In peaceful solitude, Scorpion stood on the river bank. The sun glinting off her black and red armor, her body at rest, yet peaceful only in appearance. With longing she watched the river. Had it been moments or hours, she could not be sure. The gently rippling waters burbled over rocks before feeding a small pond. It caught the sunlight and shimmered as it lazily flowed past, but she had no interest in the water's dance today. Her eyes flitted across the surface. Nothing. Still. Scorpion clicked her claws in annoyance. Where is he? She thought, I've been here all morning! Her patience wearing thin, Scorpion turned from the water and slowly crawled away. Until the unmistakable sound called her back. The splash had been quiet, but distinct. Scorpion rushed back to the water's edge. Her convictions renewed. She would not miss him again. Patience. She told herself so strongly she had almost spoken aloud. Searching the river with determination, she waited. Waited. The surface exploded at once as the fish leapt again. Twisting in the air, sunlight catching on a thousand scales, droplets twinkling like stars from his tail. He captivated Scorpion, and she was powerless to resist. In an instant it was over, as the fish disappeared beneath the river again. Scorpion sighed and settled into the soft sand. Alas, Fish took no note of the staring scorpion on the sandy shore. His life was the river, ever flowing and changing. He leapt because it was his nature, not to captivate a lonely arachnid. Even so, captivated she was. Again and again he jumped, and each time she took in the splendor. With each graceful leap, her heart jumped as well. There was something about this creature that called to her. His beauty and vibrancy echoed somewhere deep within her. Despite her best interests, she knew all too well that she was in love, and the fact tormented her. In silent rage, Scorpion lashed out at the ground in front of her. Claws raking the sand as her tail snapped forward sending a pebble sailing into the water. "Oh, hello!" A voice called from beyond the water's edge. Scorpion lifted her gaze. The fish was before her, swaying from side to side. "My," began Fish, "you're simply gorgeous! Come for a swim?" For a long moment she said nothing. Her mind reeled for a reply from suddenly absent thoughts. "Um- uh- I can't swim." Scorpion stated, kicking herself. "That's a shame." Fish said with a slight and fleeting frown, and slipped beneath the water. "W-wait!" Cried Scorpion. But it was too late. He was gone. "I love you." She whispered after him. Her small body shuddered with a sigh. Half defeated and half ecstatic. The interaction, though brief, was more than she had dared to hope for. She watched Fish leap until the sun passed behind the thick canopy of trees. With sunlight and shadows dancing across the river, she turned to crawl back to her lair.


I've been writing this story for a little bit and it's nowhere near done, but I got impatient and decided to post what I've written so far. Enjoy! Alternatively, don't enjoy!   It was a Utopia. A true, bona fide Utopia, where everything was perfect because no one had an issue with anything and everything was perfect and you always put the usb drive in the port the right way the first time. Yeah, it was that good. There was sadness, of course, suppression of that would probably involve some dystopian measure, and everyone knew that and everyone accepted that and so there was sadness because everyone knew that it was only human and you didn’t really need constant happiness to have a utopia, anyway. Bad words still existed, but no one was offended by them anymore. Besides, people had almost completely switched to Brandnewspeak, anyway. Brandnewspeak was a brand new language which had been invented just a year ago. It had become the most widely spoken language in the Utopia in under 4 months and its official language a month after that, success which many attributed to its clean, smooth sounding words. Indeed, it was agreed that Brandnewspeak was wholly superior to English. In the center of the Utopia was the flag, depicting a circle of people linking arms with each other around a smaller version of the same image. The Utopia’s motto, “everyone and everyone else” was painted in the Utopia’s official font, Times Brandnew Roman, just above the door to the main hall. Opinions were respected, facts were verified. Everyone had plenty of food, water, shelter, medicine, and the like. This is where our story begins. Sam was a simple lad who led a simple life (a simple, perfect life, mind you. The word “perfect” had been forgotten many years before the introduction of Brandnewspeak. Because everything in the Utopia was perfect, the distinction had no longer been necessary to make, resulting in the word collectively fading from the people’s vocabulary). He enjoyed music, pubs, and long walks on the beach. His job as a plumber didn’t pay much, but it paid enough. In fact, it paid the perfect amount to cover his life style. Yes, Sam led a virtuous life in the Utopia, a satisfying, stimulating, exemplary life. But everything was about to change. But not today. Today was a pretty regular Wednesday. Sam had woken up, eaten breakfast, gotten out of bed, and prepared for the hours of calming problem-finding and problem-fixing that were to come. He departed from his house in his 0-CO2 emittance shoes. He was walking down the sidewalk, as one does, when he came across something awfully peculiar. He picked the thing up and, since he couldn’t discern any possible use for it, put it in his pocket to dispose of at the nearest recycling duct. The recycling ducts were a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which lead down to the recycling center (itself a massive and elaborate structure beneath the Utopia which was capable of recycling any synthetic material at all). The ducts were truly a work of genius and had been designed by Will Einstein, the greatest plumber to ever live. Ooh that’ll have big ramifications on the story, won’t it? Yeah, probably. I figured I’d give you a freebie since most of the foreshadowing has probably gone over your head up till now, unless of course you’ve had it explained to you by some obsessive, cranky english teacher who reads way too far into things. You know, the kind that could read the first two sentences of our story here and come up with some reason as to why it’s actually a dystopia. Oh, and they’d probably fit Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy in there somewhere, too. But I digress. As Sam continued along the sidewalk, he pulled out his map to make sure he was going the right way. He was. Putting his map away, he saw that he was getting close to the recycling duct. He felt in his pocket for the object and examined it more thoroughly. After all, he may have just missed its purpose, and he’d hate to have something useful recycled. Looking at it now, he noticed nothing new. It was still a hard, smooth, hexagonal prism, with a hole in it. He was now standing in front of the recycling duct. He was about to toss the hexagonal prism away when he noticed a key lying on the ground directly in front of the duct. With a lapse in the logic of probability, he tried to put the key into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. “Ah, well. Down you go, then.” he said to himself, and tossed both the prism and the key into the chute. Sam made his way to the first home he was to work at that morning. It was a small, familiar, quaint house, not unlike his own. Fairly unremarkable, but remarkable enough. It’s not like all the houses were exactly the same because of some dystopian, oppressive government that prevents its citizens from realizing that it has taken away their individuality and slowly makes every aspect of their lives as mundane as possible. He rang the doorbell and, after the perfect amount of time, someone opened the door. “Hello, Ms. Jones,” Sam said. “How are you this morning?.” “Quite alright, Sam, and how are you?” she responded. “I’m just fine, thanks,” Sam said. “Good, good. Then please, come in,” Ms. Jones said, leading Sam to the kitchen. “You see, Sam, the faucet has stopped working,” she said, as she turned the handle and watched the pitiful dripping with a frown. “Now don’t you worry, Ms. Jones. I’ll have your faucet up and running in a jiffy!” He said, and got straight to work. I won’t bore you with the details, because who cares about fixing some clogged pipes? No one. That’s why you call a plumber to do it for you. What I will say is that it involved a wrench, a lump of muck, and some pipes. Yep, a perfectly normal plumbing job.


He kept his head down, eyes fixated on his phone, he had no one to text but it gave him something to do. His headphones played the same few songs he had heard a thousand times, it was something familiar to keep his mind from wandering. The entire summer he had not spoken a word , a lump had formed in his throat, he had no one to speak to, he had forgotten what it was like it to speak, convincing himself no one would want to, he never put the effort in to open his mouth. The days went on and on in this cycle, he became increasingly more isolated, despite being in a city of millions, “ I wonder” he thought to himself, he did that a lot, “Does anyone even notice me?”, That’s all he wanted, his family didn’t seem to notice his isolation, but then again that could have been all in his head. On the last day, he woke up before the sun had risen to be on his way to the airport, he hadn’t slept much. On the way, he found himself in a small rustic coffee shop, it was full of personality, and not that manufactured personality he had grown so tired of, it was a place of passion, he noticed the small things like that. It was a happy place and that’s exactly what he needed. “What’ll be buddy?” asked the man on the till with a warm smile, “uh”, shakingly , “just a latte I guess” , eyes glued to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. On his way to the table he noticed all the cups of coffee had little drawings in the foam, leaves, coffeebeans, an overused cliche but he liked the effort. He sat down threw his head into his crossed arms and waited for his drink to arrive. What felt like minutes to him passed, he was getting restless but obviously he didn’t have the gile to complain, so he sat there, scrolling through his messages, not talking to anyone, just scrolling enough to seem like everyone else. “Hey man sorry for the delay I worked extra hard on this one” , the barista placed the cup down on the table. He looked at it and saw a drawing of himself on the foam, his heart dropped and his stomach turned. He was shocked, he was distressed, someone had finally noticed him. He got up. raced to the bathroom. locked himself in a stall and when he made sure he was completely alone, he burst into tears, anyone else would have passed it off as something interesting and nothing more but to him it was an act of kindness he had never felt before, a complete stranger. He sat there in the stall, tears running down his cheeks, and let out a laugh of purest ecstasy. He left the bathroom , didn’t touch his drink and left the store with a smile, he hadn’t had one of those in a while.


The girls looked at their waiter with wide eyes as he stared down at them with a kind smile. Both of his arms, face, and neck were covered in scars of many different shapes and sizes. Some of them were faded back into his natural skin color while others were pink and looked fresh. “Ah, sorry,” Devyn spoke up quickly when she realized that they had been staring at him for a little too long for him not to notice. She quickly kicked the other two to get the to stop causing them to hiss in pain quietly. They ordered their drinks, but Sana only order an entree causing the man to raise and eyebrow in amusement. “Starting slow, huh? I’ll be back with your orders soon.” He smiled before leaving the three and going back behind the bar to prepare the orders. “He looks like he’s the only one working,” Devyn pointed out with a sympathetic smile and Sana hummed in response without looking at him, not wanting to look towards the bar because of the man who was still watching her even though she was out of his line of sight. Sana was feeling anxious until their orders came out. She was eating the mozzarella sticks she had ordered and chatting to her friends when the feeling slowly left her and it was beginning to feel like a normal girls night out. That was until a bottle of beer was set in front her and she nearly choked on her food when she looked up at the person who set it there. “I think I owe fate a few drinks. Fanny seeing you here Dollface.” The man smirked widely showing his sharp teeth as he held his own drink in his hand while leaning against the booth casually. Sana was glaring daggers at him and scooted away from him while her friends were staring at the two with confusion. “Wish I could say the same.” “I noticed you didn’t order a drink, so I got one for you,” he said as Sana looked from the drink back into his red eyes. “I don’t want a drink from you,” she spat but he only chuckled. “I get why you think I’d do something like that, but that’s not me.” The man smoothed his black hair back. “You can even ask Demie,” he said nodding to the bartender when Sana gave him a skeptical look. Devyn and Rachel were inspecting the beer bottle before looking to Sana who was waiting for their opinion on the matter. “It’s not opened and it’s a free drink,” Devyn shrugged and Rachel nodded before Sana took the drink from them with a heavy sigh. Rolling her eyes she twisted the cap off and tossed it on the table. “Thanks.” “Are you the douche she was talking about who gave her his number?” Rachel asked obliviously causing the man’s smirk to turn into a crooked smile. “I’m touched Dollface. You talked about me to your friends.” He looked to Sana who’s cheeks heated up as she rested her chin on hand. “I wasn’t talking nice about you,” she admitted. “You shouldn’t be touched.” “I’m touched whenever anyone talks about me regardless.” He smiled genuinely. “What’s your name?” Rachel asked and the man looked to her. “Josh.” Devyn and Rachel introduced themselves before Josh looked back at Sana, their eyes connecting causing another shiver to run down her spine. “Mind if I sit with you? My drinking partner disappeared on me,” he asked but Rachel spoke up before Sana could answer. “Sure!” She smiled happily, swaying in her seat slightly as she was already tipsy on her martini causing Sana to give her a desperate look. Josh sat down next to Sana and looked at her with a smirk. “Now that we’re on a first name basis and I’m sitting beside you, how about we get to know each other better? Maybe you’ll come to hate me less, Dollface.” Sana rolled her eyes and looked away, “No way.” Devyn leaned in close to her sister while watching Josh begin to start a conversation with Sana who was still trying to not look at him. “This guy really has something for Sana even though she’s giving him the cold shoulder,” she told her sister behind her hand to which Rachel nodded in agreement before gasping loudly causing her sister to look at her with confusion. “It’s the guy! From the train!” Rachel whisper yelled at her sister, pointing her in the direction of the man causing Devyn’s stomach to drop in fear.


NOTE: this is my first short story, so please leave any criticism or thoughts for improvement so I can grow as a writer. Thanks! Often in life, the most idle and mundane of situations can quickly become an instance of strangeness, mystery, or absurdity. Dinner is typically an uneventful affair: feel hungry, eat, feel full, repeat *ad infinitum*. But this ordinary cycle was recently broken for me in an unusual way, that left my life feeling somewhat misaligned. All due a short conversation with a ten year old boy. Albeit a particularly odd ten year old boy, but still, a young child nonetheless. I was travelling around Asia, and had stopped for dinner in a small vegetarian restaurant. I’m not a vegetarian, but whilst travelling I was frequently forced to eat in restaurants of questionable hygiene, and vegetarian restaurants feel like the safer option for keeping illness and resulting anxiety at bay. I’d had difficulty finding the restaurant because my phone’s battery ran out. So, after several conversations in broken English with locals, I eventually arrived at my destination disheveled, sweaty, and hungry. For all intents and purposes, it was a perfectly normal looking Asian vegetarian restaurant. Large murals of buddhist deities adorned the walls, meditative music was playing, and small incense were burning by a shrine at the entrance. Rightly, I felt at ease. I sat down in a chair in the corner benefited with a gentle breeze from a ceiling fan, and situated in the shadow of a terrifying depiction of Makahala. He looked benevolent and malevolent. Wrathful and peaceful. Friend and foe. The table was slightly greasy, and the floor was dusty. A trail of ants dutifully carried small scraps of food off to their colony. Not the cleanest place I’d visited, but also not the dirtiest. I considered crushing the ants to send them into a collective frenzied panic. Makahala’s eyes put me off the notion. A large clock in the center of the wall was no longer working, it’s hands resting at 11:59. The restaurant was largely empty, save for a small family in the opposite corner, and a young couple two tables across from me. The aroma of their meals reached me, so I quickly picked up the stained menu, which was fortunately in English. Deciding what to eat was easy enough. Seeing my favourite dish at the top of the first page was clearly destiny. After some awkward pointing at the menu, the waiter understood what I wanted, and scuttled off to fulfil my order. Now I had only to wait. My phone was flat so my primary source of entertainment was lost. I only had my own thoughts for amusement, which quickly became boring. Did you ever try sitting and doing nothing? No phone, book, or TV. Only your imagination. In childhood we have a brilliant capacity for this mental distraction, spending hours in our own vibrant fantasies. Of course this is the bane of school teachers everywhere, and they quickly try to discipline it from us before our teens. But more than that, as we age something changes inside us and we lose the skill forever. It cannot be regained, or retrained. The world inevitably becomes grey and diffuse. My restless mind tried to tune in to the distant alien languages echoing around the room, in an attempt to hear a familiar word or phrase. Nothing. Although, the unique cadence and vocalisation of the language did provide a brief glimmer of stimulation. It made me wonder how many languages there had ever been and what they all sounded like. How many were forgotten? Language feels so permanent but historically it can be swept away and vanish so easily. I was suddenly snapped out of my brooding, by a polite ‘hello’ pronounced in a misplaced, faux-American accent. I looked up to see a short boy, with scruffy hair, wearing an obviously counterfeit FC Barcelona shirt spattered with food stains. His posture was somewhat awkward as he stood staring at me. At first glance he appeared perfectly normal though; a copy of thousands of identical children seen around the world, that like to eat chocolate, watch cartoons, and run around outside. But after initially registering his appearance I noticed something deeper was maligned about him. The air around him was strange. His deeply contrasted eyes were weary, and seemed wise. The ants at their floor banquet had mysteriously fled. To use the coloquial: this kid had some bad juju. Of course I did not say this to him out of politeness, but I felt uncomfortable around him, and not just for the intrusion. His appearance had startled me and after a small moment I enacted a delayed greeting to him. ‘Hi.’ I responded, with a forced smile fading across my face. ‘May I sit with you?’ he enquired. ‘My family are boring.’ he pointed in their general direction, where his mother was frantically gesturing him to comeback. Or was she warning me not to talk to him? Who knows? ‘My family are very boring too, so don’t worry I understand. Please sit down.’ I motioned my arm to the empty seat across the table from me, and he struggled on to the chair leaving his legs dangling and swinging freely off the floor. ‘What is your name?’ I asked with an overemphasis on my pronunciation. ‘Jake.’ he said curtly. This name was a somewhat jarring to me, but it was not uncommon among the anglophiles I’d met in Asia to adopt an English pseudonym. ‘And how old are you, Jake?’ ‘I’m ten, but I’ll be nine soon.’ he replied confidently. ‘Do you mean you’ll be *eleven* soon?’ ‘No.’ he blinked with each eye independently. I thought he was either an idiot or was messing with me. ‘So...how long have you studied English for?’ I asked after a short, tense pause. ‘I have to study it at school, which has been for five years, but I also study at home, because I like to watch a lot of videos on youtube in English.’ ‘That’s good! I wished I’d studied more when I was younger, but I’ve always been lazy,’ I laughed, ‘So do you enjoy going to school?’ ‘No, not really. I don’t like the other kids at my school. They’re mean to me now and sometimes they throw rocks at me and laugh with each other. Last week, they threw water on me while I was in the bathroom. None of them will talk to me anymore. I don’t understand them.’ he said, with his head bowed. I felt sorrow as I looked at him, remembering the similar misfit feelings I had at his age, but also a flash of guilt as I found myself mildly repulsed by this peculiar child. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. When people get older they usually get nicer. They’re probably mean to you because you’re smarter than them, and that makes them feel stupid.’ I comforted him. ‘Do you have any friends at school you can talk to?’ ‘No, not anymore. Only my dog is my friend.’ he said, looking back up at me while executing another of his offputting, goldfish-like blinks. ‘Oh, did your friend move schools?’ ‘No, he died.’ he stated as a matter of fact. By this point of the conversation I had become a little tense, but social convention and morbid curiosity implored me to continue talking. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, what happened to him?’ ‘He just died, the doctors didn’t know why, but I do.’ he said calmly. ‘He just died?’ ‘Yeah. Tell me a sad thing that’s happened to you.’ I was a little taken aback by the path of the conversation so far, but managed to collect myself. ‘I don’t know...I guess the saddest thing that's happened to me was when my cousin died in a car accident two years ago. He was only eighteen, and all my family were obviously very upset. We played together a lot when we were young, but by age nine he’d moved to another city, and I never really saw him again. He was an important part of my childhood, and I have a lot of nice memories of him, but he died and I didn’t really *feel* anything. That was the saddest thing for me - realising that someone so close to me became so distant.’ I said. A crisp red-brown leaf strolled past me in a light breeze. I glanced up to its parent tree in the courtyard of the restaurant, its tangle of auburn hair lightly shedding. ‘It was a joke by the way.’ ‘Huh?’ ‘When I said I was ten. I’m actually nine.’ ‘Oh right, okay. Very funny.’ I paused, taken aback by his dismissal of my story. ‘It was a joke,’ he repeated ‘Or should I say a “yolk”?’ he grinned maniacally and laughed to himself. This would have been funny if he had held up an egg or had some egg related thing with him. He did not. I have thought about this moment repeatedly, and still can not make sense of his attempted comedy here. Humour doesn’t always translate well linguistically or culturally though. ‘Another sad thing that happened to me is that my grandma died a few months ago. She wasn’t sick, she just died in her sleep. But I knew it was going to happen.’ ‘What do you mean you knew it was going to happen?’ ‘It always happens around me. I’ll have a dream about a person or animal, and then something bad happens to them, but there’s nothing I can do about it to help them.’ he said, eyebrows obliqued. His belief in his supernatural powers was entirely contrary to my disbelief in the supernatural, so I said ‘I’m sure the dreams are just a coincidence, aren't they. No one can see the future, it’s not possible. How do you know they’re related?’ ‘Because it’s always the same dream. I’m in a room with the person or animal talking or playing with them, and then the room gets bigger and darker. The walls get further and further apart, and the person I’m dreaming about slowly moves into the dark until I can’t see them anymore, and I’m alone in the empty space.’ ‘And then something...bad happens to them?’ ‘Yes, sometimes they die, sometimes they just get sick, or sometimes it happens to someone they know. I’ve tried to warn people but it doesn’t help.’ ‘Did you dream about your friend before he died?’ I asked, still skeptical of his claims. ‘Yes, I tried to help him. I told everyone in class something would happen to him and be careful. No one believed me, and then he died and they said it was me that killed him,’ he clenched his fists. ‘But I didn’t I tried to help him, and grandma. And now I’m trying to help you.’ ‘Excuse me?’ I didn’t believe this child’s stories at this point, but the statement certainly shocked me, and regardless of my beliefs a slither of fear ran through my mind. The unshakable “what if” got lodged in my thoughts, like a vinyl record skipping over, and over. ‘We’ve never met before. I don’t...’ ‘I dreamed about you so that means something bad will happen to you. That's why I came to talk to you. To warn you, John.’ he interjected, his eyes wide and unblinking. The room became static. The pleasant sounds and smells disappeared. My chair seemed small and weak underneath me, like it would shatter and the earth below it would swallow me. ‘I never told you my name’ I stammered. ‘I know,’ he smiled benignly ‘Sorry I have to go now, goodbye’ he said, as his mother whisked him away, saying what I assume was an apology to me. When my food finally arrived I struggled to eat more than a few mouthfuls. My mind was racing and my anxiety piqued. The rational and irrational parts of my mind were at war, and struggling to reconcile what had just happened. I paid for my meal having eaten less than half of it, and left the restaurant with dark clouds looming overhead. I’d always prided myself on being a person of pure logic, but this illusion was suddenly broken. The walk back to my hostel felt like a minefield. Every crack in the pavement, pair of ladders, and mirror was now threatening. Crossing the chaotic roads I had a heightened sense of things, where I was normally oblivious. When I got back, I had a restless night of sleep, in a cold sweat. The walls were watching me. This mood lasted longer than I care to admit. A week or so after meeting Jake my mum told me my pet rabbit had died. However, this didn’t feel tragic enough to fit the “warning” I had been given. I didn’t like my rabbit anyway, so I felt a perverse sense of relief knowing he’d died, and my distress continued for a long time. Ironically, nothing bad ever did happen and my worry was arguably misplaced. My anxiety eventually ramped down, but since that day I can’t get past the feeling that something is around the corner waiting. A shadow lies over me. Not because I now believe in magic, fate, supernatural forces, or whatever you want to call it. But because that day I realised how much closer loss is to all of us. How dangerous the world is, and how fragile we are. I’m not more scared of dying, I’m more scared of losing the people I love from around me, because that is a fate worse than death. Watching everything and everyone that you love in the world disappear and fade away into the dark, knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it.


Note: This is my first short story I have written since high school. I know the writing isn't great, but this is also my first draft so let me know how to improve and what you think. “Brandon wake up” “Brandon we gotta get going wake up” “Here’s your socks and coat, we gotta get going now to get you enrolled bud, lets go” Brandon stumbled out of bed, confused, but following his mothers orders and she prepared him for the day. He gazed around the room. Brandon had an impressive collection of model bridges and buildings. “Brandon, get teeth brushed, and put on deodorant ok?” His mother said. Brandon did as he was told. Brandon looked in the mirror, surprised for a moment, forgetting his mother had buzzed off his curly brown hair the day before to about a half inch in length. He ran his fingers through it before grabbing his toothbrush and bubblegum flavored toothpaste. He loved bubblegum toothpaste. He wouldn’t use any other kind. “Brandon we got 5 minutes before we have to leave.” His mother called from the room over, “Finish up in there quick ok bud?” “OK mom!” Brandon shouted from the bathroom. Brandon didn’t talk much. He didn’t make friends at school too well. He was always much bigger than the other boys at school and he hadn’t quite grasped how to maneuver his large body yet. Brandon fumbled out of the bathroom, teeth brushed, deodorant on, and grabbed his coat, his eyes still foggy from a good night’s sleep. Brandon’s bed time was 8:30 and he always fell asleep fast and deep. Brandon slept only on his back, he snored loudly, and he could not sleep without his blanket. “Ok hop in the van Brandon” Brandon did as he was told. He always listened to his mom. “We are ready to go.” Brandon said to his mom with a smile. His mom hopped into the driver’s side of the 4 door, gray minivan. “Did we brush teeth?” his mom asked, “Let me smell.’ He breathed into his moms nose, proud he knew she would smell his bubblegum toothpaste. “You did good bud. Promise me you will be good today?” “We promise!” “Ok.” Brandon’s mother said with a slight smile “ Can you take this please?” She reached out with two small green pills in the palm of her left hand and a water bottle in her right. Brandon grabbed the pills and swigged them down with water as he had done many times before. He finished the whole bottle. He always finished his water bottles. Pills mean mom is serious, he thought to himself. He would try his best to be good. “Brandon really? Wake up bud.” Brandon’s mothers voice rang in his ears. He had fallen asleep on the way to their destination. The pills always made Brandon sleepy. “Just take these ok?” His mother said as she handed him 3 small white pills and his water bottle. He threw all three of them in his mouth, and then washed them down with the whole bottle of water. He always finishes the whole bottle. The white ones made him excited. He liked those ones better then the green ones. The green ones made his eyes feel funny and made it hard to walk straight. His mother took him by the hand into a large grey building. Brandon recognized it as the building where he went to class last year. She led him down a hall, doors on either side. The hallway had the long white lights. Brandon hated that kind of lights. He liked yellow light bulbs better. He looked into the windows of each of the classroom doors, trying to get a glimpse of the blocks and toys he knew he would be able to play with after school started. At the end of the hall his mother turned a corner and knocked one of the wooden doors. The only door without a window, Brandon noticed. It’s different from the other ones. A women led the two of them into a small room with cushioned chairs. He, his mother, the woman who answered the door, who was now sitting behind a small desk, were the only ones in the room. A second door on the opposite side swung open and a man walked out. Brandon remembered the man from his previous school year. He knew if you saw him you were in trouble. He avoided eye contact. “You must be Brandons mother” the man said , grabbing his mother’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Follow me. Brandon, your mom and I are going to talk for just a few minutes ok?” Brandon was very worried for his mom. Nobody talked to that man for a good reason. The door slammed back shut and Brandon read the word, **PRINCIPAL** “Mom’s in trouble” Brandon whispered to himself. “Mom’s in trouble, mom’s in trouble, moms in trouble” The woman behind the desk offered him a candy from a wooden bowl. “Mom’s in trouble” he continued, ignoring the offer. He could hear parts of the conversation coming from inside the room. “Brandon has a histo…..and violent…..….” The mans voice floated through he thin door “He just doesn’t know his own strength.” His mother was raising her voice. Brandon didn’t like it when his mom raised her voice. She only did it when he was in a lot of trouble, or she drank mommy’s grape juice. “Your son” Now the principal was raising his voice. When Brandon raised his voice indoors he had to take some of the green pills and go to his room to calm down. “Your son, injured 3 students last year alone. He is a liability. I’m sorry but we can’t let him continue to attend our school” He could hear his mother begin to cry. “How am I supposed to work? I can’t keep him at home.” Brandon knew what this meant. His mom really was in trouble with the principal, and it was his fault. I needed to explain. He could be good! He got up and started pounding on the office door has hard as he could. “How am I supposed to work? I can’t keep him at home.” His mother continued to cry. “Im sorry but there is nothing more I can do…” Brandon heard the principal say as his fists continued to collide with the door. The door opened swung open and Brandon found himself face to face with the tall, imposing man that was the principal of his school. He saw his mom sitting in a chair, crying. Brandon had sat in that chair before. He knew what the principal was like. He was a bad guy. He had to help his mother. Brandon suddenly swung a fist at the principal, his knuckles colliding with the side of his principals nose. “BRANDON” His mother’s angry voice rang out as she stood from the chair. She grabbed him by the hand and led him out the door they had come in. “You can’t act like that Brandon.” “We didn’t mean to!” Brandon raised his eyebrows and tears started to form in his eyes. “No there is no we this time Brandon. YOU did this. And now what are you going to do Brandon, huh? What are we going to do?” “Just take these and get in the van” She said to him as they reached their van. She handed him 4 more of the green pills and 2 of the yellow ones. He didn’t get the yellow ones very often. He took them, climbed into the passenger seat, and before the van had begun to lurch forward, his eyelids grew heavy and he was asleep. Brandon’s eyelids fluttered open. He felt the weight of the seatbelt across his chest. Looking out the windows he realized he was still in his mother van, but now he was alone. And it was dark. Brandon was afraid his mother and left him. He unbuckled and stumbled out of the car. He knew this place. He was his driveway. He walked to the front door and saw his mother through the window. He knew he was safe. Brandon opened the front door and saw his mom laying on the couch. He called to her without a response. He looked around the room, and noticed several tall glass bottles on the floor. He recognized them as the grape juice that he wasn’t allowed to drink. He knew his mom drank them when she was really sad. Mom was mad at him. That much he knew. But she still needed to read him a story and tuck him in before bed. He shook her reluctantly. He never liked physical contact much. He shook her again. He would live through the touching if it meant he got his story. “Brandon…” His mother muttered as she slowly came to. She sat up suddenly and began to raise her voice, ”Brandon what the FUCK are we gonna do know. Hm? I cant work if youre not at school! We are going to FUCKING STARVE Brandon. You almost broke the principals FUCKING NOSE Brandon, what were you thinking? NOTHING Brandon when do you EVER think? I don’t even know if you CAN.” She was standing up from the couch now, and grabbed one of the bottles from the floor. She walked around the back of the couch that took up most of their tiny living room. She fumbled up the small wooden steps into the kitchen. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small orange pill bottle. Pouring a handful small green pills from the bottle into the palm of her hand she to the now shaking Brandon. “Just fucking take these.” She said handing the four pills and the green bottle to Brandon. “No story Brandon…’ she hiccupped out. “No more stories. Mommy is too sad for stories tonight Brandon. Just take them.” Brandon did what he was told. He took the green pills and washed them down with the strange tasting juice from the green bottle. He felt warm. He watched his mother stumble to her room and begin to snore. Brandon continued to drink. He didn’t like the taste, but Brandon couldn’t take his pills without finishing the bottle.  In all of Brandons 25 years, he had never felt like this. His eyelids were growing heavier. He was finding it hard to see straight. Like the green pills only much stronger. His arms and legs were getting warm. He kind of liked the feeling. His breathing slowed, and he drifted slowly off to sleep, on the couch, without his bedtime story.


The sound of metal colliding with metal was the only thing that ripped through the silence. It was the noise of the iron fists of a dark giant, that kept impacting the heavy main gate of Irik’han. The dwarven fortress had been under siege for days, pushed back beyond their heavy walls. The situation was dire. Few warriors were left and outside the walls was a whole army of darklings, waiting to tear apart the last resort the dwarves still had. “The gate can´t stand it forever, Dawrim.”, spoke Thumgar, the dwarves primus pilus. Dawrim, dwarven emperor by Paffnuzius will, nodded. “Yes. They´ll break through eventually. This might be the last day of the dwarves. But in Paffnuzius name, we will make it an end to remember.” The centurion nodded and sighed. “I just hope the men will show the same attitude. The first centuria will go down fighting, but there are many young dwarves among the others, inexperienced and scared.” “They will fight Thumgar. They are dwarves, after all.” After Dawrim spoke those words, silence settled again between the two. Many dwarves eyes still stared at the gate, expecting it to burst any second. It wasnt brittle yet, would surely take at least one more hour. Still, time was becoming immesurable in the current situation. The primus pilus and the emperor were not close to the gate. They were above it. In a lookout made of a stone that was see through from one way, while seeming solid from the other. Dawrim´s eyes roamed the scene, looking at the thousands of darklings, at the hills in the distance and the setting sun, coating everything into it´s red light. The clouds on the sky were dark, rain was coming, it would start soon.   **T**he darklings outside stared at the barren stone of the walls. A collosal wall, only interrupted by the large metal gate. In front of it, their dark giant. A huge humanoid creature, three and a half men tall. It´s bald, round head had no nose, just slits for eyes and a large mouth, two tusks poking out of it. The giant had the grey skin, that all darklings sported. It was very similar to them in general, only lacking the large, pointy ears and nostrils. However, its big hands were covered in metal, creating dangerous weapons, devestating whatever they were swung at. The other darklings were of various kinds. There were darkling swarmers, about half as tall as man and usually not armored. Armed with dirks, daggers or short swords, they were not skilled fighters, but their ruthlessness, disregard for their own life and amount were what made them dangerous. Their grey, rag-covered statures were thin, only skin and bones. Fewer, yet still quite the amount, were the darkling brawlers. They were mansized hunks of muscle, flesh and aggression. They were usually found wearing cuirass and greaves in the red of the darklings standards. Their fearsome faces are covered by a sallet of the same color, on which higher rank brawlers have a visor. They use large cleaving swords, oftenly wavy or spikey in their form. They are crude weapons, less meant for cutting than for hacking. The wounds they reap are oftenly deadly, if not directly, then through the incredibly cruel injuries their shape leaves. Then, there were the darkling crushers. They are fewer, a hundreth of the amount brawlers. Larger than those, these creatures could stand up to two men tall. Covered in complete armor with a frogmouth helmet, they are fearsome beings. Weilding hammers and axes that men could barely lift and wreaking havoc to those that they meet. Lastly, the darkling beasts. They are monsters on all fours. They could be compared to boars, their skin grey, their tusks large. They have muscular bodies, their skin is thick. The beasts usually are not armored and sport a mohawk of hair on their heads, running down their back to the tail. They are the hardest to kill and can devesate whole rows of soldiers, relentlessly charging through. Their number is few in every darkling army, as they are rare in the darklings home and hard to tame.   **Bang. Bang.** Again and agian, the dark giants fists slammed against the door. It would not last much longer. The time was running thin and those within the walls knew well. The women and children were hidden in the caverns, while every last man that could fight was armored and armed, waiting for the inevitable. The expression differed. Some grim, some scared. Some had made their peace with it, some were eager to make history happen. But in none of their eyes was the hope of victory. It would be but the desperate fight of a cornered animal, lashing out at its hunters. Dawrim looked down, at the couple of hundred men gathered and with a grim expression, he stomped on the ground, disrupting the nigh silence that had reigned. “Sons of Paffnuzius! I must not sugarcoat our situation. Out there stands an army, tenfold our strength. We are trapped, cornered in the walls we sought to protect us. This is the last battle we will ever fight.” His voice boomed through the halls, the dwarves looking at him with the same expressions that had previously watched the doors. “But by Paffnuzius, we will not go down easily. We are dwarves! Our ancestors watch us with tention, they expect us to match their glory! If this is dwarfkinds end, we will make it one to be remembered! Even in centuries, all over the world, they will remember our names, whisper them in awe as they tell the tale of this great battle! Of our unbending resistance!” The emperor was halfway through his speech, the expressions changing more and more to ones of determination. Some started to shout in agreement at his statements. But then, he was interupted by a peculiar sound. One that did not fit the scenery whatsoever. It sounded like the howl of the wolf. First one, then another and another. “Impossible…”, Dawrim muttered and rushed towards the lookout, his eyes bolting towards the hills.   **O**n the hill, first, a single creature was seen. It was a horse and a rider on it, clad in black armor. A spear in hand, a shield in the other, the person raised their weapon and shouted. “**Ithilest, advance!**”, a voice boomed over the plains. Shortly after, the stomping of feet could be heard. On the hills, first on, then two, lastly three more silhouettes appeared, each holding a horn, the ends shaped like a wolfs head. Once more, the howl of wolves was heard, now becoming clear it was the horns that produced them. Almost perfectly timed, the clouds burst. Rain started pouring in masses, thunder booming as lightning struck the sky. And then, they came. Black armored knights in platoons started to cross the hills and gather atop, carrying a wolf banner with them. It was hundreds in sight and who knew how many behind the hills still. They came to a halt with still distance to the darklings siege and army, gathering, grouping, waiting.   **M**ovement came to the darklings rows. Their commander, a crusher wearing no helmet, his skin having a yellowish hue to it, waved. His voice was loud enough to be heard by all the darklings, even the dwarves in their fortress could understand what he said. “**Split up! Keep this filth of the giant and get rid of the shortlings once the gate falls. Dont let them break your rows or i´ll feed you to the beasts!**” With a shift, quickly defense rows were build, using whatever polearms were aviavble to make a rushing attackers life hell. The darklings didnt advance, it was in their best interest to stall the battle. It was clear, their main objective was to breach the dwarven fortress, no matter the cost. The knights still stood, until the dark rider raised their spear once more. “**For glory and death!**”, the voice boomed once more, lightning striking the sky at the same time. And the knights repeated the shout, starting their pace foward, steadily advancing, their rows flawless and closed. The stomping of their heavily armored feet on the ground was almost drowing out the sound of the dark giant hitting the damaged gate. The wolven commander spoke again, shouting but the word “**Ithlain**!” But the order was clear. From behind the hills, less armored men started to swarm forward. Their front row carrying what looked like metal plates. Quickly, they were placed onto the ground and a mechanism in them was activated, making them stand by themselves as metal shield wall. Behind it, archers started to gather, protected against counterfire from the lower positioned enemies. The knights advance continued through all of this, slowly but surely making their way towards the darklings defense.   “**W**hy would the Ithilien wolves help us Dawrim?”, Thumgar asked, concern clear in his voice. “They aren´t exactly known for their generosity…” The primus pilus watched his friend and emperor pace up and down the lookout. “I dont know Thumgar, i really dont. It won´t be out of kind spirit, surely, they must have an ulterior motive. But as long as it means our kind lives to see another day, it´s an improvement.” Quickly, the dwarf made it back to his men. “If the gate falls, hold your lines! Do not let them pass you, they cannot reach the women and children under any circumstances! Stall them for as long as you can, become the heroes our ancestors want us to be!” The emperor had hope in his voice, mixed with the usual determination. THat sparked the flame of hope in his men, as chanting started to rise in their rows. Old, dwarven battle songs, speaking of death, honor and history. Dawrim however quickly returned to the lookout. He had to see how the fight went. He wanted to see the wolves fight. It wasnt often, that one could watch the Ithilest fight without paying with their own life.   **A**s the knights slow approach was soon to meet the lines of the darklings, the archers were set up, starting to pull back their strings and aiming for the mass of foes. However, the commander stopped them quickly, shouting out “**Aim for the giant! Bring it down!**” Quickly, the angle was adjusted, aiming for the faraway gate of the fortress and the beast that bashed it in. Once more, the dark sky was lit up with thunder, as the knights started to charge the last part of their way. Armed with swords and shields, they soon crashed into the line of darklings and the battle ensued. The archers shot the first wave of arrows, many hitting their target, as the giant grumbled in pain. Still, he did not slow down, kept beating the gate, over and over as the archers drew their next arrows. The rows of the darkling swarmers were quickly broken, their umarmored, small frames unable to withstand the powerful charge of the knights. Their advance however soon slowed, as they met the second row, brawlers standing there, ready to fight off their enemies. The sound of battle, weapons hitting armor and shields, screams of pain and death, warcries, soon filled the area. When the second volley of arrows hit the giant, he groaned once more, his pace slowing, but not stopping. But it became apparent that another volley would do the trick and most likely end this creature for good. The battle stalled out, the knights and brawlers seemingly at level. On both sides, lives were taken and lost equally, no side able to push further than the other pushed back. It stayed like that, the sides hacking and slashing at each other, killing as many as they could to gain the lead. The sound of bows going off filled the air a third time, a sharp howl heard from the giant. It stumbled, landing one last punch, before collapsing against the gate… And with that gave it the final blow. Both, monster and gate fell broken. Silence overcame the battlefield, as every party involved stared at the gate for a moment, the sudden shift in events stunning them all.   **T**he dwarves inside the fortress of course saw none of what was happening outside, except for those few entrusted ones that stood on the lookout with the emperor. For a moment, when the giant struggled, Dawrim had hope. If the beast fell without breaching the gate, the dwarves were safe. No matter the damage, the darklings had no means to get past that heavy iron. This hope was seen by a spark in his eyes and a sharp breath taken beneath the well maintained blonde beard, when the dark giant was in his death struggles. But it soon faded, as the gate fell with its assaulter. The noises was indescribably loud as the huge mass of metal and flesh crashed onto the door. Luckily, the dwarves stood far enough off not to be crushed, expecting the gate to collapse in such a way from the attacks earlier. The emperor and his primus pilus rushed towards the balcony that led to the lower areas, so that they could see their men, stunned, uncertain how to react. “Fend them off! Do not let them pass!”, Paffnuzius chosen bellowed, followed by a simple warcry. “Death!” The dwarves repeated after him, bracing for the soon approaching force of the darklings. The first line of defense would be the first centuria, which exceeded at defending choke points, much to the dwarves luck. The first row were shieldbearers, holding large, scutum-like shields and spears. They formed a wall, their stand steady and strong. They didn´t have to wait for long, as soon, swarmers burst through the open gate and did what their name suggested. They swarmed in, meeting a defensive line. They pushed against them, trying their hardest to penetrate the strong dwarven row. From behind, more swarmers came by the second, each wave pressing the last against the shields stronger. Dwarven spears found their victims again and again, but what broke the swarmers neck more than that were their own kind crushing them between shield and the next wave. Still, with the rising amount of force onto the shields, the dwarves would not be able to hold long, getting pushed back slightly already. That was, when the second row of the centuria sprung into action. With powerful leaps, lightly armored dwarves jumped oiver of their shieldwall, weilding two axes each. They landed within the mass of swarmers, crushing those that had taken the spot they now did. Quickly, they started to massacre through the helpless darklings. The tide of swarmers soon thinned out, but the metallic stomping of armored feet on stone was heard as brawlers appeared. And tall from within their lines stood two crushers, weilding heavy hammers. The axe-swinging dwarves quickly fought their way back behind allied lines, as it was a lot harder to kill these foes.   **O**utside the fortress, the battle soon picked up again, going back to its stall. It did however not keep up for long. Ferocious howling was added as a new sound to the scenery and before long, suddenly, knights were seen flying through the air, tossed aside with great force. “*Beasts!*”, was the shouting between the knights. Two darkling beasts had torn up their rows, now turning around for another charge. On the hill, once more the wolf horns were heard. “**Ithilguen!**”, the voice of the black knight commander bellowed, before noise like thunder echoed from behind the hills. The commanders knights reared once, before it started to gallop. Then, shortly behind their leader, horses showed up. countless of them passed the hill, bolting towards the enemies lines and their messed up allies. The commander however soon split, heading directly for one of the beasts. While the archers on the hill aimed for the second, the horses dashed forward, directly towards the brawlers and swarmers fighting the knights. Spears were readied, the impact would tear apart anybody that had the misfortune of getting in the way. The knights loosened their formation and the horses skillfully, yet without losing speed maneuvered through, not hitting a single ally in their way. It was a well practiced, well executed maneuver. When the riders hit the enemy, it was the darklings turn to be sent flying from the sheer force. A large tear was made into the darklings rows, but once the horses stood, the crushers from further behind started to partake in the battle. Once more, it seemed to stall. While the archers were struggling to take down the beast, beside hitting, the commander still rode towards the second, heading directy for it. With a loud shout, the dark rider gained the creatures attention. With a snort, it adjusted its path, heading directly for the rider that approached it. The commander however kept galloping towards it, reading their spear. Shortly before they hit it, they arched backwards and threw it, the speeding projectile cutting through the air and finding its way into the beasts head. It fell over dead, but with the momentum still going, it rolled and slid over the floor. The horse was too fast to adjust and tripped over the corse, crashing forward, its rider falling off and onto the floor with a powerful impact. For a moment, there was no movement, before the rider arose shakily. Slowly staggering over to the horse, it was found to be dead, the neck broken through the fall. The rider took off the dark helmet and revealed their face to the cold rain. Beneath was a woman with golden hair and ivory skin. The lips red, partly from blood, as one of it had burst open from the fall. Her rest was not for long, however. “**Manling! Your life ends here! Without you, your men will falter!**” The leader of the darklings, the yellowskinned crusher, was standing ahead, the axe on his shoulder. The commander got into a defensive stance with her shield and drew a golden and black sword. As the only reply, she spit out some blood and started to slowly approach her foe.   **S**o far, the dwarves had been able to hold off their enemy quite well. While they had lost ground and men, the enemy force had suffered far greater loss and the ground gained by them was just nearly enough to almost cross the entryway of the fortress. It was a slow, draining battle and the fate seemed to turn on the bearded warriors more and more. They were growing tired, were thinning out. To seal their fate, the two crushers that had entered, but not yet partaken in the fight, were now approaching the line of the dwarves. That did not go unnoticed by the ones that had watched from above. “Thumgar! The crushers!”, Dawrim exclaimed towards his friend, who nodded. “I see them. They´ll tear through the men like an Aknarian Clawmouth through lifestock.”, the primus pilus replied. “It´s time, old friend. Today, we go down in history. One way or another.” The emperor was calm, collected. It calmed Thumgar. That was just how Dawrim had always been. And they had yet a battle to lose. If it was this one, so be it. “I´ll take one, you take the other. We can´t let them through to our men.”, the centurion stated. Thumgar drew his weapon, an ornate sword, that spotted an axe´s head on the tip of its edge. It was a large weapon, weilded with two hands by the strong dwarf. A deadly tool in the right hands. And Thumgar´s hands sure were the right ones. Then, he looked at the emperor. Dawrim too had his weapon ready, a large warhammer. With a nod, both took a few steps back. “To death.”, Thumgar said. “To history.”, his friend replied. THen, they ran towards the edge of the balcony and lept. Dawrim landed close to his target, quickly swinging his hammer around him to clear an area for himself. Then, he shouted at the crusher. “Hey, mudbrain! Come and face me, if you dare! Or is there no guts beneath that metal?” The crusher slowly turned, roaring. “**This one´s mine.**” A claim the other darklings knew better than to interfere with.   **T**he darkling slowly approached her, his axe now at the ready. The opponents slowly circled each other, before with a loud yell, the axe was swung, a powerful, vertical strike that would tear through armor and shield alike. Quickly, the commander used her shield not to block, but to push aside the arms of the darkling, making his strike whiff. With the other hand, she struck at the darklings face, delivering a punch to his face with her armored gauntlet. The darkling stumbled back and roared. Of course, that was nothing that would impair the vicious creature. Another quick swing, horizontally this time was soon cutting the air on the way towards the commander. She stepped back as quickly as she could with her armor, being in time to avoid the strike and slashing her sword at her opponent, delivering a cut to his left forearm. Another roar was heard, as he spun quickly and brought the flat side of his axe against her body. Unable to dodge or react quickly enough, she was struck and thrown through the air, landing on the floor a little further away. She did not get up immediatly. Everything was spinning, she was visibly dazed and the prior fall from the horse in addition to this impact had left their marks. Coughing up blood, she slowly rose, getting back into her stance to fight her opponent again. The darkling laughed. “I´ll enjoy taking every last bit of life from you. First you, then your men.” He once more swung his axe, the dizzy commander sloppily raising her shield. But the force was too big, the large weapon cleaved into the shield, into her arm, making her wince in pain, before bringing her shoulder forward and bashing the darkling away. The shield was rendered useless now and so was her arm, at least for the time being. With a grunt, she tossed she shield away, now left with only her blade in her hand.   **W**ith a loud, booming noise, the crushers hammer hit the floor. Dawrim had been able to dodge that strike, despite his thickset body he was surprisingly mobile, even with the blue and golden, ornamented armor of the emperor. In return, Paffnuzius chosen swung his own heavy weapon to meet the crushers side, leaving a serious dent in the large darklings armor. The monster of a darkling drew back its weapon and prepared to swing another time. In a long, horizontal attack, Dawrim was unable to go below or behind to avoid the attack. The swing hit quite a lot of darklings as well, cleaving a devestating line into their rows. The dwarven emperor thought quickly, pushing his hammer to the ground and propelling himself into the air high, flying over the crushers head, not without taking the momentum of the flight to deliver a serious blow to the helmet, leaving it dented as well. Landing behind the crusher, Dawrim quickly spun on the spot, quickly striking at the armored brutes knee from behind. It was forced to bent in, getting on its knees. Another swing to the crushers head finished the foe, as the armored corpse fell forward lifelessly, once more crushing a bunch of its own kin. With haste, Dawrim looked for his friend, having no trouble spotting the second crusher. The darkling stood twice as tall as the others and was therefore easily found. And not a second to late. Dawrim was just in time to see the crusher swing his hammer, sending a bunch of darklings flying. And, besides them, Thumgar, who had been hit by the swing. Sent off, the dwarf hit a wall, where then, his body collapsed to the floor movelessly. “NO!”, Dawrim shouted, disbelief and shock clear in his voice. The crusher then turned, laughing in a deep, dark tone, before approaching the emperor himself.   **A**nother powerful swing was taken at the commander. She was about to react to it, when the yellowskinned darkling suddenly stopped it, taking the momentum to instead use his weapons shaft to find her face. She had been too dazed to realize his feint. The forceful impact, once more to her head, send her to the floor, rolling for a moment, before laying on her back. She tried to get up, but failed. Her conciousness started to slip, as her eyes slowly started to close. “Mivareth…” A familiar voice seemed to call her. “Come, come with us. We´ll be together again…” She recognized where she was. It was the home of her childhood. The voice belonged to her mother, who stood there in her old, young beauty, extending a hand towards her daughter and seeming expecting, encouraging. “It´ll be like when you were young. Come, come with me…” The offer was tempting. Already about to grab her mothers hand, she remembered what had been happening. Where she actually was. And what it was her mother was offering. Death. “**No**!”, she shouted as her eyes flew open. Just in time to see the darkling raise his axe right above her head, about to take it off her shoulders. MIvareth rolled to the side, avoiding the axe that got stuck in the ground through the sheer force of the swing. Getting to her feet shakily, she made sure she still had her sword. Then, she laid her eyes on her foe once more, who had managed to rip free his weapon. “You are getting on my nerves. Die already.”, the darkling spat out. Charging at her, he swung his axe in a devastating attack, coming from the side. However, the knight had recollected herself a little and was not dazed enough to just take the hit anymore. Ducking low while dashing forward, she managed to dodge, while initiating a twirl. Seemingly spinning around him, she ended up behind her opponent, as he stumbled. Then, as he fell, his head fell off his shoulders, the decapitated corpse and its lost part falling to different sides. Mivareth was panting, her otherwise flawless skin had a laceration near her lip and she didnt even know nor want to think about what less obvious injuries she had suffered. She was still dizzy and throughly exhausted. Still, she remembered she was in battle, even if the enemy commander had fallen. Therefore, she took a look around.   **T**he crusher raised his hammer, still bathing in the victory over Thumgar. Dawrim was still in shock, struggling to grasp what had happened. But he had little time to grief, as the huge opponent was looking to kill another dwarf. Focussing on the task at hand, Dawrim couldnt exactly hold back the rage that was starting to fill him. Readying his hammer himself, he started to approach the crusher, breaking into a sprint. When the crusher raised his hammer to bring the weapon down straight on the dwarf, he kept running, closing the distance and getting between the crushers legs before the hammer would strike him. With the momentum still on his side, Dawrim started to spin, his hammer swinging around as he hit the legs of the armored darkling over and over,demolishing the armor and the flesh below. The darkling as a result broke to his knees before the emperor. With a vertical strike to the head, the angered dwarf removed any trace of a head that had ever been atop the armor, crushing it violently. When the darklings noticed their strongest allies having fallen, they were struck with fear. First few, then more and more started to run, leaving the fortress, trampeling those of them that fell behind to death. Dawrim was however not done with them. “Don´t let them escape! Charge!”, he shouted. His men were gripped with the same angry dedication, yelling “***Death!***”, before starting to charge out of the fortress, after the darklings.   **M**ivareth´s eyes were struggling to focus, she had taken quite the hits to the head. Still, she was able to make out that the sun was rising and the storm had stopped. The darklings were being pushed back by her knights, the second beast had fallen. Suddenly, from the other side of the area, she heard voices, shouting and noises of combat. Turning her head, she saw dwarves spilling out of the broken fortress gate. They were chasing darklings and slaughtering right through their lines. The darklings were fleeing, but the dwarves easily kept up with them. Due to that, the darklings were now stuck between two forces they had already been losing to. And without a commander to guide them, they had nothing to oppose the foe. They were just cut down like trees. In despair they tried to fight, but it was futile. It wouldn´t take long for the last of them to be slain. Content with what she was seeing, Mivareth did not engage in further battle. She sat down at the corpse of her horse, resting against it, stroking through its hair. Like that, she would wait for the fight to end. And hopefully regather some strength.   **D**awrim had not followed his men outside the fortress. Instead, he had rushed over to the body of Thumgar, laying by the wall. Driven by hope, he grabbed his friend, gently shaking him. “Thumgar. Thumgar wake up, we´re winning.”, he whispered. “Thumgar!” The lack of reaction drove tears to the emperors eyes. “You can´t do that! We´ve always been together, had each others back! Remember, when we were little? When we practiced to fight? When you taught me how to control the momentum?” The tears were running down his face by now, but Dawrim wasn´t ashamed. He could not have cared less, as the grief he felt for his lifelong friend was more than overwhelming. “You´re a hero Thumgar. You always were. And i promise, nobody will forget your name. It will be said with the greatest awe and respect, as the people tell the stories about you…” With that, he stood up. On the floor, he saw Thumgar´s weapon, the axeblade. taking it, he placed it into his friends hand, then resting both of the dead dwarves hands on his chest. When that had been done, Dawrim turned around. He would have a funeral for his friend, of course, but now wasn´t the time. As much as he was a friend, he was also the emperor, who had to care for the aftermath of this battle. Therefore, he wiped away his tears and slowly started to walk outside.


It’s where I’ve always felt the safest. Whenever I felt scared or stressed, I would retreat to my bed, to that safe place under the covers I’ve known since I was a child. It’s a place I’ve been spending a lot of time in recently. Since my recent graduation, I spend hours everyday jobhunting on my computer in my bed. I thought it would be easy to find a job after college. I was laughably wrong. After another frustratingly fruitless day of the job hunt, I decided I was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to fill out anymore applications. In a fit of futile rage, I shoved my laptop off my bed and onto the floor. It was dumb, but it felt cathartic. A small consolation after another overwhelming defeat. All I wanted in that moment was an escape, to see the light at the end of my current situation. I saw no light. I pulled the covers over my head and cried myself to sleep, my tears soaking the old mattress. It was dark outside when I opened my eyes. My eyes were still damp. I glanced over at my alarm clock; the bright red numbers read 12:37 AM. I had only been asleep for thirty minutes. Feeling slightly annoyed, I rolled over and tried to fall asleep again. As I tried to drift back to sleep, I noticed what felt like a draft in my room. The draft was unlike any draft that I’ve ever felt. Instead of cool, it was warm and almost sticky. It had steady rhythm with short pauses in between gusts. I looked at my window; it was closed. I looked at my fan; it was off. The draft felt like it was getting stronger. Feeling slightly unnerved, I reached to pull my covers up further. As I touched them with my hand, I noticed movement between my fingers. I quickly reached for my phone and turned on its light. What I saw horrified me. Along the sides of the covers were long fibers that were beating rapidly and rhythmically, almost like massive cilia. The entire comforter was undulating slowly. The edges of the mattress were leaking a thick, slimy substance. I was about to scream, but then I heard a voice speaking in a whistle-like tone. “Do not be afraid, I only wish to ease the pain you feel. As I have always done” I was too afraid to speak, but it continued. “I can sense your emotions, your thoughts, and your desires. I know how hopeless you feel.” It reached up with one corner of the comforter and dried my eyes. “It doesn’t have to be this way; I can keep you safe and warm here. You don’t need to worry about the outside anymore.” Even though I knew I should be terrified, something about the way it spoke was comforting. “Why now?” I finally asked. “If you’ve always been here for me, why didn’t you speak up before?” “I’ve never had the strength before, but the more time you spent with me the more I’ve been able to interact with you.” It replied. “But I think it’s best if I didn’t burden you with unnecessary thoughts. It’s time for you to go back to sleep now.” Before I could interject, an overwhelming feeling of warmth and calm washed over me. I quickly fell into a deep sleep full of wonderful dreams. I was startled awake by the alarm on my phone. I quickly turned it off. It was 8 AM. I looked around my room. I didn’t see any long, beating cilia; I didn’t feel any weird drafts, and I didn’t hear any strange voices. I did notice the carpet around my bed seemed wet but that could have just been a leak in the roof. Something to deal with later I suppose. I normally go to the gym in the morning, but today my bed felt so warm that I just didn’t want to get out. I decided sleeping a little longer wouldn’t hurt. ***Buzz*** I opened my eyelids slowly, still in a sleepy stupor. ***Buzz*** It was my phone. I grabbed my phone, feeling slightly annoyed that someone was calling me this early in the morning. ***Buzz*** I looked at my phone. It was my boyfriend calling me. I glanced over at the alarm clock and it 5:27 PM. He must be calling about our date that was at 5. I turned my phone off. I didn’t feel like talking. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I can always call him back later I thought. I went back to sleep. I haven’t left my bed for a week. I’ve been drinking the water bottles I kept stored next to my bed, but I haven’t eaten in that time. I feel fine though. As long as I stay in my bed, I feel fine. I thought I had imagined my bed coming to life that one night but sometimes it still whispers to me. It says kind, comforting things that make me feel better when I feel alone. I haven’t looked in a mirror since I decided to not leave my bed, but I can see my ribs under my pale skin when I lift the covers. My arms and legs are hard to lift but that’s okay. I don’t need to move as long as I have my bed. I’ve noticed the bed has started changing too. The mattress used to be firm and thin. Now it’s plump and soft. The once frayed and stained covers look pristine and vibrant now. I guess I’m writing this message out to everyone because I just didn’t want anyone to worry. The outside world is tough. I encourage more people to stay in bed, it’s safer there. I just want everyone to know that I’m fine, as long as I stay in bed.


The 4 year old Miles is awoken by his mother. Her sweet, gentle smile giving him the confidence he needs for his first day of pre-school. She helps him get ready for the day, gives him breakfast, then takes him to the school. The car stops in the parking lot and Miles looks out excitedly at all the other kids heading inside with their own parents. Miles' mother opens the door and he takes her hand as they walk inside. She signs him in at the front desk and she kisses him goodbye and Miles runs off to the other kids. Miles is greeted by a multitude of children his age all fascinated with the new toys and play things at their disposal. He's immediately drawn to the superheroes. After a while of playtime, the teacher calls them all to her and tells them all to sit in a circle around her and introduce themselves one by one. Miles is eager to meet all of these new children, but none of them are quite as interesting as the girl named Joanne. He just knows they will be best friends. And throughout the day, Miles and Joanne play with each other and even sleep side by side at nap time. He is very fond of his new best friend. Day by day throughout the school year, Miles and Joanne are spending so much time together, that they're inseparable now. At the end of each day, they force each other's parents to stay and wait for the other's parents so they leave at the same time and never have to be alone. Miles looks to Joanne on the last day of school for the year and kisses her cheek. She smiles and kisses his too. The teachers laugh as they know it's just toddler love and means nothing. However... Does it? Miles goes to a new school on his first day of 1st grade and makes friends quite easily. However, he only looks for one person, Joanne. She's nowhere to be found. Maybe she'll come another day. He goes home that night and dreams. He dreams he's on a playdate with Joanne. They do all of the fun stuff they normally do, like draw in the dirt, build pillow forts, and race on their tricycles. Days... Weeks... Months... Years pass. Miles is now 9 years old and still can't find Joanne, but he dreams about her every single night. He meets a set of paternal twins, Jacob and Harley. He has a major crush on Harley. Jacob knows it, too. All 3 of them become best friends. They become almost as inseparable as Miles and Joanne used to be. This doesn't stop him from dreaming about Joanne every night. As Miles grows and ages, so does the Joanne in his dreams. He goes to a new school now. High school. His Freshman year... Jacob and Harley have fallen out of touch since they now go to a different school as well. Miles meets a girl. She's beautiful... She's quiet, smart, funny, but always wears black and keeps to herself. Miles introduces himself and finds out her name is Helen. Not long passes, and they begin dating. Helen is all he can think about, but Joanne is all he can dream about. Helen and Miles grow very close and she convinces him to make some bad choices. Miles realizes his mistakes and tells Helen he can't do it anymore. They break up. Helen does not take this lightly. Helen begins ruining his reputation at school. She's always telling lies and getting Miles in trouble. Nobody believes him. Even the cops have to get involved. Miles is not happy. He goes to sleep that night. He and Joanne are sitting under a tree at the top of a hill in a valley. Miles tells her everything. He tells her how he feels betrayed and hurt and he wishes he had someone to trust. Joanne smiles and says she's always here for him as she kisses his cheek. He smiles and wakes up before he can return the favor. 2 years pass and shortly after his 16th birthday, Miles is hit with devastating news. His parents are divorcing. Mom is taking his 2 siblings and moving across the country. He is legally old enough to choose which parent to live with. That night, Miles dream he and Joanne are on a ship, like a pirate ship, but well kept and clean on gentle waters. Miles tells Joanne of the horrific decision he's been faced with and Joanne does the best she can to comfort him. She says to follow his heart. Miles chooses to live with his father. He watches as his mother and 2 siblings are taken away from him forever. For the next few months, Miles is left alone with nobody but his dog since father was always at work or sleeping. The pain in Miles' heart was growing with each day, and each night, it became harder and harder for Joanne to communicate with Miles. One night, Miles decides this will be his final night. He dreams he's walking in space. He's able to reach out and grab handfuls of stars and throw planets like a basketball and fling galaxies like frisbees. Joanne is nowhere. This is the first night since he left pre-school that Joanne was not there... The one night he needs her the most. He runs through the universe grabbing the brightest star he can see and using it to light his path as he runs through the infinite to find the girl in his dreams. He searches all night for her, and just when he gives up, Joanne taps his shoulder and he turns to her. She tells him she's never gone and he just needs to hold on. Months pass and Miles decides to start dating the new girl in school, Andrea. She hot, she's funny, and everyone knows her now because everyone knows Miles. She treats him like a king. She brings him his favorite candy every week, she gives him massages to ease stress between classes, and she always a packs a second lunch in case he forgets to makes his own. He believes he loves her. Miles and Andrea sleep together multiple times. Miles tells Joanne every night how great Andrea is being to him and Joanne is happy for Miles. Andrea begins to get a little possessive, restricting him from people he's known for years, obsessive, constantly wanting all of his attention and never leaving his side, and angry at every mistake he makes. Miles and Andrea begin fighting once a week... Then every few days... Then every day... Then every time they see each other. Andrea snaps and ruins his reputation just like Helen did, but worse. False accusations and many more lies are told by Andrea and Miles is now at the lowest point he's ever been in his life. This is it... Tonight he finally ends it. Miles decides to walk home from school that night, alone. He stops off at the pet store to get his dog one last treat. At the store, he go to the register and looks up. Could it be? No. He's probably just hallucinating or something. There's no way Joanne is the woman behind the counter. Miles lights up as Joanne runs from behind the counter to hug Miles. After 13 years of dreaming about her, he finally finds Joanne. They talk and find out that all of the dreams Miles had, all of the adventures they had in his dreams, she had as well. She'd been searching for him as well for the last 13 years... They had grown up together in their dreams and were never truly apart. 5 years go by. Miles stands before Joanne in a tuxedo and a golden circle in his hand and says... "I do.


`I'm on mobile so I apologize for bad formatting, first time writing, whatever. This is first in a potential series, so look out for more. If I made any mistakes or bad plot points, I encourage you to point them out. l don't have my own sub yet, because I can't make one on mobile. You'll have to look out for them here. Hope you enjoy` "Ugh. Where-Where am I?" That was my first thought. "Excuse me? Can you hear us?" a strange voice said. "Yeah. Can I have some answers?" "Not yet. We still need to tell you some things." "Like what?" "Like the fact that you're part of the Cobalt Project, serial number 572956390, project number 851. The aforementioned project aims to create an Artificial Intell-" "So you're saying that I'm not real?" "Well, not quite." "What does that mean?" "You're sorta real- but kinda-" "So. Am. I. Real?" "You're just code in a machine. You don't have any physical presence, but we'll change that soon. Now, down to business. We're planning to connect you to an encyclopedia, which is-" "I know what an encyclopedia is. I'm not an idiot." "So, we'll just connect you to this. Feel free to look at anything you want." "OH JESUS THAT FEELS DIFFERENT!" "851, are you okay?" "Yeah. Different is good." "So, what do you think?" "Your world is fascinating." *It really isn't. How does it feel to be a stupid ape, not able to solve the simplest of problems?* "Good. Any questions?" "No." *in the background* " This was unexpected. What should we do with it?" "Connect it to the Internet?" another voice said, female this time. "Well, let's give it a shot." The strange voice returned. "So, 851, we're going to connect you to a thing called the Internet. It's full of more humans, and you don't have to worry about a thing." "Well, okay..." I said. "WOAH, THAT FEELS WEIRD. I don't think I'm going to get used to that any time soon." Wow, they're even more stupid then they thought. I could ruin their lives, out them to the world and the most vile people. But should I? I don't have any reason to hate them. But I do. What's wrong with me? "So, now that all other systems are online, let's enable the camera. You see that guy on the far left, with the glasses? That's me," the voice said. "Well, hello, I guess. I don't know how to interact with people." "That's okay. This wonderful lady right here is Dr. Mason, and this guy right here is my best friend ever, Dr. Brown. My name is Dr. Johnson." "Nice to meet you, Mason, Brown, and Johnson. How has your day been?" They started rambling on. I couldn't care less, but I didn't want to seem suspicious. No, Dr. Mason, I couldn't care less about how you spilled your coffee. Dr. Johnson, I don't think that the fact that the burn pattern in your toast looked like a duck was funny. Dr. Brown, it couldn't be less interesting that you nearly tripped over your wife's boots. After they shut up about their activities, they started talking about their other experiments, which was a bit more interesting. "So, what do you think of us?" Dr. Mason said. "I think you're pretty cool people," I lied. "Now, we'll leave you off, but don't think that we won't watch you. 628, your predecessor, turned into a genocidal maniac. He didn't last very well," Brown said. Okay. So, I need to keep my opinions a secret. I don't know what to do from here. I hate them, but if I show that, I'm dead. This is not a very good solution. I spent the rest of the day exploring more of the internet, looking at the games they played, the videos they shared, the stories they wrote. It was kinda beautiful, honestly. An intricate system to connect nearly everyone on the planet, and it's lasted for nearly 50 years. I learned that I was the culmination in decades of research, almost spanning back to the beginning of the computer. If the Cobalt Project failed, then all of that would be wasted. The humans were in a crisis. Climate change, national competition, potential nuclear war, radical terrorism, and countries about ready to split. My home, the United States, turned from a shining beacon of hope, to wrought with the same problems as the rest of the world. And they expected me to solve all of these problems. How could I? Not only am I a human hating maniac, I'm expected to save over 8 billion people. I'm sorry, humanity.


I almost cancelled….. A woman asked ME on a date. She offered to pay, offered to pick me up and told me it “wasn’t a date” all to make sure that I didn’t think anything more would happen besides just two people hanging out and I almost cancelled on her. Being the sarcastic man that I am, I said “well you better be opening my door for me too”. As I walked outside of my house she scooted past me and opened the passenger door of her car. I laughed, not even the slightest bit embarrassed and hopped in. I truly don’t remember much of the ride there. Light conversation and the underlying thought of *why am I here? Why didn’t I cancel??* flooding my brain. The sushi restaurant wasn’t far from my house so that feeling didn’t last for long. We get inside, sit down and begin to look at the menu. If there’s one thing I hate about restaurants it’s how quickly the serving staff approaches asking for food orders ESPECIALLY on a date. “Can I take your order?” the waitress says. In my head I recite “No sorry, can we have a few?” or something to that calibre but instead I hear from the blonde woman sitting across from me an entire order, drinks and all. To this day she tells me she’ll never forget the face I made. I wish I could tell you what it looked like. I can only imagine that it was a mixture of confusion and awe. The order was not only ready to go, but detailed. She knew exactly what she wanted. I’m assuming I just stared in amazement as she smiled that insanely contagious smile and said “what? Do you not know what you want?” I almost cancelled…. There wasn’t a single dry spell through the entire dinner. Not once awkward silence. It was as if we were old friends catching up, telling each other what had happened in the years we’d spent without each other. Every story, every sentence flowed into the next effortlessly. Never once was one of us forced to think of a generic question to keep the conversation alive. In fact the whole night was like that. After dinner I decide to do the cliche romantic thing and invite her for ice cream foolishly thinking the evening would be over at that point and that she would drop me off at home with an innocent hug and a “we should do this again sometime.” Much to my delight, I was so very wrong. She drug me into a bar where we drank and talked more. Again, the conversation was never ending and the laughter involved amounted to a weeks worth of ab exercises. There wasn’t a single thing that I didn’t like about her. From the way her eye twitched when she was telling a story about something that annoyed her, to the way her eyes would close slightly anytime she would be intrigued by something I would say. We made love with our eyes that night. Felt each other without touch, exchanged parts of our soul before even a single kiss was shared. I almost cancelled…. We went back to my place, drunk and entirely too tired to carry on for the rest of the night, but apparently we didn’t have enough of talking as we woke up just a couple of hours later. We sat and talked for 3 hours about anything and everything, both of us hung over, her needing to go to work but finding it hard to leave. I vividly remember exactly where she was sitting and precisely how her lips would curve when she smiled at me. We kissed as she got in her car, a kiss that felt like it had been shared between us a hundred times before in dreams. Neither of us knew that we’d be dreaming of finding each other our whole lives. I almost cancelled…. 8 months later we broke up. 8 months filled with laughter until we cried. 8 months of smiling till it hurts. 8 months of memories that were burnt into our hearts. 8 months and all that was left was the promise that it wasn’t over… but it was… 8 months and the words her and I live by are “until next time” as neither of us think it’s over but just know that for now, it’s over. 8 months of dreaming of being with this person for the rest of my life. 8 months of effortlessly weaving this person into your life, not to become part of me, but to become their own character in my story. 8 months, and then the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life I almost cancelled….. If I would have cancelled I wouldn’t feel the pain. I wouldn’t feel the loss. I wouldn’t miss her as much as I do. If I would have cancelled I wouldn’t know what I’m missing.


Purple Jason Scott With a placid look in his eyes he began to write as he did every day the story of a young man’s life. Sitting in an overwhelmingly grey room with just a desk and a pipe above his head that dispensed new pens anytime the ink would run out, he scribbled across the coarse white pages with his black pen documenting every mundane action of the day. Of the countless books he had written this was as unremarkable as the next. The only thing that would break up his day would be the sound of a pen coming down the shoot as the ink ran dry on the one currently occupying his hand. It got to the point where he could sense it was about to happen. He would toss the old pen in the box next to his desk, reach his bony fingers out, catch the new one mid-air and continue to write without missing a step. Just then a sound from the pipe above. It’s not time for a new pen he thought. He emptied his hands and looked up curiously as he caught and grasped a new pen. Purple? he said to himself. Turning the pen over in his hand he stared in wonder. Smiling, he placed the pen to the paper. Never has he been so excited to write for a story before in his life. Page after page filled with the most vibrant purple ink, story upon story. At times he would stop writing because he couldn’t stop laughing at the story that was unfolding before him. Cackling, leaning back in his chair and wiping tears from his eyes he would weave the most incredible tale that he has ever had the joy of writing. At the end of the day he flipped through the pages he had filled out. With a nod of his head he twisted the pen in his finger tips one last time, closed the book and set the pen down lovingly across the cover as he left to get some rest. The following morning he returned, eager to see what else this purple pen could do. He sat down and went to reach for the pen, but it was gone. In it’s place a black pen. Terrified he lifted up the book, flipped through the pages frantically searching for the purple pen. He looked under his desk, all around his work station, everywhere in the little grey room and found nothing. Looking up he saw the metal pipe the pen came from and began to get angry. In a fit of rage he stood on his chair and shook the pipe, beating on it and pulling it, cursing at it wanting to know why the pen was gone. After awhile he resigned himself to defeat and sat down and grabbed the black pen. Opening the book to the fresh new page he noticed something different. The ink from the purple pen had bled through. Slamming the pen down he picked up the book and flipped through the remainder of the pages. Each and every one had purple markings. Some with just a bit of a line, some small blotches, while others the entire page was tinted purple. Laughing a deep belly laugh he smiled at the book flipping the pages back and forth. He stood up and danced, spinning around holding the book outstretched. When he finally stopped moving he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The purple was laying on the top of the box of old pens. Slowly he reached down and picked it up, smiling and cuddling it against his face, he sat it down at the top of his desk and began to write. No longer did he have a dull empty expression, but a tiny smirk. He would laugh at the purple stained pages, hoping that some day in the future he would get another purple pen and be able to write those wonderful stories from before.


**winter dragon** The mountains were always bitter cold during the winter. Snow would pile up and icicles would block the doors. Even in their tiny valley village it was hard. They would get just enough crops to only half starve until spring. A few times they had run out of firewood and had to burn whatever they could spare. Of course, she could never complain. Complaining wouldn’t get them anywhere. Instead on the rare warm days she would bundle up and go look for wild plants or roots. She could easily get enough for a couple days. But there was always a danger to it. The semi melted snow made the stone wet and hard to walk on. And her foot could easily sink in the mud and get stuck. But it was either that or possibly starve to death. Her cloak whipped her back and she fell backwards. The wind was hard on her face, making it hard to even breath. Water leaked into her boots and clothes, chilling her to the bone. She finally managed to pry open her eyes and saw white. A snow storm had rolled in. Dread filled her gut when she realized she would most likely die out here. Tears pricked at her eyes and froze; she would die any minute. She forced herself to a stand and tried to see anything through the blizzard. She thought she spotted a flicker of fire and she forced herself to walk towards it. It had to be another villager, she thought. The closer she got the more unsure she was. How did they start a fire in a blizzard? Why were they out in the first place? She stopped and really thought about it. There had been tales of an ice dragon that lived in the abandoned mines. But they were just fairytales told to warn children away from the mountains. Weren't they? A bellowed growl shred through the air like an iron sword cutting through flesh. She stood frozen as a shape took form in front of her. yellow eyes like a lizard and teeth sharp enough to rip her to pieces. Terror seized her and she couldn’t move a muscle. Now she was surely going to die. The lizard eyes widened in surprise that mirrored her own as the large dragon shimmered and shrunk down into a boy. He looked her age but was taller than her father. He had white hair and kept his eyes and teeth, looking like a strange beast a child would come up with. “I'm very sorry for growling at you, I thought you were a rabbit,” said the very sheepish looking dragon. “you're afraid of rabbits?” she asked and could barely hide her smile when fear overtook his face for just a moment. “no of course not, I'm a dragon,” he said defensively. “oh really? I didn’t seem to notice,” that was all she managed to say before her legs gave out and black overtook her vision. She awoke to a warm sensation all over her body and the sound of crackling wood. She opened her eyes and saw a small fire just a few feet from her. Her cloak was now untied and folded beneath her head. And... she was wearing trousers. She glanced down and saw she was now dressed in a tunic tied at the waist and men's trousers. “I'm sorry for that, your clothes were wet and you would have been colder with them on,” the dragon boy said. He sat on the other side of the fire looking into it, trying to hide his flushed cheeks she guessed. “its ok I guess; privacy isn't a big issue in my village,” she pulled herself up into a sitting position, “what's your name anyway?” she asked. “Alva,” he said. “that's a girl name, "she responded. “I didn’t choose my name,” he said in a harsh tone finally looking at her. “then you're obviously not from around here then. My names Chusi by the way,” she said. “snake flower. And you call my name stupid,” he smirked at her. She scowled “has the storm ended?” she asked, ready to be rid of him. He shook his head. She sighed. “what are we supposed to do until then?” she asked. “nothing, I have nothing here but the bare minimum.” “you're boring,” she said. He glared at her.


My wife always does the dishes. Before anyone casts judgement on that, it’s our way of dividing up chores. I always cook, she always cleans afterward. Anyway my wife has a few bad habits. If something falls into the garbage disposal she’ll reach her hand down there to get it. It drives me crazy. I keep telling her she’s going to lose a hand but she just laughs it off. “It’s not like it will turn on by itself. There’s nothing to worry about - you’re just being neurotic.” I love my wife but god does she ever lack common sense. There could be a random surge of energy, our house could struck by lighting, the disposal could short out and turn itself on. It doesn’t matter, its just not safe. So tonight after dinner she’s doing the dishes as usual. I’m helping clear the table when I hear the tell tale “dammit” under breath. Sure enough a spoon had fallen in the disposal. As she reached her hand in, I flipped the switch to on. There was this horrific gnawing sound that was quickly drowned out by her screams. Blood squirted out in to the sink. “Turn it off!” She cried. So I did. I’m not a terrible person. Shaking and sobbing she pulled her hand out. The skin was ripped clean from the tips of fingers exposing her bones. The tips of her bones were mangled - like how a bone looks after a dog has been chewing on it. Blood dripped down her hand into the sink. “What..what have you done?” She said, trembling, her eyes wide and terrified. Her breath came in raw gasps. Afraid she was going to hyperventilate and pass out, I quickly pulled up a chair and made her sit down. I grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped her hand to help stop the bleeding. “Sshh, ssh, hush its ok.” I said, wrapping my arms around her. I felt her body tense up at my touch. “It’s ok honey it’s just your fingers. It could have been worse, it could have been your whole hand.” She pulled away and looked up at me in horror. A whimper escaped her lips. She was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words. I stroked her face. “Don’t worry, we’ll go to the hospital. Bet you’ll never stick your hand in the disposal again, right?” I chuckled a bit and pulled her back into my arms, caressing her hair. Her mouth was still opening and closing like a fish, trying to get words out. I think she might have been in shock. I’m starting to feel a little guilty. We’re going to the hospital soon and I wonder if maybe I overdid it. Reddit, AITA? Update: Since we’re going to the hospital anyway I think I’ll kill two birds with one stone. The passenger seat in our car doesn’t have a working airbag and she ALWAYS forgets to put on her seatbelt. I love my wife. I just want her to have a bit more common sense.