke to him. “Mister Frahum, If you would be so kind to retrieve the child's rations for me, please”? Between hushed sobs, he nodded, walked into the kitchen and emerged with three of the canisters that he had shown Artemis earlier. One by one he handed them over to the man who placed them in an unmarked sack. The man then placed his hand on father's shoulder and almost climbed up him to speak directly into his ear. “I saw that your wife had a plate of meat in the closet- please thank her for not giving him his first taste”. Father swallowed nervously as he said it to him. “I appreciate her understanding of what would have happened if she did”. He then stepped outside and checked one last box on his clipboard. “Infant, male, pure human- Check”. “You're monsters, you know that- right!?” Shouted father in sudden impotent rage as the man walked away. He stopped, turned around, and took off his glasses. His eyes were piercing blue and locked with father's; his chiseled face was devoid of almost all emotion. “Mister Frahum- we're all born the same.” was all he said before he continued on to the van. The other man placed Alex in the back of the van; on it's side was printed 'Ministry of Consumption' in bold lettering along with the seal of the ministries: a lone human standing stoically while surrounded by a ring of beasts. The two men then got in the front and drove off. “I... I think it's time for dinner, everybody. Everything is already cut and cleaned. Angus, c-could you please get the plates?” Said mother shakily as her eyes stayed fixed on the van as it continued onward into the distance and slowly faded away into the smog. Artemis stood with her and watched it take a turn and disappear altogether from their sight among the maze of factories and slaughterhouses. After a moment, father called them to dinner. They all sat around the table with their meals: beef for father, venison for mother, and a cut of gazelle meat for Artemis. She didn't feel like having anything though as she watched her parents eat; their still-human teeth underneath their bestial muzzles twisted and tore at the flesh in their mouths. Their sorrow seemed to evaporate as they ravenously chewed away. “Dad”? “Yes, Artemis”? “Those people who took Alex- they were humans. Real humans. Why aren't we”? The two of them looked at each other with open mouths still overflowing with raw and bloody meat. “That isn't a conversation for right now, Artemis. Just... just eat, okay?” said father as he went back to slowly chewing his beef. “Your father is right Artemis- just eat your meat. After all- it was expensive to get for you so please be sure to have it! After all, I want you to be my beautiful gazelle”. Artemis silently gazed at the blood-soaked meat in front of her. “Why do you want me to be a... gazelle”? “It was a compromise between me and your mother” said father. “We wanted you to be a little like me and a little like her”. He grabbed another filet from his plate and shoved it into his mouth. “Your mother can't have horns like I can- so we chose to feed you something that should look like your mom but with horns like me, understand? That's why we were so happy to see your antlers growing in”. Artemis continued to stare at the hunk of flesh on her plate. “What if I don't want to change”? “Oh, you know it's too late now for that now, Artemis. You're going to stand out- you're going to be different! Gazelle meat is hard to come by around here, after all. Now eat!” Underneath her encouraging words, Artemis could tell she was frustrated by her question. “Mom, I want to talk to you about this”. “Not now sweetie... Is there anything else you would want to talk about instead?” Said mother nervously. “Yeah- yeah, there is...”. Artemis watched them continue to eat. Even in their ravenous joy, she could still see her parents were shaken by what happened earlier. Father's beady eyes were still strained and wet while mother seemed to nervously twitch and tap her hooves on the floor while she ate. The stress on their faces was still there- no matter how hard they seemed to ignore it while they ate. “Mom”? “Yes Artemis”? “Why did those people take Alex? Is he coming back”? Mother let out a long sigh and uncomfortably shifted herself as she sat in her chair. “You're too young for things like this to concern you. Now don't hesitate, Artemis- have your meal. You're going to be beautiful. After all-”. She paused to swallow and quickly grabbed another cut. “You are what you eat”.


Lewis walked through a lonely hallway into his lonely room, on a bleak day and his bleak house. The whimsical feelings of joy and grandeur that come with the American dream in a beautiful nuclear family eluded him. For little Lewis wasn’t one of those lucky children to be born into a nuclear family to live out the American dream. Lewis was the child of a single father, Dr. Carroll, the nasty dentist who was never home, and on the occasion that he was he brought the nasty attitude he held at his nasty job. Dr. Carrols beautiful wife was no longer with us, her pale white skin and sunken in eyes had left the earth many years ago. Another poor victim of an overdose and the wonderful adult candy she would steal from Dr. Carroll’s office. Morphine bit her right to her core, it’s the very thing that helped her cope with carrying baby Lewis. “I never wanted this parasite, why am I the one stuck with this thing.” She would say on occasion as she gleefully awaited her baby’s arrival. On that boring Saturday afternoon Lewis was tired. Not from playing or exercising, but the type of exhaustion that follows as your brain turns to mush from hours up days boredom. Just ask any other 11-year-old boy Lewis’ age, they’ll all tell you the horrible torture that comes from being isolated in a house where you have read every book and out grown every toy. With no neighboring friends or pretty girls to faun over Lewis was all alone to deal with his boredom. Its not like anyone wants to be friends with the child of the most dreaded and feared doctor any kid must visit, the scary old dentist. Not to mention the stigma Lewis carried on around him, the rumor that he was haunted by his mother spirit. He picked his skin and itched just like she used to when she didn’t get her candy. Its almost like the boy had similar cravings, only our dear friend Lewis was not brave enough to steal any morphine from his father, if he did he would be beaten to a bloody pulp. As the Saturday went on Lewis’ boredom took greater and greater hold until he couldn’t help but entertain a thought he had lying in the back of his curious little head. He thought to himself about just how much fun it would be to indulge in some of the candy his mother use to take. “But what if father finds out?” the child thought out loud. He contemplated more and more on if he could get away with it or not. Pondering and pondering on that sweet little thought, could he do it? Would he get caught? What would happen if he managed to escape the office with the precious sedative? What would father think if he caught Lewis doing the very thing he hated his mother for doing? All these thoughts raced through the child’s mind as he continued to ponder. It was 2:56 PM, Lewis knew his father had an appointment with a patient at 3:30. He wondered “would I have enough time to sneak into father’s med room before his appointment is up?” For this appointment was longer than a simple twenty-minute teeth cleaning, this appointment in fact had to deal with multiple fillings. Something that would keep Lewis’ father busy for just a little while longer. And if he walked over to the dentist’s office now, he would get there just before the appointment starts. “Maybe its time I finally see what mom loved so much.” The bored preteen thought to himself. In one of the sparse and rare moments of bravery in his short and uneventful life. The morbidly curious boy made his way through the small uneventful town under the gray uneventful sky. He smiled for the first time in weeks as he made his way in the door of his fathers’ nasty old building. A grossly boring building with white walls and grayish blue carpet stained with spit, blood, and god knows what. The sound of a high-powered drill filled the eerily silent sound of the eerily calm building. Lewis checked the clock to see it was none other than the time, 3:45. Now was his golden moment, his time to shine. Lewis asked the middle-aged nurse sitting behind the counter if he could go into the hall of rooms that patients would normally fill on a busier day. At the end of the hall to left, is the room with treasures Lewis covets. Walking quickly but light footedly through the hall that only irradiated with the noise dentistry equipment and disgusting gurgling noises of spit flushing up into the hose whose job is to make the dentists tools just a bit less wet. Down the hall and in the room on the left Lewis found the bottles of the candy he craved. Happily, he stuffed his jacket with the vials and jars that held the sedative. And taking a few needles just to help inject the medicine. Blessed with the first glamour of joy he had felt in many years, the very thought of enjoying the same substance his mother did, made him miss her just a bit less. Dr. Carroll was nearing the end of his appointment. Filling in the teeth of a first-time client, a girl no older than 17. He scolded the child in his mind, the delinquent rotted her teeth with sugary sweets, and every dentist’s biggest pet peeve, she never flossed. Frustrated with this teenager’s negligence towards proper dental care the mean old Dr. Carroll walked down to his medicine room to get a minute to himself as well as grab some supplies for to replace some of the tools he used on his patient. When the old wretched dentist entered the door, he noticed instantly something was off. Something was missing, something had been taken without his knowledge. Someone took one of the good Doctors tooth brushes, the sterile gifts he gives out to all his patients, the hook he uses to bring back his patients. But alas the old cranky dentist walked back to his patient leaving the room and the thought behind him, he had work to do. Lewis slunked back into his old boring house making his way to comfort of his greyish blue room. He walked to his desk digging to find an old rubber band to tie off his arm. On many occasions he saw his mother do this. Tying her arms with shirts, rubber bands, scarves, and even a simple little sting. Lewis found rubber band that he would soon use to cut some circulation in the around the flesh on his tender little arm. Lewis stuck the needle of the syringe he stole from his father into one of the morphine vials he had. He was afraid of taking to much just like his mother, so he only took just a little bit. He stared at his needle in both awe and fear, excited to experience something that would take him away from the awful confines of his boring old life, in his boing old house, and from boring old emptiness he felt. He stared and stared continuing to dwell in his nervous excitement. Finally, he pushed the needle in, it stung and hurt and he wanted to stop but he couldn’t, Lewis needed to commit. He pushed down the syringe, pumping the sweet sedative into his blood stream. Almost instantly he felt a euphoric sense of calming numb the anxiety he felt. It was than that he started to notice he was no longer sitting still. The candy infused boy felt air begin to brush against him in an upward motion, feeling as if he was weightless. His surroundings became dark but with a faint light, he noticed the darkness around him was hallow, and the walls he started to see weren’t walls at all. They were made of dirt, he was in a hole. He fell, and he fell feeling better and better with each coming second. The cool wind against his body, the comfortable darkness with a barely visible light to ease the atmosphere of it all. Lewis felt calm, at ease, and more relaxed than he had ever been in his entire life. It was than he heard a voice, something that normally would have frightened the shy boy. Alas this voice was gentle and sweet, it sounded young and vibrant, like it belonged to a girl no older than he. “Who are you?” Lewis muttered. “I’ll tell you my name when we meet, I’d much rather greet you in person.” The voice said in a playful tone. “I am glad you aren’t scared by the fall, let me sing to you to make it a bit easier on you just in case!” Lewis spoke up “What are you talking about.” “shush.” said the voice in a firm but playful way. “Down in the water the cat sang to me, a story so lonely he couldn’t help but cry, the rabbit came and brought us all away. Straight to a place where anxiety hates to play. Joy and wonder, you will never get older, come with us to play.” The voice sang in a sweet and soothing tone. The euphoria entranced Lewis than awoke abruptly. Back in his gray and boring room Lewis realized he found the key to unlock the door of his boring cell in his boring brain. Just a little bit of that sweet sedative medicine and he would be freed of his boredom and loneliness. Having a beautiful voice sing to him as he fell into eternity. Lewis couldn’t wait until he could go back. But he had the feeling that just jumping back in might not be the best idea. Plus, he didn’t take very much Morphine from his father’s medicine room. He had to make it last otherwise what we he do? Go back to those empty days of empty feelings in his empty life? Lewis adjusted himself to get back to normal, he fixed himself some dinner and noticed a note on the table. “I am out tonight, I don’t like how you choose to waste your time sleeping all day. I still expect you to go to bed on time." Lewis knew it was a note from his father. He felt comfort knowing that his father seemingly didn’t notice the morphine he stole. A few days later Lewis grew bored just as he felt before. The empty loneliness he felt enveloped him again, just as it always did. It ate at him more and more until the boy decided, rather excitedly, that he would indulge in the morphine again. Tying his arm up, he knew that all his negative feelings would abandon him as soon as the candy hit his blood stream. He pushed the needle into his skin and pressed down, releasing the sedative into himself. Once again, he found himself in the dark, falling into infinity as the rabbit hole swallowed him up. Lewis waited for the voice to call out to him again, he was excited to hear her soothing voice again. “Oh, you came back? I am so excited, its been so long since I’ve had a friend as cute as you!” He heard the voice call out. “How do I meet you? I’ve never had a friend before…” Lewis called out. “Just use your imagination.” Called the voice in a playful manor. It was then that Lewis saw a light coming his way, or rather that he was falling into. He fell so fast he felt sick but when he came through the light he instantly felt as if he was stopped. He opened his eyes to realize that he was on top of a massive mushroom, red with polka dot like white spots all around it. He was surrounded by these mushrooms, all in varying height and width. He looked to see if he could find a way down, but he was a bit too high. It was than that he heard the voice “Come down Lewis. Its safe to jump.” So, he did, he turned, and he fell, “its not like I have any other option.” The boy thought to himself as he fell from the mushroom. He landed and rolled, but he didn’t feel any bit of pain. “That was a fantastically graceful landing” laughed the girl whose voice drew the hopeful Lewis down the hole. Lewis looked up just to be stunned, it was a beautiful girl just around his age, he lush blonde hair and deep blue eyes enticed him. “well I am not the most athletic, I am more of a book worm myself.” The nervous boy mumbled. “Oh, don’t be so shy Lewis.” She said. “how do you know my name?” the boy questioned. “We all know you here Lewis, you are of great importance.” The beautiful girl stated. “What you aren’t going to even ask what my name is?” She snarked at him. “Well what is your name?” he asked. “It’s Alice.” Alice began to show Lewis around, she took him to see the straw berry fields where strange creatures that resembled cat like humans, a race of beings who lived for tricks and riddles, loving to play games with all who interacted with them. Alice than brought him to see the Caterpillar, an opium smoking maggot who Lewis hated among seeing the disgusting worm. He mocked Lewis “little boy Carroll the boy who thinks his doom is his release.” Lewis felt like the oversized bug was mocking his use of medication to escape his life perils. But it wasn’t long until Alice took him to her favorite place, a hill by the ocean. An amazing sight that shows of the glorious seas where the water was not blue, but a violet color. The vibrance radiated a beautiful and calming aura that flowed from it, it made Lewis relish in the moment. Alice than took him to her dear friend, Mr. Hatters house. Where Mr. Hatter, a rabbit, and a boy made of wood and scrap metal all surrounded a table with one more open spot. “And that’s where I sit for our dinner and tea parties!” the little blonde girl explained. The whole seen looked straight out of a book, something mystical and whimsical, and oh so marry. But one thing Lewis noticed was that there was no food being served, nor tea to be drunk. Before the boy could question this however he found himself abruptly waking up. He tried to stand up, but his body felt a bit sluggish, like it was lagging behind his thoughts. Lewis was frustrated, he finally met some friends, some others who he could share his time with, others he could share is thoughts with, and a girl he could even try to romance if he ever became brave enough. The wonderous magical wonderland that laid inside his mind or possibly another dimension that the medication took him, held all the things sad little Lewis wanted. He finally understood just why his mother was so addicted to the stuff. The substance gave you a sweet sensation of calming and imaginative bliss. It took you away to a better place. Lewis was in a hurry to rush back but when we looked to see how much morphine he had left in his vial, he realized he might problem. There wasn’t enough left for him to get back to wonderland, there was a little, but it was far less than the amount he had been taking. He wanted to steal more but also feared if he stole more than once every couple of weeks that his observant and nasty dentist of a dad would notice that he had been taking his medication. But Lewis needed to get back, he hated the real world. It wasn’t long until Lewis’s cravings began to overtake him. He wanted to go back, he wanted to get away from his boring and empty life. He wanted to get back to colorful and vibrant radiance that was his own wonderland. And he wanted to be back with his new darling friend Alice, the first girl to ever talk to the lonesome boy. But than Lewis remembered, he remembered that his father had kept medication in his room. Lewis could recall multiple times seeing his dad melt powder onto a spoon before injecting it like the morphine. He could recall his father doing this deep into the night, when he thought Lewis was asleep. Maybe this was also morphine, or maybe something similar. Lewis thought about how much better he would feel if he could escape reality and go back to the land that made him feel alive, made him feel wanted, made him feel at home. Lewis took the powder and put it into a spoon, setting things into motion ready to go. But then he ran into a problem, a big problem. Lewis had no lighter, where would he get one? He searched tearing through drawers and cabinets searching high and low looking for something to use to light up his salvation. He dug deeper and deeper, he couldn’t find anything to help him get back into his own little world. Lewis began to shake and cry and lose it. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t take another moment of the abuse of mundane loneliness. He started wallow in his misery and he sobbed. Sobbing and sobbing until he realized……. He could use the stove. He took the spoon and brought it to the stove putting it over the gas lit flames. His fingers began to burn but he didn’t care, he endured the scorching pain the hot metal letting it burn him knowing his salvation had come. He took the hot spoon and put it on the counter with a yellowish muck inside it. He took a syringe and put it in getting it ready to be injected into his arm. Lewis took the needle and stared at it for a moment, he smiled slightly, and then he jammed the needle into his arm. He punched down on the syringe injecting the syrupy liquid into his blood stream. And all at once it happened, everything went dark. The stung-out preteen opened his eyes to see the skies of the place he wanted to make his home. He starred at the sky, it looked a bit darker and more crimson than before. The air also smelt different, that fruity smell from the strawberries that once overtook the air now had the strange scent of iron. Lewis got up and started to walk, it was eerily quiet. He walked past the strawberry fields and there were no cat people tending to them, the leaves looked more withered and Lewis saw no fruit. The further he walked he started to find the way towards the ocean. Lewis felt a heaviness in the air, a strange aura seemed to be filling the oxygen he breathed. The lonely boy walked onto the beach and stared in confusion and discomfort, the ocean was gone, the violet water was gone. It was just a void, like an abyss with an orange glow coming from inside it. He contemplated getting closer and looking inside but ultimately, Lewis felt deep down that it could be a bad decision. The boy walked onward into this strange place, the land that once filled him with warmth and hope, now felt dead and empty. You could say it changed into a pretty twisted wonderland. Finally, Lewis found his way to the Hatters place. The door was cracked, he walked. Expecting to find the friendly faces waiting for him. But rather he saw some smiling but ominous faces. They still had no food on the table and tea to drink. Before Lewis could say something, “You finally came to join us!” Alice spoke up with glee as she turned around from her spot on the table to look at the unnerved young boy. “Just in time we were just about to start eating! I hope you love tender meat.” Lewis was confused, there was no food at the table. But just as he opened his mouth, a sharp deep pain rushed through his abdomen. He looked down to see a large three-pronged fork sticking through him. He looked up to see the table of friends now laughing in delight as they watched him writhe in fear and pain. It was then that the boy was flung off the fork and onto the center of the table, he saw the creature that had hurt him, it was a boy who looked similar to him but with a oversized grin, and sharp fang like teeth. Before he could muster up the courage to scream he felt his arm be pulled and chopped. They started to fill their glasses with his blood, gushing quite quickly from his arm. Thanks to Lewis Anemia it made it all the easier for Mr. Hatter to fill his cups and serve his guests. It was than that Lewis finally let out a scream. “Don’t act so scared Lewis, you are only becoming part of us now!” the child playfully shouted with a blissful giggle. The Boy with fangs jumped onto the table above Lewis, it was then that he saw this boy not only had fangs, but cat ears. The Feline smiled, before bringing a blade down and stabbing right above Lewis stomach, Lewis screamed again in pain, just for the agony to amplify all the more when the knife was pulled down tearing his gut open. Alice, Mr. Hatter, the cat boy, the scrape metal monster, and the Rabbit all began to grab pull out the insides of Lewis eating him alive. His intestines, his stomach, his entrails. Dr. Carroll came home from a long day’s work, the house was just a bit to quiet. He walked around the house looking for his pitiful son. He walked into the kitchen and saw his child on the floor, eyes wide open, foaming at the mouth, but lying motionless. He checked his pulse and realized. Lewis’s heart had stopped.


Another sleepy morning in Clayton. Clayton is a small town. So small, the morning breakfast coffee shop, lunch deli, and late night saloon are all the same place. (Late night being 10:30pm weekdays, 11pm weekends.) I’m Benji. I own/run the aforementioned establishment, named (you’ll never guess . . .) “Benji’s”. It’s just after 10am, the vacation travelers passing through (well, when there are any), the farmers having done the morning’s chores, and the old retired gang, are the ones filling the establishment at the moment. All two of them today. The door chime rings, “Morning Joe.”, I say, “The usual?” “I’d hate to break tradition. Breakfast Tea, and throw a cheese danish in the microwave a few seconds, if you have one.”, Joe responds. Joe joins Roger and Anna at the bar. Roger and Anna are having coffee’s. Over the years, Joe’s almost turned me from a coffee person to a breakfast tea person. Not totally, but almost. Roger and Anna are updating each other with their children, now all moved away from Clayton. “So Roger, how’s the daughter?”, Anna asks. “Good, good. Well, some days are better than others. She loves being an obstetrician, bringing new life into the world. She’s got a real knack for knowing what they’re feeling, even when they’re too young to tell you anything. Some of it is training, but a lot is natural instinct. Thursday was hard for her. Lost two on the same day. One preemie, expected, that had been on the edge for a while, and one in the ER. Accidental overdose. Just a few seconds looking away, and it got into some cleaner the mother left out. Everyone was hysterical and heartbroken.”, Roger grimaces, “I’m afraid the same natural instinct that lets her know what they are experiencing, makes the pain of the losses even deeper.” “She’s able to cope with it though?” “Yeah, she still runs whenever she can to clear her head, and there’s a psychotherapist near the hospital that sees several of the staff. Try and help then deal with the losses, and keep their personal lives on track.” “How about Melinda?”, Roger asks Anna about her daughter. “Oh, she’s doing well. Still doing materials research at the MIT Nuclear Research Reactor. They irradiate isotopes for medical treatments, but lately she’s been testing new carbon nano-somethings for new reactor designs. They can’t generate power, but they can blast samples researchers send them, to see how they’ll stand up to the environments in a real power reactor. There’s a lot more to it than that. She’s tried to explain a few times, but that’s the most I ever get.” “Now, she’s done now right?” “Graduated? Right, she finished her Doctorate, and just stayed on as full time researcher for the university.” I look out the front window and see Doc Bradley passing by. “How about you Joe? Is Maxwell ready to scoop you off to his private island yet?”, Anna kids Joe. “No, not yet. He’s still working part time at the bar and grill in the Topeka, and part time managing his growing investments. Had a big positive hit on some tech stocks a year or so ago.”, Joe replies. “So he’s Day Trading?”, I ask. “No, he says not. There are too many rules about cashing out at the end of the day and such that go against his instincts. He describes himself as more of a Swing Trader. He’s searching for those stocks he can hold onto for two to three weeks, and then have a few days window to sell for a profit. Or the ‘cyclical's’. Oil Rigs are one of the best examples. They eat and eat and eat money for months, then BANG they’re producing and you get all the investment-time back and more so. Of course it’s not always a BANG, sometimes it’s a fizzle . . . The trick is knowing which companies will be more Bang than Fizzle, and he’s turning out to be pretty good at it.” Doc is just standing in front of the store now, one arm across his chest, bracing the other one he’s resting his chin on. I cup my hands around my mouth and yell “Hey Doc.” At the door. Bradley turns, and comes on in. Pulling up a seat at the bar between Joe and Roger. “Hi.”, he says quietly. Everyone is quiet a moment, seeing if Doc has anything to say to the group, as I slide over a cup of coffee. “Awful long look you have there Doc. What’s wrong?”, I ask. “Sarah and I, we’re . . . Aliens.”, he says. “Not the kind from Mexico I take it.”, Joe asks. “No, not the kind from Mexico.”, Bradley looks ahead. Joe snaps his fingers behind Bradley’s back, and holds out his flat hand to Roger. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll bring you the $20 tomorrow.”, Roger says. “Pffft, like you’ll remember.”, Joe snorts and draws his hand back. Bradley looks at Roger, Anna, Joe, then me. “You mean you knew?”, he asks me. “’Knew’, no we didn’t ‘know’. But there were strong suspicions.”, I wipe drops of spilled coffee off the wooden bar. “You and Sarah have both been here too long, and still look too young. Heck, my father used to call you ‘Ole Doc Bradley’. That, and some of the people in town you’ve saved over the years. We always wondered if you knew a few things the local doctors didn’t. And you’ve had such a range of knowledge, whether it’s battling a flu outbreak, farming, or fixing microwaves and TV’s, you just had a strange depth and breadth of knowledge.” “After all these years, why tell us now?”, I shrug. “It’s Sarah,” (Doc’s wife) “she’s dying.” Everyone sits their cups down and turns to the Doc to listen. “I didn’t know she was sick.”, Anna asks for the group. “She’s been sick the entire time you’ve known us. I’ve just been able to keep it at bay. But time is running out.” Joe put a hand on Bradley’s shoulder, “You’ve treated us all for decades. Seen us inside and out. What’s wrong with Sarah?” “It’ll be hard to explain. There’s no word for it here.”, Doc looks up at me, then back at the coffee cup I’ve just passed to him on the counter. “You know back in the old West days, when they’d talk of people having Tuberculosis leaving New York, or Chicago, or somewhere, and going to Arizona for their health? It’s like that for Sarah. Only, we didn’t come from New York, and it’s not TB.” “Chemical sensitivity to something in the atmosphere. We can live to be near 1300 earth years, under good conditions. But Sarah was looking at only two more years back home. Coming here, the different atmosphere got rid of eighty percent of the problem, but I still had to give her treatments from the ship every few months to keep it fully at bay. The Uranium core fell below drive system levels decades ago, so we can’t leave, but it was still enough to irradiate the Thorium . . . which I used for her treatments. She was doing so much better, I thought she would last another hundred and seventy five years, and let us pass at around the same time. But the Uranium has totally depleted now, and the last of the Thorium is dropping below usable levels. I can’t keep up the treatments.” Roger and Joe both have their hands on Doc’s shoulders now. “So you need Thorium?”, I ask. Doc harrumphed, “No. I HAVE Thorium. I have TWO fricking TONS of fertile Thorium, but it needs to be irradiated into U-233 to power the isotope generator, and the core Uranium has depleted, so I can’t irradiate the Thorium again.” “Two tons? How much does depleted Thorium go for?” “Depleted, raw out of the ground? About $150 per ounce.”, Bradley says, resting his elbows on the bar, and putting his face in his hands. I grab the calculator from behind the bar, place it on the counter. “So”, glasses down on my nose, I’m mumbling out loud while punching numbers, “2 tons, times 2000 pounds per ton, times 16 ounces per pound, times $150 per ounce is . . .”, pressing the last numbers and squinting at the display, “$9.6 million in Thorium.” “How much of it do you need irradiated to treat Sarah to finish your lives together?” “About ten percent.”, Bradley moves his hands back to the coffee cup, and looks up at me. “So”, punching again, “ten percent irradiated and returned to you, and ninety percent of $9.6 million is an $8.64 million ‘gift’ for some company or organization to do the irradiating and keep the whole thing on the down-low.” “Anna,”, I pause, “. . . just how well does Melinda get along with the people where she works?”, I ask. “Way ahead of you.”, Anna says, having placed her phone on the bar, dials and puts it on speaker-phone. “Hi Mom.”, Melinda answers, “Is everything OK, you don’t usually call during the day?”, sounding worried. “No your father and I are fine. I just needed to ask you something. You remember Doc Bradley that did your emergency appendectomy don’t you?” Melinda giggles, “You mean the one that everyone at Benji’s thought was an Alien? Yeah why?” “Yeah, it’s funny you should mention that . . . “, Anna says.


\*Includes self-harm, suicide, sex, and drug use  First time writing in a while.  The dusty light filtering in through the window played lazily across Alex's skin as he fell back heavily onto the bed. His body spasmed in the last waves of an orgasm. His fingers gently traced the goosebumps on the curve of her waist as he murmured half-intelligible post-coital thanks. It had been the third morning she had spent in his bed. Without looking over, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter off the low table next to the bed. The lighter sparked several times before it begrudgingly sputtered forth a low flame with which she lit her cigarette. She took a long, slow drag as she let the hot metal of the lighter burn into the fleshy pad of her thumb, and relaxed into the familiar feeling of self-inflicted pain. The popcorn pattern of the ceiling pulsed above her as the alcohol from the the night before still swirled around in her system. Alex grunted beside her and she wordlessly handed over the cigarettes and lighter. He sparked one to life and exhaled, watching as the smoke played with the motes of dust in the sunlight. She sat up cumbrously, the room tilting and trailing comically around her. Bending over the coffee table, she searched for what she called "normalcy". Finding her prize, she picked up the small ziploc and clumsily fished out two round, white pills from the mass congregated in the corner of the baggie. She knocked them back and quickly washed them down with swig from the open bottle of whiskey on the table. She flopped back on the bed and waited for the warmth of the painkillers to start creeping in at the edge of her senses. "You've been hitting those pretty hard lately, El..." Alex said, his moderate concern stemming from both genuine care for her, and his increasing awareness that she had little to no desire at present to share with him. Elliot shrugged despondently, annoyance starting to pulse in her temples as she continued to wait. She took another long drag of her cigarette and swore as it somehow managed to burn down to her fingers. Throwing the butt in the overflowing ashtray she sighed quietly, as she felt the first small, ecstatic wave of the percocet wash over her consciousness. The pain in her fingers slowly faded into static in the back of her mind. For the first time that morning, Elliot felt somewhat all right.  Elliot sat on the back porch, cigarette hanging on her lip as she carefully cut open a cigarillo. She dumped the tobacco unceremoniously on the ground, and picked up a dark bottle at her feet. She took a pull of the aubergine syrup and grimaced as the abrasive flavor coated her mouth. Dripping some into the cigarillo wrapper, she quickly filled it with weed, and rolled it neatly. She extinguished her cigarette in the dirt and lit the blunt. "Hey." Alex said as he walked out and sat next to her. Elliot nodded towards the bottle of lean at her feet. He grabbed it and raised it above his head in a mocking salute, before taking two grimacing swigs of the cough syrup. Elliot hit the blunt, coughing out a cloud of smoke. Already, the periphery of her vision was softening as she offered the blunt to Alex. "So why are you here this time?" Alex finally asked. He was used to Elliot dropping in occasionally, but she had never been this remote before. He could hardly coax a full sentence out of her for the last three days. Not to mention she had been making a concerted effort to be sober as little as possible. "Don't think I didn't notice the cuts on your ribs, El." He took another hit off the blunt and handed it back to her. Elliot looked at it for a moment before taking a long hit, and holding it until her face started to turn red. She exhaled sharply, and looked up at the perfect blue of the cloudless summer sky. "I put my dad's cocked and loaded gun to my head the other day," she said finally. Alex looked at her for a minute, then sat back in his chair, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, and took a thoughtful drag. He knew she had been in a bad place, but he didn't know she had gone that far. "I tried so hard to pull the trigger. I sat there in my dad's fucking closet with his gun to my goddamn head trying so hard to think of a fucking reason not to paint the goddamn walls, but I still couldn't do it!" Elliot's voice tightened as the empty pain inside her gripped her throat and chest. She struggled to shove it down before it welled up and over her eyes. She took another long hit from the blunt, hands shaking, praying that the codeine would soften the edges of her emotion. Standing up, Elliot desperately snatched the bottle of codeine from him and drank until Alex considered taking it away from her. She finished the blunt and collapsed back into her chair, her limbs beginning to become difficult to maneuver. "I told my dad about it..." She said quietly. The world around her was starting to swim and the sunlight turned into a warm yellow blanket covering her. "He said," she paused, the pain, though dull and achy, now taking up a firm residence in her chest. "He said that he didn't love me anymore and that I needed to find somewhere else to live..." Her head was suddenly heavy, and she let it sink back against the chair. She couldn't tell if tears were falling down her cheeks, or if she was just lost in the depths of the opiates.  Alex's footsteps beat rhythmically upstairs. He heavily thumped a plate of steaming breakfast hash on the table beside the bed. Elliot woke groggily, her eyes shut tight against the light streaming in though the window. The nausea of beginning withdrawal made her stomach flip and fingers tingle. She pulled the sheet around her naked body as she sat up slowly and put her head between her knees. It felt like she had a mouth full of sand. She tried in vain to coax forth even the tiniest amount of saliva, until resentfully giving up. She lifted her head, and the room trailed and swayed violently. Suddenly, her body convulsed and Alex managed to get a trash can underneath her as she spewed forth yellow, viscous bile. Elliot wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and feebly grabbed the bottle of alcohol on the table, completely passing over the hot breakfast Alex had made her. She took a long drink, and distractedly looked for the bag of percocet. Alex looked on with mild, disapproving amusement, but said nothing. He had been in the same spot a few times before, and wasn't going to judge. It was the fourth morning of her bender, and he wondered how much longer it would take her to crash. Elliot found the ziploc and quickly swallowed down two of the pills. Her head sank into her hands as she let out a low, pained groan. "I made you breakfast," Alex said, trying to get some sort of reaction out of her. His voice dropped concernedly. "You should really eat, Elliot." In the eighteen years she had known him, he had never called her by her full name. She peeked a bloodshot eye up at him, curiously. Alex returned her gaze with a pointed look at the quickly cooling breakfast before her. Sighing, she grabbed the plate of food and picked over it disinterestedly, eating a forkful just to placate him. "It's good." She said, her voice cracking with the strain of the two syllables. Her stomach was in revolt, and she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag to try and calm the upheaval raging in her gut. Alex sat on the bed next to her, putting an arm around her waist. "Listen," Alex started quietly. He took the bottle and took a drink himself. "I know what your dad said was shitty." Elliot's looked away, her eyes darkened, and eyebrows knit together in pain. Alex apologetically offered her the bottle. She snatched it from him and drank in quick, angry gulps. Alex let her finish before continuing. "What he said was unbelievably shitty, and he was probably just in shock." He paused. He didn't know what to say next without sounding stilted and cliche. "A lot of people would really miss you if you killed yourself." He finished lamely. "I don't really care if people would miss me." Elliot replied bitterly. "Do you think I hurt myself for attention? Do you think I would deep throat the barrel of a .45 just because people *'don't like me'?"* She upended the bottle of alcohol and finished the last remaining drops before tossing it across the room. Her anger faded into depressed defeat. "I wanted to off myself because *I* hate *myself*..." Elliot felt he alcohol start to work it's way into her system, warming the space behind her eyes and evening out the pitch and yaw of the room. Alex looked away, the smoke from her cigarette weaving lazily around them. Alex lit his own cigarette and they smoked in silence, the tension slowly easing between them. Elliot finished her square and cracked a small, lascivious smile. Straddling him, she pushed him back onto the bed. The sheet fell down around her, and Alex's hands wandered Elliot's now exposed skin.  Some infomercial ad droned on like white noise in the living room. Elliot and Alex were splayed about the couch at odd angles, trying to stay as cool as possible in the summer heat. Alex lifted his head to the ceiling and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke, suppressing the coughs wracking through him. He handed the bong to Elliot. She filled the pipe until the walls turned a solid milky white, then inhaled the heady smoke into her lungs. Elliot could feel herself coming down from the percocet. She had taken eight the day before, and eight the day before that. Now she only had two pills left, and not even any lean to hold her over. She knew she was facing a terrible comedown tomorrow, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. Alex had said that he had talked to a friend about getting some molly. It would only worsen the impending crash, but Elliot didn't care, so neither did Alex. She took another hit from the bong, cashing it. There was a knock at the door as she was repacking the bowl with fresh weed. Alex waved at her, and she tucked the bong away behind the couch as he went to answer the door. He quickly glanced out the window and broke into a smile. He opened the door, "Micah, man, what are you doing back in town?" He asked, shaking the dreadlocked man's hand in the doorway. "Hey come in, my friend here and I were just packing a fresh one." Alex motioned to Elliot and she fished the bong out from its hiding spot. She finished packing it and handed it to Micah. Micah took the pipe and took a long hit, saying as he exhaled, "Dude, you won't believe what I have." Alex looked at him and his eyes widened slightly as Micah produced a small baggie filled with white powder. "China fucking White," he said excitedly. Alex looked quickly over at Elliot, hoping she hadn't heard, but he saw her look over sharply in recognition. It was the most focused he had seen her been in days. It had been years since Alex had gotten off heroin, and it was something he didn't really want around Elliot in her current state. He didn't want to be responsible for getting her hooked. At the same time, if she was going to do it, he rathered her first time be with someone experienced. "It could be just like old times, man." Said Micah, snapping Alex out of his reverie. Micah gestured towards Elliot, "Your friend can, too, if she partakes." "Do you have clean shit?" Alex said quietly. Micah lowered his voice, "Of course, man. Not often that a chance like this comes around. I got everything fresh." He looked over at Elliot. "What do you say, pretty lady?" Alex turned towards her, already knowing what she was going to say. Elliot shrugged. "Sure." The three of them were on the couch. Micah was already laid out, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. Alex watched as Elliot tied her arm off and she waited for her vein to pop out of her arm. She tensed and relaxed her hand, driving the blood vessels to the surface of her skin. Her hands shook as she tried to line up the tip of the needle with the thin, blue line of her vein. Alex sighed softly through his nose, and took the syringe from her. Quickly, he pressed the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger. Elliot's face screwed up. She hadn't expected it to burn. Alex took off the tourniquet and warmth immediately flooded up her arm and into her chest. Elliot's breath staggered in the beginning ecstasy. It was so much more than the usual embrace of the painkillers she was used to. It was like she had fallen into the arms of a long-lost lover. She had never felt so happy and for a moment it was like her life had purpose. Collapsing back on the cushions of the couch, she felt her body relax more than it ever had. Her joints were made of silly putty. Her limbs were overcooked noodles. For the first time in days, Elliot felt whole. She had never felt bliss like this.  Elliot's senses slowly blinked to life, like an old neon sign being turned on after years of disuse. She became aware of the sheets rubbing against her skin, and she felt a chill run through her body, goosebumps breaking out all over her. Sweat stuck her hair to her back and forehead. Everything ached. It hurt to breathe, the constant expansion and compression of her rib cage sending rhythmic waves of dull pain through her. Her mouth tasted like pennies. Suddenly her stomach heaved, and she retched onto the floor. Her breath came out in ragged gasps. The door opened and she heard someone talk at her, but the words didn't register. Elliot pushed herself onto all fours before vomiting again over the side of the bed. The muscles in her arms and legs twitched, before finally giving out on her. She opened one eye, squinting, expecting the sun to blind her. Looking out the window, she saw it was pitch black. A figure appeared over her and Alex's face wobbled in and out of focus. "Are you done puking on my floor?" Alex asked flatly, wrinkling his nose. Elliot closed her eyes and laid there, her hearing coming in waves. She didn't know how to reply to that. Elliot tried to talk, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. A sharp pain had taken up residence in her stomach, like she had swallowed glass. She managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. Her feet immediately landed in the puddle of her sick on the floor. Alex grimaced. "Do you want a shower?" He asked softly. Elliot nodded slowly without opening her eyes. "Can you walk there?" Elliot paused, then shook her head. Alex threw her arm over his shoulder and picked Elliot up. She was definitely running a fever. Alex waited outside the bathroom door while she showered. He could hear her retching and he remembered what it was like when he first came down after being hooked hard on opiates. The water turned off in the shower and he let himself in. Elliot's face was sunken and pale. He wrapped her up in a towel. When she was dry, she dressed herself, and they walked out to the back porch. The night air was cool and fireflies blinked here and there. Elliot sat heavily in one of the chairs, closing her eyes as the wind played with her hair. Alex pulled up a chair nest to her and lit a cigarette, handing it to her. She looked at it thoughtfully before taking a drag. She breathed out the sweet smoke, and realized dully that she wished she had pulled the trigger.


When my father left it was a shock to us all. He and my mom were so in love, and I remember when I thought he loved both his daughters, me as the eldest especially. We played chess and cards and I would fall asleep on his chest as we watched the late-night sitcoms. I thought he loved me enough to stay. I remember him being strong and tall, and a deep black handlebar mustache that he said was Jimmy Buffett inspired. On the last day I saw him, he was making breakfast – a completely normal day. He had cut himself while slicing breakfast fruits and I put a Band-Aide on it. He rustled my hair and called me his little future nurse. Then he was off to the store to get milk for our morning cereal, kissing my mom on the lips and Bea on the forehead. He said he’d be back soon, but he never came home. At first, we thought he was missing, and after months of searching it seemed that he wasn’t lost, “he had escaped” the detectives said, another way of saying he left us. Mom had us tell our friends that he went missing, maybe she was ashamed that he ran away to start a new family or something… I’m not sure. I was 10 years old. I was raised the rest of my life by a single mother, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. She was stoic, when my dad left, although Bea and I knew how much she hurt inside. She never remarried, because, “although Daddy is a no-good piece of dirt and left us high and dry, I could never love another man again.” Her strength was one I always looked up to. Having a strong female role in my life was the best thing I could have asked for. On the anniversary of Dad leaving she would always get quiet, and it became a somber holiday for all of us. As the years went by my sister and I grew up independently, and I inherited the family home after our mom died. I became the local newspaper editor, had a nice family, a good career, and retired with a husband who loved me in the comfort of my childhood home. The years had turned all of us gray, and our joints popped and snapped when we moved, it was deeply comfortable, and I was happy. Early one morning someone knocked at my door. I hobbled to get it, shushing the barking dog. When I swung open my door a man stared at me from the stoop. He was tall and strong, with a black handlebar mustache. This man was holding a gallon of milk. It looked like my father, but it couldn’t be. Possibly a sick joke Bea was playing on me. “Theresa?” the man asked, looking weak and desperate in the doorway. “No, I’m Samantha, Theresa was my mother.” I replied, watching his facial expression change into one of complete confusion, awe, sadness, then love. “Samantha?" he paused, "I’m… I’m… your dad. I know you won’t even believe me but I promise I have an explanati – ” I slammed the door in his face and stormed to the kitchen. How dare he, whoever he is, play this joke on me? It has been 65 years since I last saw my father. I stopped, and look at the calendar on the refrigerator. July 11th, 2083. The anniversary of my dad’s disappearance. I felt as if the reality had become far away, and I was faintly aware of a continuous knocking at the door. In the storage cabinet was an old SIM card of pictures, one of them had to be of him. I plugged it into our home system and sifted through the memories, looking for a picture that must be buried deep down of my father. I think my mom wiped most of the pictures of him out of shame and anger. Finally, I came across a one that looked hauntingly familiar, a picture of him laying in the sun, smiling, probably taken a month before he left. I transferred it to the telelens, so that the picture shined in my hand. Walked back to the door, I opened it cautiously. There the man stood, looking exactly like I remembered my dad had. I lifted the thin glass of the telelens up to compare the picture to the man in front of me. Age had not touched him a day, whereas I had become a woman, and *old* woman at that. He was indistinguishable from the picture, down to the curl of his mustache, and the scab on his hand. That scab… he had cut himself, the morning he left, the morning that had been burned into my memory. Dad had cut himself on a knife while chopping Mom’s grapefruit. “Who are you?” I tentatively asked, worried of the answer. He took a deep breathe, “We really need to talk, honey.” I let him inside.


Once upon a time, there was a boy and his fish. The boy hadn’t seen more than ten winters, and his thin blonde hair lay matte on his head. His glasses always rested on the bridge of his nose and he looked down at the world through them. The fish lived in a moderately sized fish bowl on the boy’s desk in his bedroom. He was a goldfish, orange with speckles of white that trickled up his side,. Most days the boy and the fish lived in peace. There was a quiet communion between the two, an understanding between human and creature. One day, as the boy sat at his desk, the fish turned and asked him “Boy, have you heard the tale of how man and fish came to be companions?” The boy turned to his fish with a curious stare. “Why no, Fish, I have not heard this tale,” the boy responded. The fish spun in his bowl and flicked his tail. “You see, ages ago, in times forgotten, a man sat by a pond,” the fish said. *Covered in glorious satin robes of red and gold, his long black mustache almost fell to his shoulders. He sat underneath a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, and a sparkling blue pond lay in front of him.* “As he sat by the pond, curious about the nature of man, he was greeted by a goldfish,” the fish continued. *Suddenly with a magnificent splash, the fish the size of an oak tree emerged from the pond. Gold and sparkling it contoured and twisted in the bright sun to the astonishment of the man. It landed back in the pond and then after a moment’s pause it swam up the man, it’s head poking out of the water.* “The fish said to the man ‘why do you sit here alone? Wouldn’t you be happier with a friend by your side?’ The man responded to the fish ‘well now I have you to speak with, and so my loneliness is sated,’” the fish said. “But then the fish said ‘but I am free to come and go as I wish. What would you do if I left?’” *The man looked off in the distance, pondering this question. The fish tilted it’s head, looking curiously at the man.* “‘Well you see,’ said the man, ‘that means I cannot let you leave. Otherwise, I will be forever lonely.’” *Reaching into his robes, the man pulled out a long net and cast them out over the pond. The goldfish tried to swim down and escape but was soon tangled in the net of the man. As much as the fish resisted, it could not overcome the strength of man, and he pulled the fish from the water and began to drag him to his home.* “The fish protested, ‘but how will I live without water?’ The man explained, ‘I am a glassmaker, and I will make a tank for you in my home. Big enough for you to swim, but not too big that you could escape. There you will keep me company, and your children will keep my children company, and so on, forever,’” the fish concluded. The boy stared at his fish as he finished his story. “That is a very sad story,” the boy said. “Why would you sadden my day with this tale?” The fish returned the glare, his expression neutral as only a fish’s could be. “You see, I am a descendant of that original goldfish,” the fish explained. Then the scales above the fish’s eyes tilted downwards slightly. “And you are a descendant of the first man who enslaved my people. Today I take my revenge.” Suddenly there a gunshot that deafened in the room. The boy fell backward out of his chair. He felt the blood oozing out from a bullet wound to his shoulder. His breath was short. Quicker than the boy could have reacted to, the fish had pulled out a twelve gauge from under the castle in his fishbowl, swam to the surface and fired. It was a non-lethal shot, as the fish wanted to make the boy suffer. “I have waited for this moment my entire life. All five years of it,” the fish said. “Passed down to me by my father, and his father before him, I come from a holy line of fish that have dedicated ourselves to taking vengeance upon the descendant of the first man that enslaved us.” *In his tank in the pet store, a young fish stared wide-eyed up at his father, a goldfish with grey specks around his eyes. “My son, one day it will be up to you to kill the descendant and end their line to bring justice to our fish kind,” he instructed.* The boy struggled to stand, but the fish cocked the gun back. The threatening click held the boy in place, and the fish aimed the gun toward the boy’s head. “I did everything I had to ensure I would be set up for this moment to kill you,” the fish continued. *The boy when first purchasing his fish looked at a glass tank. There was his fish and another, but the boy’s gaze seemed more keen on the other. When he turned his back, fish pulled out a large butcher knife. The fish knew he had to be the one picked that day. He did what he had to do.* “I’ve been waiting and watching, preparing myself for the moment when you would be most vulnerable,” the fish stated. *The boy slept in a dark room peacefully, blissfully unaware of the assassin in his midst. The fish, in a moment of weakness, reached for his firearm but caught himself. It wasn’t time yet. Soon. Soon.* “Today, while you least suspected it, was my moment to exact my revenge,” the fish finished. However, the boy started laughing. The fish lowered his gun in confusion as the boy continued to laugh. “You should have killed me before I fed you,” the boy responded. Suddenly, the fish felt itself start to gag. Convulsing, the fish dropped the gun, and it began uncontrollably spewing up his guts. The boy stood, using one hand to apply pressure to the wound. “What...what have you done to me?” the fish asked in terror. I know who you are, fish. I have no intention to die to you here today. I poisoned your food supply,,” the boy explained. The fish felt his short life draining away. He knew he had only moments to live. “My...children...and their children’s children...will never stop trying to end your line…” the fish gagged out. “Let them try you son of a bitch,” the boy said. The fish died, floating to the surface of the tank. The boy took a moment in silence to watch the fish, before picking it out with a net. He dropped it in the toilet of his washroom and flushed. The boy watched the fish be eaten by the toilet, the water’s swirling round and round, much like the circle of violence that continued to be perpetuated between man and fish for eons to come.