And on the seventh day once I had finished the final details of my creation, I took up rest, leaving Adam and Eve made in my image to go forth, multiply and thrive in the Garden of Eden. The earthly paradise furnished with all that humankind could desire. Satisfied that my children would live content and never want for anything other than what I had already provided I lay worry free, exhausted from the toil of my work I drifted into a deep sleep. Leaving my creation in the hands of time, content that times slow consistent embrace would safely guide my creation through its murky passages. At last, I awoke, hazy from my deep and restful slumber. My body ached from strain I had put myself under whilst creating the universe and the earth. Mindful that I had left the jewel of my creation, earth in the hands of time I immediately went to inspect its state, assured that the earthly paradise would still be intact. I was eager to reestablish my relationship with my people, so I took on my human form and descended from the heavens into the realm of man. The year was 2021, I was taken aback by how long I had indeed slept for. But what had happened to my earthly paradise. There was nothing left in the world that resembled the creation that I had toiled so hard to fashion, not one grain of the earth held the same beauty that it once held, not a single grain. I could not believe what I saw, my mind was overwhelmed with both immense sadness and anger that my people had squandered all the beautiful things that I had provided. Humanity was made perfect, yet I could see nothing, but a corrupt and fickle people corrupted with greed and a blinding drive for success and power. I observed the world for a time watching its ways and customs. I felt like a total stranger in my own house everything felt so incredibly foreign, from the settlements to the institutional structures of power. The world was no longer one garden but fractured into a multiple of groups and countries. After watching for some time, I decided to go and interact with this new humanity. I first decided to visit the institutions of religion, it seemed to me that there seemed that there were several which were established in my name. I first set foot in the chambers of the pope in St Peters, the man who was supposedly the representative of my voice on earth. As we had never spoken, I thought it pertinent to discuss the destitute state of my paradise. When I appeared in his chambers it was night, and the Pope was asleep. His room was adorned with gold leaf, jewels and finery adorned his room. His room was fit for a God indeed yet all I saw looking man in the bed was a frail, wrinkled, weak old man. I gently touched his shoulder so to wake him up. He woke in a fright letting out a shrill scream. “who are you, what are you doing in room, guards guards guards, there is an intruder” the popes screams were manic, and his voice was filled with sheer terror, he tried to flee from the bed although before his naked body cloud flee from the confines of his sheets, I firmly placed my hand on his shoulder stopping him from his flight. “it is me, the one you call your God, I have awoken from my slumber and I am here now to help you in your mission to spread my word around the world” My words seemed to calm the pope down slightly. He stopped struggling to break from my grasp. “you cannot be my God” he barked with the same stubbornness of a young child. “You came to us long ago and gave us all we have but this is no longer your earth, you have been replaced, you have been killed off, you are extinct, you have been replaced, the absolute power that you once held over the universe has been tasted by man, and that taste lingers long we are all down driven by that insatiable hunger to hold that power which you claim is just yours, people don’t want to be subservient to you, they want to be you, they want to surpass you ” “Why do you speak so” I replied restraining the anger that had risen in my chest after hearing his words, “I have not been killed I am here now, it is said that it is your role to be my messenger on earth, why do you cast me aside and reject my presence when I stand before you now, in the flesh, whilst you and all humanity taint and corrupt the paradise that I constructed for you all.” “I am not your messenger, I never have been, I am the head of the church, even if I was to believe that you were the one true God, which you cannot be, I will not speak your new messages, you are not the center of the universe, it is man, your creation has surpassed you, I am merely a Shepard helping to guide a portion of the flock, It is through me that the foundations of morality are based, you have been asleep too long, I am held accountable by man not by you. Be gone you have already disturbed me from my sleep, it is late, consider yourself fortunate that my guards failed to hear my calls”. “You heathen” I shouted at the old man, “how dare you deny me, the maker of all that is good, when I stand here before you now, your insolence is putrid, your arrogance is absolute. I have seen the churches dedicated to my name, I have heard the prayers said to me, I have seen those who worship me, I will take the flock back from you, you imposter, you are a mere man and I hold ultimate power” The Pope started to chuckle, infuriating me even further. With a sly smile on his face, he replied. “You have clearly been asleep for a long time, your powers of perception fail you, people don’t go to churches to worship you, they don’t care if you are there or not, they go to feel safe they go to reflect on themselves, they go to feel a part of a community of people bigger than themselves, some even go to listen to hymns and bask in the beauty of the man-made creations” The anger I had so far suppressed overcame me, I lunged at the pope and grabbed him by the neck slowly chocking him out, however before I could send the old man’s soul to the depths of hell, the door in the corner of the room swung open and a group of armed men stormed in guns pointed at me. Before I had a chance to react, they were on me. They grabbed me and threw me to the ground. Handcuffing and dragging me away. It was dawn when the door of my cell first slammed shut, condemning me to the mercy of man. I was tired and I was draped in sorrow. Dejected I sat against the wall on the floor of the cell, wandering about what I ought to do next, tired and lost in my thoughts I soon fell asleep. I was awoken by a policeman who informed me that the Venerable Father had decided not to press charges, despite my intrusion. The officer scolded me “the laws of man may have spared you, but the sin of intruding on the world’s most holy man will weigh your heavy on your soul when your day to be judged comes”. I left the police station, the phrase from the officer cut deep and angered me, I decided to tour the world to find what It was that I had allegedly been replaced with. Wealth, money, material success. The kingdom of heaven, an eternal paradise for the souls of man has been replaced. Replaced with a mortal realm adorned with things, humility had been replaced with pride, virtue is no longer measured by the purity of your soul and an accumulation of one’s life’s actions, but it is measured by wealth stacked hoarded and wasted on more things which benefit no one but feed the monstrous beast of vanity which appears to have overcome the souls of all those on my once pure earth. All starving for power, power over the world, power over themselves and power over others. I have no place here, the history of humanity had only sung my praises yet today I was dismissed tossed aside as a mere accessory, a mere facilitator for people to have power over themselves. Is that all that my name has come to, having created all that there is all that there ever will be, a facilitator. People complain that I am unable to bring them joy in the same way that a paycheck does, they say I can’t put food on the table, they say I can’t pay rent. Has my creation become so blind that what they seek from me is material wealth, have they become so fickle in their nature that they think all that I am good for is a means to claim more power. Have they forgotten that I am power, I am the good, I am all the wealth and happiness that could ever be accumulated, I am the alpha and omega, the light in the dark, yet I am seen as a gimmick, someone who only acts as a symbol to an ever decreasing few, a few who if they fully believe in me, they are ostracized, called weak, not worthy of the power of man, subservient to those who place man at the center of the universe. I ought to leave earth and never come back, I should have stayed asleep, these people are not lost, they think they have found the meaning to the universe, they think it exists within themselves, they think that it is all about them. The fools, I will let them fester in their ignorance, I’ve learnt from my mistake, I shall go and create a new world, one incorruptible, one that will remain pure, and I will create a new man, a man steadfast in his nature, man whose entire existence through time will be confined by the limits to his nature, one who cannot surpass me, one who will call me for the rest of time, their one true God.


Our work was experimental. It had yielded results unexpected to even its biggest proponents. But I wasn’t fully convinced it would apply to everything. Nevertheless, we had the funding and resources available to find out. It was a hard sell trying to get a team together. It always was. Ventures like these defined sacrifice. Sure, we’d be able to send our results back, but there was no returning for us. Not to a world we'd be familiar with anyway. Missions like these definitely attracted a certain kind of mind. Curious, but troubled. Brave enough to embark on the journey but lonely enough to survive it. We were commissioned to see if the underlying secrets of the universe could be revealed in the same way we eventually understood tubular flow. I had been sat watching recordings of concert pianists playing music to different animals. It always amazed me how music managed to ignite emotions in creatures who lacked the capacity to express their own feelings as we might. We share no means of communication with them, but can somehow still connect through harmony. It made me wonder whether there might have been a link between the work our colleagues we’re doing in M theory and this pensive afternoon thought. Our friends had been correct in their assumption of one dimensional vibrating ‘strings’ being the fundamental substance of the universe. And these strings have been whispering the secrets of our skies since the beginning of time. The closing symphony of all that ever was, and all that ever will be, baked into the fabric of the universe itself, and all we had to do was listen. Quantum computing had allowed us to decode the messages within nature's song on a larger scale initially with the wind. Listening to the collisions of the atoms in a chaotic environment revealed patterns more beautiful than we could have ever hoped to comprehend on our own. Most of the work was done for us, we just had to point the machines in the right direction. Our work became a revolution. Suddenly, the whole world took notice. What could this mean? How else could this be applied? Maybe there is nothing that can’t be understood. It’s funny, despite this in my opinion being a very optimistic (and quite frankly unfounded) assessment of our work, people we’re still thinking that there’s a chance we could finally create a unified theory of everything. To truly understand all there is to know about the space in which everything resides. The big organisations were fighting tooth and nail with their respective governments to be the ones to fund the project, as if money and power mean anything once the language of the universe becomes fluent to all. Nevertheless, after an arduous few years, a plan was in place. A team selected. And a vessel's door ready to be closed for what might be the final time. In approximately 2 hours we would take our first steps towards HR6819, the closest black hole to earth. We would attempt to record the gentle hum of colliding particles and their counterparts at the event horizon. We would listen to the drumbeat of the gravitational waves echoing out from the black holes heart, and see if amidst all the chaos, the orchestra was in fact playing a specific song. Our team consisted of physicists, engineers, and the requisite male and female psychologists. Some people naturally find it easier to open up to one gender over another, and it's important to have both options on board. Our ship's door closes and we lift off up through the atmosphere. It's a strange feeling looking down at a planet, knowing it will only ever exist like this in your memories from this day on. Once we break the threshold of our planet's gravity, our course is set for HR6819, and the journey begins. I mentioned earlier that these missions tend to attract a certain kind of person. This one was no expectation, nor am I. A few months into the trip and we’d started to dive past the surface level masquerades for our crewmates. I’d taken a particular interest in a lady called Marie. A little older than I, but not by much. Maybe in her early 40’s. Most of us had brought some sort of sentimental curio with us, but Marie’s was the only that lingered in my mind. It was a small slip of paper with the word “Juga” written on in faded ink. It would be a while before she told me what this meant, and subsequently, what it meant to her. Our ship’s design had highlighted a rather peculiar question for us all to consider. It was fitted with 8 separate deployable pods. One for each passenger. We had enough fuel for the return journey… that wasn’t the issue. The issue was whether you would want to go back. Somehow the prospect of returning to a planet you’ve intentionally left behind can be a little too daunting when you understand how long it takes. We had all been assigned individual resources, and we were all given the option of venturing off further into the unknown once our work was complete. We could go in pairs, on our own, in groups, or all stay aboard the main vessel and return back to our planet's distant future together. The importance was simply that we had the choice. It was practically unheard of for anyone to not come back, but somehow having the option there helped to keep people calm. A few sessions in with the psychologist and we had started talking about my life and relationships back on Earth. Why I’d left them behind and how I managed to do this. I explained that although I could still feel the tension of the link from my heart, that the rope was not tethered to anyone anymore. It was merely drifting in an endless sea looking for something to anchor down on to. The feeling was not reciprocated and the reasons we’re my doing. It was this feeling that allowed me to embark on the journey. It was something that had plagued me for years and it became apparent at some point that it wasn’t going away. The timeline of our inception was brandished in my mind. Such pivotal moments meaningless to an observer burnt into my very being. This was scar tissue I normally hid from others, but every now and then I would run my finger along its coarse spine to feel its pain and remember its cause. To see her in a fleeting world where we were still in love. But that world is gone, alive only in my memories and conversations of what once was. At some point I remember stepping out of one of my sessions to see Marie hunched over in a corner. As I approached to see what was wrong she simply got up and walked past me into the psychologists room. We eventually spoke about that evening. She told me she’d overheard my meeting and became overwhelmed with her own issues. She had never truly opened up to either of the psychologists but we stayed up all night talking. Marie was a widow, her late husband Rasmus had died 4 years prior to our trip in a skiing accident. They had met in school and dated on and off during their late teens and early twenties. She described their situation as both having an appreciation of the other's autonomous life. They were in love, truly, but managed to focus on their own individual aspirations in their youth. Once they had settled down in careers they had a more typical relationship dynamic. Both adventurous and passionate, sharing interests and exploring some separately. Rasmus was really into his extreme sports. Marie would join him on hikes, and climbs, but didn’t much care for skiing. One day Rasmus’ group was caught in an avalanche. His body found and recovered, taken immediately to intensive care. He was comatosed, and the doctors told Marie that he would never recover. She was faced with a choice. To keep him on life support, or to resign his soul to the fate we all succumb to one day. Years passed where she worked from his bedside. Praying that one day a sign of life would appear. She told me that being alone is better than being sat by your lover and feeling lonely. And here she was. Alone. On her first date with Rasmus he took her to Valaste, Estonia’s highest waterfall standing at roughly 30m. She was a foreign student at the time and couldn’t speak a word when they met. As they sat there at the top watching the murky waters cascade over the edge in a fury, he handed her a slip of paper. Juga, it means waterfall. After what felt like a lifetime, we had finally made it to HR6819. We would stay in a Geostationary Transfer Orbit around the black hole and send our data back to Earth. The time would come for us to decide whether we would stay for the return journey, or make use of the deployable pods long before we received any word back about the success or failure of our efforts. A meeting was held where we would all discuss our thoughts on the topic. I sat next to Marie. I’d silently hoped throughout our conversations that she would accompany me back to Earth. I’m not saying we were in love or anything so fantastical, just that she was the first person I’d felt truly comfortable with in a long time. The psychologists started off the conversation. I remember noticing a glance they shared that seemed to linger in the air like a feather sidestepping its descent to the ground. They alluded to the fact that the years of sharing in our troubles had taken a hefty toll on them. In due course they would explain that they had decided they would take their pods and go off in search of… well, they weren’t quite sure. To them, they had concluded that both paths would take them on a journey into the unknown. At least this way, it felt like they were moving forwards. The psychologists had played such a pivotal role in allowing us to feel less trapped aboard this ship. They had affected some of us more than others. Marie was seemingly ambivalent. I’d gone off to my room to get away from the panicked squabbling. Marie entered and sat beside me on the bed. I’ll never forget what she said to me. She laid her head across my body and I closed my eyes. I could feel my heartbeat rise in speed and forcefulness. I wished so strongly for it to stop in case the pounding of my internal metronome caused her to leave. I remember holding my breath so as not to disturb her with the repeating tide of my chest. But she didn’t. My feelings towards her all but spelled out in the rhythmic orchestration of my body. It was only at that moment I’d realised them for myself. We returned back to the group as the psychologists were preparing to leave. I could still hear her last words ringing in my ears. As the three pods eventually ejected into the vastness of space I remember looking out, rooted to the ground beneath my feet, wishing nothing more than to be aboard one of them myself.


It was the year 1782, the year Maria was to wed one of the many eligible bachelors in the country. She didn't have her mind on anyone in particular but herself, but the thought of having to share even a ballroom with a man riled her up to the point she felt on the verge of a terrible illness. Her guts had been tying themselves in knots ever since the Queen had announced the courting season opened, and her home (well, her father's) had suitors pouring in at even the most unusual times of the night. It was expected anyway. While she had what men wanted in aesthetics and body build, her father was a rich person with connections that reached even the King himself. Who wouldn't want to be related to someone like that? Maria yawned and continued to think about her case. What was going to happen after the marriage? She would live as her husband's *marionette* for the rest of her life? Or she would serve as some sort of servant? Answering his beck and call? She wanted more for herself, but society spoke for everybody, even though those who were the society never really agreed with all they said. *What do I do?* She flipped herself in such a way that her upper body faced the nicely painted ceiling, the delicate strokes of different colors of paint somehow calming her frayed nerves. She felt she could be more than she was, more than society had predicted she was. She turned her head to the side and jumped up immediately when she realized her makeup might stain her pillowcase. Turning to the mirror, her eyes met those of her reflection. *I guess that's the end of the day. The makeup isn't necessary anymore, is it?* She mustered some strength into her body and pushed herself off the bed and walked toward the sink in the bathroom. She tapped the tap handle as water gushed out almost immediately. She stared at her image in the mirror one last time. Maybe it was best that she and her family members knew exactly what was going on. It didn't matter anyway. Whatever season she decides to get married would be the beginning of the end. And somehow, everyone in her father's care was prepared for it. Her palms were cupped as she placed them under the running water and brought it to her face. Her eyes stung from staying awake so late. Not like she cared. She couldn't just be bothered. Her hands did all the work, scrubbing her eyeliner and mascara from her eyes, cleaning the lipstick off of her lips, giving her the natural look she was born with. There was a reason why she was called Bruixa. Although it wasn't her name (because she was never given one), it told the truth about what she looked like. She had given herself the name but not once had she answered anyone that called her that. The girl with the heart of gold. But the face of a witch.  \ Please comment if you want more parts of this.


“Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your hair!” Nothing but the chirping of crickets resounded. Somewhere, in a distant desert, a tumbleweed rolled by. The traveller craned his neck and squinted, but could see no face in the tiny window at the top of the tower. “RAPUNZEL!” he bellowed. This wasn’t like her. On every previous occasion the traveller had come by, Rapunzel would appear readily at the window and let down a golden, rope-thick plait of her hair for him to climb up. They would spend a leisurely evening together; she would listen to his tales of bawdy escapades and laugh delightedly at all his jokes, even the ones he was pretty sure she would find offensive. They would enjoy a candlelit dinner that she prepared—she was an excellent cook—and he would slip away in the early hours of the morning, leaving her to fondly reminisce on the night they had spent as she cleaned away the leftovers. He had been looking forward to such an evening all day; in fact, he had been looking forward to it for at least three of the six months that had passed since he last visited her. Well, maybe one of the six months, two at most. Truth be told, he had almost forgotten about her, until his rumbling stomach put him in mind of her delicious mushroom stew and he realised her tower was close enough that it would only be a slight inconvenience to travel there. Resigned, he turned to leave and seek his evening’s pleasure elsewhere—though he doubted he would be able to find anyone who could cook as well as Rapunzel could—when he heard her voice at last. “Frederick? Is that you?” Frederick whirled back around. “Rapunzel! Baby!” He held out his arms. “You took your time. Were you cooking me something extra-special?” He heard an inelegant snort come from that general direction, and wondered what it was. “Why would I be cooking you dinner?” said Rapunzel. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” A pause. “I didn’t know if you were coming back at all. It’s been six months.” “You counted?” A beaming smile spread across Frederick’s face. “Aw, you must have really missed me, babe.” Another snort. “Do you, er… have a horse up there with you?” “No.” Rapunzel sounded confused. “Why?” “Er, no reason.” Frederick figured he must be hearing things. “Now, enough of this chit-chat.” He struck a heroic pose and deepened his voice: “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” “Mm, slight problem.” Frederick could hear the hint of a smile when she spoke, and froze, a cold horror suddenly enveloping him. “You don’t have another *man* up there with you, do you?” “I have neither horse nor man with me in my tower,” Rapunzel replied with a laugh. The sound of her laugh, to Frederick, was as beautiful as the ringing of bells or the warbling of songbirds, but in this moment it felt like a dagger through his heart. “I don’t believe you,” he growled, hastily reaching into his rucksack for the small spyglass he had purchased up from a travelling inventor for the sole purpose of looking at women from afar. He peered through it at the window and gasped. “You’re lying! There *is* a man up there!” “I assure you, Frederick, there is not.” It was the strange man in the window who spoke, albeit with Rapunzel’s voice. It took a moment for Frederick to piece it together. “Your… your hair! It’s gone!” Something was not right, he was sure of it, but he had to play it cool; he had already embarrassed himself once in front of her today. He forced a grin. “Did you burn it off while you were cooking my dinner, babe?” “As I said, why would I be cooking your dinner if I didn’t think you were coming?” Rapunzel replied. “I just… felt like a change. A fresh start. You understand, don’t you?” “Of course I understand,” said Frederick knowingly, despite not understanding at all. Every time he thought he understood women, they’d come out with something like this. “We can absolutely make a fresh start together, if you want. Maybe you can start by letting your hair d—oh.” He broke off, and glanced around helplessly. “Er, how will I get up there?” There was a thoughtful pause, as if Rapunzel was deciding whether she wanted Frederick to come up at all—no, of *course* she wanted him to come up, he told himself. He was being ridiculous. Finally, she spoke: “You can use the rope ladder.” A frayed, gnarled ladder of greyish-brown rope dropped down in front on Frederick. He reached up and grabbed hold of it. “It’s so rough and scratchy,” he complained, frowning. “I’ll end up getting rope burn all over my hands, and that will be really painful. I much preferred climbing up a braid your soft, silky hair.” “Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Rapunzel, pulling the rope ladder back up. “I’ll start growing my hair now, and when it’s ready in another six months, you can climb it again. That way, it will be a pain-free experience for both of us.” Frederick bowed. “Thank you, Rapunzel.” “And I’ll be sure to have a special dinner ready for you this time,”she added. She almost sounded almost sarcastic, Frederick thought later that evening as he tucked into an undercooked chicken pie at a disreputable tavern in a nearby village. But he knew better—women were never sarcastic. They didn’t know how. He chased away the silly thought with a greedy gulp of ale, and mused about what sort of bawdy escapades he might get up to in between now and the dinner she was going to cook him in six months time. \~\*\~\*\~\*\~ Rapunzel peered at her neat pixie-cut in the mirror, tucking a few wayward strands behind her ear. It would take some getting used to. It had been years since the witch, the one who had held her captive all those years ago, had died. She could leave at any time. Yet still she remained in her secluded tower, afraid of the outside world, interacting with nobody but the merchant who delivered her groceries (in a basket attached to her hair, of course) and the occasional hungry traveller. But something had snapped in her about a week ago. “What am I *doing?”* she had asked herself as she brushed her long, golden hair, frizzy and uncomfortably sweat-damp on that warm evening. “Why am I sitting around here, wasting my life waiting for that man? He’s not even that attractive.” She had taken the scissors to her hair that evening. The result was messy and uneven, but she felt so *free!* Why on earth had she let him climb up her hair? What was going through her *head?* Not much, now she thought about it—perhaps her brain was feeling suffocated by all that hair. Rapunzel turned from the mirror and cast one last sweeping glance around her room, then slowly, shakily made her way down the rope ladder—the one the witch had left for her ‘in case of a fire’ but warned her never to use, lest she ruin her soft, smooth hands, and which Rapunzel had never once dared to touch, not even in her rebellious teenage years. She winced as the scratchy rope chafed and burned her hands as she made her way down, but she didn’t care. Frederick would have to find someone else to cook his mushroom stew in six months time.


Only three days had passed since my father’s funeral. His passing had not been a surprise. He had weathered many battles in his life, but in the end, it was a battle with cancer he could not overcome. I had moved home three months ago to help my mother prepare for the inevitable, but it was her strength I found myself relying upon as she held my father’s hand, and he took his last breath. I watched her smile and lean forward to kiss him one last time, knowing in her heart that he would feel no more pain. Now here we sat, clock ticking in the background. She held a shoebox in her slightly trembling hands. I recognized it as the box my father gave my mother on Christmas 15 years ago. The heels she always looked at in the window of the department store. The ones she had replaced of late with slippers and comfy socks. “Your Father didn’t want you to have this,” she said. I took the box and nervously opened it. Inside was a soft leather pouch sealed with a golden clasp. My heart began to race. I had seen this before. On my tenth birthday my family travelled, for a summer, to visit my Uncle at his estate in Northern Italy. The huge mansion was nestled in the hills surrounding Lake Como and was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Our family lived in the old steel country of Ohio in a town that had seen better days. I can still remember canoeing on the lake and spending hours in the giant library. Day after day I climbed ladders attached to bookshelves reaching the ceiling. Every book I took off the shelf, from The Time Machine, to Journey to the Center of the Earth, was a first edition as mint as the day they came off the press. It was in this place I first saw the leather pouch I now held in my hands. I was under a desk, trying to coax my Uncle’s cat out from behind a stack of books, when my parents and Uncle burst through the door. They were speaking in hushed tones. My father, who was a gentle man, had a look of fury in his eyes I had never seen before or after that day. He shoved the pouch into my Uncle’s chest. “Stay away from my Son,” he said. “How can you keep this from him?” My Uncle retorted. “It drove father mad and I fear it is doing the same to you,” Father said. Suddenly, the cat darted from its hiding spot, knocking a book to the floor in its haste. My mother turned and ushered them both back through the doorway. We were on a plane the next day and It was the last day I saw my Uncle. I opened the pouch. Inside was a faded envelope filled with $20,000, a golden pin shaped like an infinity symbol and note that read: If you are reading this, it must mean your father has passed. I am truly sorry that your father and I could not resolve our differences before his death. I only hope that you will give me the chance to make things right. Here is a small token of my sincerity. Use this money to settle your affairs and return to Italy to claim what is rightfully yours. P.s. the pin was your grandfathers. Never let it out of your sight. The cryptic note made even more confusing by the series of strange symbols scrawled across the bottom of the page, β Ħ f Ω Ŏ ∞. “Your father always wanted to live a simple life and he wanted you to be your own man and make your own way. He never wanted you to be burdened by the trappings of his family’s past,” Mother said. I felt a lump beginning to form in my throat. Something about the symbols sent shivers up my spine. They seemed familiar, although, I had never laid my eyes on them before. “I can say no more.” Mother said as she stood to leave. “You are a good man. You will make your father proud and do what your Uncle never could.” She kissed me on the cheek and made her exit.” The next day I was paying off the debt incurred from my father’s funeral and purchasing a first-class ticket to Italy. I had never held this much money in my hand before and I had also never spent so much money in just two days. At the very least I will get my chance to travel abroad in style I thought to myself, hoping that the strange dread I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was only pre-flight jitters and not an indication of things to come. Italy was everything that I remembered and more. The architecture and lush landscape meant so much more to me now that I appreciated the value of the rustic nature of history and culture. It was springtime and the blossoms accentuated the sweet, albeit alien, scent of the countryside. My mind wandered to playing, in the garden of my Uncle’s estate. It’s funny how smells tend to transport us through time to another place entirely. The house looked as though it had been plucked from time. It was a perfect mixture of old-world style and modern chic. As I stepped out of the taxi, I made a mental note to begin learning some useful Italian phrases. Luckily, the generous tip I gave the driver was a universal thank you. I stood staring up at a large gate and pressed the intercom, but before I released the button the gate began to swing open accompanied by an unmistakable buzz. The estate was immaculate. The grounds were perfectly curated, but nothing could dampen the sense of lonely emptiness nagging my every step. The woman who opened the door was tall with perfect posture and an all-business countenance. She would have been intimidating if her smile didn’t diffuse the tension. “Welcome to your new home,” she said. “May I take your things to the bedroom?” I fumbled with my luggage. “No worries, I can manage,” I tried to sound firm. “I insist,” she replied. She reached for my bags and began to make her way up a grand staircase. She paused. “If you’re not too tired, the answers you seek are waiting in the library.” She turned and continued on her way. I was tired, but also intrigued. The profound mystery of the previous weeks had been in stark contrast to the entirety of my life. I made my way to the library. The large doors creaked open, pouring midday sun into the dimly lit hall. It was nothing like I remembered. The stacks of one of a kind first-editions were gone. What decorations deemed of great importance, once occupying space on the shelves, were now replaced by hundreds, maybe thousands of well-worn notebooks and journals. Not a single book remained. I reached for a notebook with frayed edges and began to flip through the pages. Page after page was filled with the same strange symbols from my Uncle’s message, the handwriting an undoubted match. Every book I grabbed was the same. I began to make my way up the winding cast iron staircase leading to a prominent desk and a terrace overlooking the lake. The desk was a dark wood covered in ornate carvings. The elegant drapes lining the opening to the terrace slowly swayed in the breeze, yet despite the grandiosity of the room, my eyes were immediately drawn to the black leather notebook sitting on the desk. The distinct crack of the leather spine filled the room. It read: Dear Nephew, the true history of our family might seem outlandish. I beg you to keep an open mind. You come from a long line of scientists, although, at one time we were called alchemists and madmen. Despite the judgement of those who did not understand our science, we persevered in our singular goal; to control time itself. The symbols I have provided to you in this notebook are the fruits of those labors, but of their exact origin I can only speculate. These symbols, when arranged in the proper order, open a gateway through time and the key is the pin you now have in your possession. When one holds tight to the small trinket and completes the necessary equation they will be transported to the time of their choosing. How far back is only limited by the strength of your will. Your grandfather used this tool to amass the great wealth I have left in your name. As for myself, I first focused on frivolity and then in my later years, on the collection of knowledge, but heed my words. Dabbling in the art of time manipulation comes at a cost. With every journey into the bowels of time a single ripple was created and upon return, that ripple was felt as a wave. The man I was becoming, with every book I brought back, was unnatural. Memories re-written, one by one, into something unrecognizable. I began to live every moment trying to remember a thought just out of my grasp. So, I resigned myself to returning the books and trinkets I had stolen from the past. Unfortunately, I found that with every book I returned another piece of my mind would slip away. The man I was, ceased to exist, but the man I had become was disappearing as piece by piece. I pressed on. My mind began to slip, and I was forced to put safeguards into place to protect my estate and ensure your birthright. Even now the power of time still draws me in despite the destruction of my own life. I hold hope that you will do what I could not and wield this power for good. I have but a handful of books left to return, and I fear it will be my undoing. It has been days since I remembered to eat, and I have been reduced to dictating this letter in pieces to my nurse. At times I find myself standing in the lawn for hours with no recollection of how I got there. The message abruptly ended, punctuated by a series of unintelligible scribbles trailing off the side of the page. My heart was racing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the lawn. It was my Uncle, his hair a stark white and his posture sunken into a high-backed wheelchair. The nurse attending him faced him towards the water. I stood and ran to his side. “Uncle!” I cried. His eyes barely moved as if he was breathing, yet not alive. I began to sob. The horror of this man, who through his own lust for knowledge erased his own existence, gripped me to my core. I began to feel dizzy at the thought of succumbing to my own lusts for power. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the accursed trinket. Without another thought, I threw the pin, as far as I could, into the lake. I turned to face my uncle. His eyes were focused on the spot where the pin had sunken into the lake and tears were streaming down his face. He began to moan and grunt wildly until his nurse returned to bring him back into the house, leaving me to stand alone shaken and confused. Had I done the right thing? I sat on the grass for an hour pondering what I had done, until as if under a spell, I began to remove my shoes and moved towards the water. I waded in until the water was just below my chin. Resolving myself unto what I had to do, I took a deep breath and began to dive, deeper into the water searching for what was rightfully mine.


Disclaimer: English is not my first language and this is my first short story written in English. Any suggestions and pointers are very welcome!  Tommy and Mr. Death sat in front of each other. Mr. Death had arrived to take Tommy into his world. He told him the date of his death five years ago and now, it was the time. Five years have passed. Five years in which Tommy had lived more than the rest of his life. “So, are you ready?” Mr. Death asked. “Yes I am.” Tommy said, relaxed and almost smiling. “I have been preparing for this day for the last five years. But before we go, we should have another chat, if you want to.” Tommy said, opening his hands in front of Mr. Death. “And what do you want to talk about?” “You see… I still remember the first day we met. I was scared, frustrated, I didn’t believe in what you told me. I thought it was a bad dream, a nightmare…” “I know; I know… what’s the point? I want to hear it.” Mr. Death said, already knowing what Tommy was going to say. “The point is… I need to thank you, now.” Tommy said, this time smiling for real. “Ooooh… That’s rare, not a lot of people reach that conclusion.” He said smiling. “If it wasn’t for you, I think I would have never woken up!” Tommy said. “Beer? The last one.” “Sure, I’ll go and get it. Like usual…” Mr. Death stood up and went to take two beers from the fridge. “You know…” Tommy rose his voice a bit so that it reached Mr. Death in the kitchen. “… I spent the best five years of my entire life. If I hadn’t had the pressure of time running out, I would have probably wasted most of it…” Mr. Death was back with two pint glasses and two big beers. “IPA for you, red ale for me.” Mr. Death said, pouring the beers into the glasses. “Cheers!” Tommy said, rising his glass. “Cheers.” Mr. Death replied, took a sip and talked again. “So… how was your marathon?” “One of the hardest thing I did. It took me almost a year to get ready, but eventually I did it. I finished it, even if the time wasn’t anything special. I understood the pleasure of concluding something hard. Especially the satisfaction of a long training with the final result.” Tommy said, before taking a sip as well. “And what about the rest… you have been writing a bit, I see…” Mr. Death said, looking at the notebook on the table. “Oh, that… well, nothing special. I just wanted to put down my thoughts and leave them for someone in the future. I don’t know who. Maybe I should give it to a friend of mine, or my family...” “It could be a book; don’t you think so? Conversations with death… by Tommy. I want part of the merit of course.” Mr. Death said, pointing a finger to his chest and smiling. “You do have part of the merit… indeed…” “Wait, I don’t think it makes sense… in reality people don’t see me in a good light.” “I know, but that’s a problem. That’s a big, deep, serious problem. We humans are scared of you, we think you are bad and we live our lives without thinking about you. Let’s say…” Tommy took a moment to formulate the sentence. “… we live like… we have an infinite amount of time, even if we have not. And we are so scared of you… we lose the connection with reality. We are so afraid of dying that we don’t live for real. We don’t focus on what we have… the present moment… the only moment we have.” “Ooooh… the present moment. The lovely present moment. It’s one of my best friends…” Mr. Death said bringing the pint glass to his mouth to drink again. “Cheers to the present moment.” Tommy said, while Mr. Death was already drinking and had to stop to cheer with Tommy before drinking again. “Now, did you manage to understand why most of the people are afraid of me?” Mr. Death asked. “Yep!” Tommy nodded. “Now the question is… why are you called death and not life?” “You tell me, human. I never called myself death… I never called myself in any way.” He said laughing. “Why did you start doing a lot of things in this five years… what made you change your mind?” He asked. “Well, once you told me I was going to live for only five more years, I decided to live those last years in the best way I could.” Tommy said, but quickly added. “Don’t get me wrong. It took me time to switch my mindset. From accepting what you told me, to start living for real, it took more than one year. But eventually I did it… and you know what I find more interesting? I started reading more, every kind of books, as much as I could. I discovered some ancient philosophers called the stoics, and I read something about far east philosophy as well. They had some core principles in common. And it was amazing…” Tommy stopped to take another sip. “I know those guys…” Mr. Death said, like talking about some of his closest friends. “… smart people, aren’t they? You know, I met some humans, I mean… some of them asked me, how can I defeat you?” He made a face like someone who just swallowed a lemon. “Me? I asked them… you don’t need to. I’m not your enemy. I told them…” “Yeah, but that’s because they wanted to defeat death.” Tommy said, interrupting him. “I know it sounds crazy. I tried to have this conversation with some of my friends and I tried to tell them, or better, explain to them, that if they see death as a passage, they won’t need to defeat anything.” “Oh, yeah. They see me as the death of everything…” Mr. Death said, face-palming. “Actually, I’m doing the same mistake, I still call you Mr. Death. Can I call you Mr. Life?” Tommy asked. “Just call me Bob.” “Bob?! Seriously?” “Yeah!” “Why Bob?” “I don’t know… it’s the first name that came up in my mind.” Bob said, nodding strongly. “Fair enough, Bob.” Tommy said, convinced. “As I was saying, not a lot of people focus on time. Especially the present time… the here and now. I was the same… till you appeared, in this same room and told me I was going to die sooner than I thought. It took me time, but I had to accept it and focus on what was left. So I decided to live the rest of my life properly, doing what I liked, without hurting anyone. It’s a magic combination…” Tommy said, referring to the last two things he said. “Did you put it all down on the notebook?” Bob asked pointing at the notebook on the table for the second time. “Yes I did.” “You remind me of Marcus Aurelius. You know who he is?” “Of course I know. I read one of his books, meditations. And it has been one of the biggest inspirations for living the rest of my time left.” Tommy said, looking at his notebook. “Especially when he said, *Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly*.” Tommy said, looking at Bob this time. “Man, those are the philosophies that should be taught in school, instead of creating pure working people. Most of the education nowadays is focused on teaching what to fit in your future working place, but less space is dedicated to the humanistic part of life... I don’t know if it makes sense…” Tommy said at the end. “It’s just my opinion.” “I believe it too, Tommy. And I have to admit that you reacted pretty well to the news of your death. I mean, five years ago you were pretty shaken, of course. But now… you look relaxed and cool. Is it fake or real? Sorry if I ask.” “I don’t really know, honestly. I cannot say. On one side I’m still afraid, especially of what’s going to be next… or how it’s going to feel the moment I’m dying. On the other side, I’m cool with the person I have become and the person I am now. Actually, I am proud and happy about the changes I achieved in my life after I met you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have remained unchanged and would have spent my entire life not living it fully. Sometimes I think it’s much better living five years of real life than an entire one half empty. Missing on most of the things that really make me happy.” Tommy sat resting his back on the backrest. “And what was it that made you happy for real?” Bob asked. “Because I don’t meet many people who are so at peace with themselves when their day is coming.” “Well, nothing so special… and that’s the point. I always thought that happiness had to arrive from something special and fantastic, but it doesn’t. I found happiness in small, common things. But the best of the best, was understanding that happiness is temporary. And can come and go…” “Ooooh, I see where you are going… Sorry, keep going.” Bob interrupted him. “No worries, no worries.” Tommy said, smiling. “What I wanted to say, is that… there is something more important than happiness, and our society lets us grow up believing that happiness is what we need to strive for all the time but... what about peace of mind, instead? What about being able to manage our feelings… that’s more important and… real!” Tommy pointed his index to an imaginary direction to stress his last word. “Happiness can be momentarily caused by a person around you, and what if that person goes away? For whatever reason. Happiness can momentarily be found in how a food tastes… but what if that food is finished? There are many other examples, but the point is, what happens when the thing that makes us happy goes away? And it looks like society is constantly bombing us with solutions to be happy… buy this, get that, take this… all rubbish.” “I met a man once that told me, *we –humans- never get used to discomfort*… I don’t remember who it was…” Bob remained thoughtful for a second, then continued. “… anyway, he told me that. And it made me think… that’s right. You are always looking for whatever is comfortable, and I get it, it makes sense. You don’t want to be in shitty situations, but what happens when you have to get out of your comfort-zone?” “We complain. That human’s basic nature. Complains are the easiest and fastest things that come out of our mouths when something is not going as we like it. Hard work is the second step. Some jump straight to the second step, but only a few. And most people remain in the first phase.” Tommy said. “Yeah, I know. I’m guilty too. I think no one is perfect after all. I have been complaining all the time and it looks like I’m still complaining now. I had been complaining a lot more before I changed my mindset… before meeting you, I mean.” “What would you do if you were not going to die today?” Bob said, taking a big sip and leaving just enough beer for another one. The last one. Tommy, instead, had the quantity for more or less two other sips. “Well, I would keep going on with my new life-style. Actually, I would focus a bit more on writing and I’d go back to college to study something… I don’t know what. Psychology, philosophy, something like that. And I would quit my job to get another one, linked with my new career…” Tommy stopped to take a sip from the pint. “… then I would like to have a family and dedicate the best of me to educating my children. After this experience… I mean, meeting you, I think I would try to give them the best values for life, even if… I would still need to figure them out myself.” Tommy said, with an awkward smile. “But… yeah, those would be my goals.” “We got one last sip. Would you like to talk about something in particular?” Bob asked, looking at his pint glass with the last sip of beer in it. “I don’t know…” Tommy said, looking at his glass. “… one last sip. I think this is something I’m going to miss. If there is something after death, I wish there will be beer. For free…” He said laughing. “… I don’t want to sound like an alcoholic, don’t get me wrong. But one of the best moments I can recollect from my memories, were the ones spent in a pub having a good conversation and a good beer. Together with food, I think it’s one of the best ways to meet people, have a chat, get to know someone new… date a girl.” Tommy stressed that particular, almost as if he was picturing something alive in his mind. “Maybe, if there is no such a thing in the afterlife, I will create the first Pub of Heaven. Or… Heaven’s Pub. Have a drink above the clouds… that will be the slogan on top of the main door, or in the blackboard.” “Or… have a divine beer.” Bob joined in on Tommy’s joke. “Or… come in and have a drink, forever.” Bob laughed honestly. “Forever?! Well, that sounds a bit alcoholic.” “Yeah, maybe it’s too much.” Tommy said, looking at his last sip of beer left on the glass. “Whenever you want Tommy.” Bob said, looking at Tommy and his pint. “When you drink yours, I’ll finish mine.” “Whenever I want? Well, I’ll keep it like that forever.” “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way…” Bob said, looking sorry for real. “Do I need to go somewhere particular? Or… can I stay here?” “Yes, of course. You can stay here. Do you want to sit in the sofa?” “Yes.” Tommy said, before drinking the last sip in one shot. “When I drink mine, you will go. Ready?” Bob asked. “I am.” Tommy said. But he wasn’t really sure. After all, how could he be sure of something like that? Who’s the person that knows what will happen next? No one. But that was part of the game of life and you cannot choose otherwise but accept what it is. “Now relax, after all, it’s like falling asleep.” Bob said, bringing his pint glass with the last sip of beer to his lips. The movement took less than a second but for Tommy it looked like an hour. It looked like the time had stopped as the glass rose from the table towards Bob’s mouth. Tommy almost held back his breath and waited to feel, or to see something different that in the end, never arrived. Was he dead already? No sounds were hearable. No walls, or table, or living room was in front of him. Everything was white, but not a blinding white. A white that was indescribable. Something he never saw before. Saw? Was he seeing something? He couldn’t say. Then his consciousness realized something. Something that cannot be touched or felt with his five senses. A thought… nope, maybe a feeling… not even… what was it? It didn’t matter anymore. He knew he was dead, and with that knowledge, something more arrived. Awareness. Peace. A peace of mind that he never felt before and that could not be compared with anything he felt when he was alive. One last thought took form in his mind. If this is death, I can face it. “Tommy, Tommy...” Tommy’s girlfriend shook him strongly to wake him up. “What?!” He woke up and looked at his girlfriend. “You were having a nightmare.” She said in the darkened bedroom. “Oh, no. I wasn’t…” “Well, you were talking. Or saying something… I just heard your voice. Are you ok?” Her voice was soft and low. She was still half asleep. “Sorry, I didn’t want to…” Tommy said, smiling and almost laughing. “I was just dreaming, but it wasn’t a nightmare.” “Ok… I’ll go back to sleep. I got scared for a moment.” She said, turning to the other side. “It’s ok.” He gave her a little caress in her arm and turned to the other side to go back to sleep too. It was one of the weirdest dreams he ever had. But it was just a dream. Tommy closed his eyes and fell asleep again, but this time, even if no one could see him, he had a hint of a smile in his face.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting.   ***   #This week's theme is Misunderstandings! As February’s theme of “hidden” comes to a close, we’re going to explore the theme of “misunderstandings” this week. Misunderstandings can guide our characters’ actions and motivations. Sometimes, our perceptions of a situation can misguide us. What happens when your characters fall prey to this? What kind of impact will it have on their world and those around them? Maybe it will set off a chain reaction that will change things forever. Remember, the theme should be present within the story, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: We recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week we will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * February 28 - Misunderstandings (this week) * March 7 - Courage * March 14 - Distortion   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 7pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   ***   #The Rules: * All top-level comments must be a story. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * Your story must be written for this post. You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but we encourage you to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post will not be allowed. * Your story should be 500-850 words. Use to check your word count. * While the name has changed to “Serial Sunday”, the deadline is still 7pm the following Saturday. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. If not, our bot won’t recognize your serial installments. * Submissions are limited to one serial submission from each author per week. * Each author must leave a comment on at least 2 other stories during the course of the week. This is mandatory! That comment should include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely family friendly" being the rule of thumb for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, feel free to modmail!   ***   #Reminders: * Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * Saturdays we will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * You can nominate your favorite stories each week. Send me a message on discord, reddit, or through modmail and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules).


In a town south of the border the day sun shined heavily. From a main road, I pull into a rather gracious parking lot accommodating a restaurant that seems vaguely familiar. It was as if it had taken inspiration from old American diners but still looked distinctly contemporary in its surroundings with its fading, chipped and blue paint. As I go to reverse into a space, another car pulls into it before I can. This happens another time before I resign to a tightly fitting and difficult to leave spot, snug in the corner of the packed lot. Getting out I see an older but not quite elderly man on a column or statue of some sort, along the far side of the lot. His skin looked battered by the heavy sun. I noticed he was already staring at me so I looked away. As I walked across the brittle and burning pavement and through the chipped blue doors I knew, or rather felt, his gaze follow the entire way. Walking up to the counter I ask the man across it if they have anything good for breakfast. He points to an item on the menu on the wall, tells me what its called and I agree that it seems suitable to eat for breakfast. Three vultures walked in. Their beady eyes cut and slice through my mind as mine met the one in the middle. In a getup starkly dark and purplish in hue, macabre in nature, you would expect looks to draw from the patrons of the establishment. Yet the people here have apparently decidedly settled on ignoring their offending existence. Slender and sharp, they waltz towards the opposite end of the counters. Feeling a lump in my throat and sudden curiosity in the man atop the pole I leave to the outside while my food is being made, only to find him unchanged. Staring, not at me this time, or anything I can discern, but at something. As I stare, a long white cloth falls from atop the pole. Seeing this, I decide my curiosity is too much and walk over to the odd sight, feeling drawn in from its surreal appearance. As I get close a dollar falls from the sky. I grab it, confused, and accept it. Closer again, a dollar from atop. Drawn now towards the cloth, I move toward it. Picking it up, it almost felt like silk, but rougher and somehow still impeccably white. I notice now a looking down, a path, beaten and dusty. A circle around the column, and smaller, sculpted stones around it in the ground. Holding the cloth I take a step forward, and another, and once more. As I work around the column, I peer from behind when suddenly my body petrifies under the long beady stare of three vultures. From under the shadow cast by the walls of the restaurant all three now concentrated their stare towards me. A reddish, piercing stare, seething either hatred or starved titillation... I resumed moving. Dollars fell from atop as I did, a battered hand at times flashing in sight. I took them all. Around the next bend again I met their gaze. They seem to have taken a step out. I keep walking. Again and again as I revolve around, beady eyes meet mine, moving closer and closer while my wallet grows thicker and thicker. The birds were a dozen spaces across the lot when I began to wonder, what if I run out of space in my wallet? Tears of sweat exhausted from my forehead under the blistering explosions of a celestial goliath hundreds of millions of parking lots away. The harpies were now several spaces away when I suddenly started to notice more clearly their features. Their teeth now jutted out behind their thin papyrus lips, splintered and jagged. Their feathers seemed to perk up and out like coursing adrenaline to an animal’s hairs. Their eyes did not move, nor did they twitch or stagnate, falter or break, as if a string was held taught between I and their dilated pupils. I kept moving. I stopped and wondered. Then, I wondered again. And alas, I wondered once more before I began to move again. I turned around the bend once more before realizing I couldn’t. The stench hit me first. It reeked of a millennia of decomposition and death. My nose stung and my eyes cried of pain. Gripped by an imposing and overwhelming force my chin lifted and eyes pulled toward a terrifying image branded into my mind. The vultures basked in front of me, larger now than id ever believed to be physically possible. There was no sunlight. Their grotesque and horrifying visage looked down upon me as I would imagine a hawk to a field mouse. I felt my wallet pull from my hands and held onto it as the force ripped the flesh from my already battered fingers. A vortex of sharp, violetish feathers consumed my reality and launched me into a world of disarray and darkness, consuming me until there was only nothing left. Opening my eyes I see light. In front of me is a restaurant. Three girls sit on a plume decorated bench by its side, minding their own business. A strange man sits atop a lonesome art installation, a column of some sort, yelling quasi religious and partly delirious phrases in a different language. I remember I had ordered breakfast. It should be done by now. I check my wallet, it seems okay. The sun was shining.


I woke up in the middle of the night, a layer of cold sweat covering my entire body. Turning around on the bed, I looked at her. She was sleeping, breathing deeply, with a faint smile on her plush, pink lips. I frowned and moved in the dim, bluish light of the room, leaving the bed. My bare toes spread on the floor as I sat up, cracking my neck before getting up. I grabbed my smokes and lighter from the nightstand and walked over the open window. It was raining. A barrier of water that barely let me see the other side of the street. Yet the air was thick and warm, even when it seemed it had been deluging for hours, judging by the rivers flowing down the road. I lit a cigarette and leaned against the railing, taking a long and slow drag, and with a heavy sigh, I released a thick cloud of smoke that slowly went up in the air, mixing with the early morning mist. The sky was gradually gaining color far in the east, the storm clouds turning slightly golden and orange. There is always something very appealing and almost magical to this time of the day. It gives you the feeling that you're the only living person in the world, although I wasn't. I glanced to my right as she moved on the bed, mumbling about getting back to sleep. My gaze lingered on her half-naked form for a moment but quickly abandoned her and returned to the street as I continued to enjoy my cigarette and the quiet surrounding me. Although, there was an odd sensation slowly crawling into my mind and my skin. I stared up at the sky. The clouds were so thick and too dark. There was something off about them. It felt like they were pressing their ethereal mass against the earth, capturing the hot air and the city fumes, creating a weird atmosphere that made me uneasy even during the peace of the morning. But, I told myself that it was nothing and continued to enjoy the rain's natural song. It hadn't been too long when I heard a noise down the street, and I lazily turned in that direction. I couldn't distinguish anything, but it sounded like someone was out there, mumbling in the downpour. At first, I thought it was a person, maybe a homeless guy or someone too drunk to care about the weather, but some other voices soon joined the first. Unable to understand a word, if those were words at all, a feeling of anxiousness took over me. My chest suddenly felt tight as my heartbeat increased; my hands gripped the railing tightly as I held the cigarette between my lips. The sounds continued to grow in number and seemingly becoming louder as if its source was slowly dragging its way down the street. Maybe it's just a group of foreign people, I thought; a mere excuse my mind gave me to try and calm my nerves, although it didn't work. I continued to look toward the nothingness, only a waterfall in front of my eyes. I leaned forward, ignoring the downpour as it hit my face and exposed torso. However, in the back of my head, I did notice that each drop felt incredibly dense, not as if they were simply falling but deliberately thrusting themselves against the surface of the earth. I continued to stare, breathing heavily. Eventually, after what seemed hours, I noticed some fading motions in the rain. At first, I thought it was the wind, causing the falling and running water to wave, although it took me a fraction of a second to realize that there was no wind, not even a faint breeze. I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. Maybe it was just the sleep calling me back to bed. Squinting, I looked again, and the heavy rain barely allowed me to hear my voice as I gasped, dropping my cigarette. I recoiled from the window, and it took me a moment to force myself to pull my jaw up and close my mouth. I held my breath and pushed myself against the railing once more, and this time I had no doubt. Something was moving out there, a dark fog, leisurely rolling closer, moaning and groaning, mumbling and growling unintelligible sounds. I was about to close the window and hide, but then I realized I wasn't afraid, and for a second, that odd realization made me wonder if this was a damn weird dream. But I was sure this wasn't a dream; I was fully aware of what was going on. With my sight fixed on... Whatever that was, I tried to rationalize what I was staring at, but nothing I could think of seemed to work and make sense. I knew I was witnessing an unnatural event, something that no one was supposed to see, and that was the only answer that calmed me down. Watching the shadows creeping closer to my house, closer to me, I began to distinguish each of them and their voices. Their shapes changed and shifted as they moved, merging and then dragging their bodies apart and move in their own direction. However, they kept moving as a single, large mass, continually getting closer. Always groaning as if the rain hurt them like acid, as if the asphalt they were sliding across ripped their skins. Retreating from the window, I hesitated for an instant before rushing downstairs, not wanting to make them wait as I practically jumped down the steps. Standing at the door while catching my breath, I was able to hear them scratching the door and its frame. They were asking me to let them in, although their grumbling was now barely audible as if they perceived there was someone else in the house. And... I'm sure now that they knew. I glanced up in the direction my room was. That was why they were here, right? Because of her... I eagerly unlocked the door, pulled it open, and faced them. My eyes almost fell from their sockets as I saw their faceless fronts, the dark holes where eyes should have been, the void they had as mouths. It was bizarre and fascinating at the same time. They passed by me and through me. I sensed their low noises rumbling inside me, like standing too close to a large buffer, and yet I was only able to hear a muffled whisper by then —a silent procession flowing in front of me. The shadows slid into my house, floating upstairs, seemingly occupying the entire house as they spread and advanced. I watched them until the last one disappeared into the second floor. There was a long moment of silence when even the rain seemed to have faded into nothing, and for a second, I thought they were gone. I thought I was crazy, that my mind made all that up. I peered outside at the wall of water and blinked. Was that it? What was... It? All my questions and thoughts suddenly stopped when my ears finally heard a noise. It was the very distinctive sound of my wife's voice. Her screams were so loud I feared the neighbors might hear her, but the rain was so unnaturally heavy, deafening everyone around and isolating this very... Strange event from the rest of the world. I knew they were coming back as her voice now reached louder to my ears. I flinched and grunted lowly, looking up at the stairs to see the shadows return, carrying my screaming wife along with them. I saw the terror in her eyes, her sight clinging to me. She called my name, her mouth gaping, distorted in a pained grimace. She reached out with her arms, clawed hands as if she was trying to grasp the air desperately, and me. Her body twitched and shifted as she struggled, and I couldn't tell what kept her from simply falling to the ground. I couldn't distinguish if anything was holding her or if it was just some kind of force keeping her in place. I think I was smiling while my wife was carried outside, and I saw her expression changing from one of utter horror and desperation to one of deep pain and disappointment. She realized I had no intention of helping her, yet my soul felt light and relieved. I believe I caught a hint of understanding in her because deep inside, she knew our life together was fake. I watched in silence as the shadows abandoned my home, standing at the threshold as the last creature oozed its way out. I observed them, with my hand slowly going up to the doorknob. Returning through the same way they came, they took her, and they were silent now, content as I was. I could only hear her screams fading in the air as they disappeared behind the curtain of water. I closed the door, releasing a light breath. Turning around, I made my way to the upper floor, scratching the back of my neck as I quickly climbed the stairs. Walking into my room, I picked up the smokes and my lighter and lit myself another cigarette. I took a long drag of smoke and let it out through my nose as I sighed, smiling when I looked up towards the east, admiring the birth of a new day.


“I need more flowers on the west side” “And there aren’t enough tables” It was a busy day in the manor. People were shouting last minute orders before the wedding, but one dark haired girl in a stunning bridesmaid dress was the loudest. Violet Faye looked around to make sure everything was perfect. “Are these the second batch of flowers I ordered? I asked for Calla Lilies not Easter lilies” She massaged her temple “You need to relax” A familiar voice spoke behind her. Violet turned to the source of the voice as a splash of red stained her cheeks. “I have to make sure everything is in the right place” She stated with stress obvious in her voice. “No, No, there shouldn’t be an end cap. Only six people per table” She scolded a girl from across her “Everything’s perfect” The boy assured her as he scanned the whole scene “Alexander Colt Haynes, you’re just saying that because I’m your best friend” She rolled her eyes at his remark. “That and you’re also the best wedding planner” He showed his famous smirk that made her heart beat faster than its normal pace. Damn! That smile. “Whatever. But what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be preparing for your wedding.” She scolded. “The wedding isn’t till this afternoon. And besides,” he spoke. “What’s wrong with wanting to see you?” At this, her heart was beating so fast that it could get out of her chest any time now, if it was possible. but she kept a straight face. “And you look pretty, by the way.” he added “T-thank you” “Want to take a walk?” She hesitated “I have work to do.” “Come on Vi, we may never have this kind of conversation again when I get married.” The word ‘married’ made her cringe a bit, but she composed herself first before he notices. Violet sighed “Ok, Fine. But remember I still have a lot of work to do” He chuckled. “Okay working girl” .... 10 year old violet was sitting on one of the benches on the park, head low and tears streaming down her cheeks. She was having fun moments ago until when girls from her school where bullying her. “Oh look! Looser violet is playing on the park” “And what is she wearing? Did she get it from a homeless man?” “Ha Ha Ha!” She continued sobbing while staring at the grass beneath her. The girls somehow stopped bullying her but she was still scared and she couldn’t stop crying. A boy of the same age arrived at the park and sat on one of the benches. He never usually goes to the park these days. He could’ve played skateboard or videogames or watch movies with his friends but since he’s taking care of his little sister, he has no choice otherwise. He also cared for her that much. Meters away from where he was sitting, he heard a sobbing. He didn’t want to meddle in other people’s businesses but since he hates the idea of someone sad he couldn’t just sit there the whole afternoon and listen to all the crying. Curious, he stood up and approached her. “Why are you crying?” Violet looked up with eyes swollen. She sniffed and spoke to the boy in front of her. “Nothing. Just leave me alone” She wiped her tears and continued to stare at the ground. He placed both his hand in his jeans front pocket “Were those girls bullying you?” He asked with a serious tone in his voice. Violet seemed surprise of his question, so she looked up to face him again. “H-How d-did you know?” Her sentences were muffled, but somehow he heard it clearly. He shrugged “Instincts. Be right back” Since then the bullies stopped bothering her, though she never had a clue as to what Alex has told them. And from that day on, they had become the best of friends. It just happens somehow that her dad knew his dad and they too were close friends back in the day. .... “So where’s the honeymoon? You still haven’t told me” Violet and Alex are now currently walking along the manor gardens where the wedding ceremony was supposed to be held. “Well I haven’t told anyone really, Grace included” Grace is his soon wife-to-be. Violet never hated Grace. In fact she admired her. She was this female side of Alex. Grace and Alex both have a lot in common and she was almost close to perfect -- somehow violet can’t compete with that. Violet knew that Grace and Alex will be a great couple ever since the day she introduced Grace to him. It was during Violet’s 21st birthday. It was the so-called love at first sight and Violet knew that she was losing Alex from that moment on. Yet she willingly accepted what was to come and never bothered to complain even when she realized that Alex will not be ‘her Alex’ anymore and that she’s secretly hurt. “So? Spill the beans now” She insisted, there was excitement on her voice. “Ok. We have this beach house down at Les Plages. So I’m taking her there” he smiled. “Since when did you have a beach house at Les Plages?” “Well, it just finished last month and I had it built just for the wedding. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but since you’re my best friend, I can’t keep anything from you” Right, Best friend! Violet thought. She pushed her thoughts aside and smiled at him. “You two would really make a good husband and wife” “Umm…yeah! And I have you to thank for that” He ruffled her hair, which made her blush but strands of it fell out of place and got tangled. “Hey! It took an hour to fix my hair, and you just disheveled it like that.” He smacked his arm and they both laughed at her reaction. “Whatever hair style you have on, you always look beautiful” He took strands of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Now her heart went crazy, she blushed heavily and she felt her legs wobble and could fall anytime. “Shut up!” She looked away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the aura he has been giving her. “Aww. You’re blushing. You look cute” He teased and chuckled. She instinctively covered both her cheeks with her palms “Stop it. You’re making fun of me” “I know how you blush every time someone complements you. You don’t need to hide it, it looks cute. We’ve been friends for a long time Vi -- lifetime even.” She rolled her eyes, but somehow she knew he was right. Alex did know her better – even better than herself. “Hey did you remember our senior Prom?” Violet asked out of the blue, eager to change the subject at hand. She could die of heart attack any minute now. Why does merely his presence have a great effect on her? .... “I-I hate you” She ran to the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs there, her dress sagged up as she cried. The door creaked open. She heard footsteps coming close, though she didn’t bother to look up. “Go away” she sniffed. Last thing she wants right now is someone else’s company. “Violet” she recognized the voice. Tears overflowed on her bloodshot eyes. “Now you can say I deserve this because I never listened to you!” She spoke at the familiar voice but kept her gaze focused on the ground. The next thing she knew, her head was being cradled by warm hands. She looked up “Now why would I say something like that?” A voice so comforting and calm spoke. “Alex I’m sorry, if...if only I...I listened to you!” Now she sobbed heavily as the warm hands find its way on her cold cheeks. She then stared deeply into his brown eyes and just by looking at those, made her relaxed a bit. Maybe all she needed was his comfort. “Just ignore him Vi” Alex spoke as he hugged her protectively. “That guy doesn’t know what he’s missing, he’s not worth crying for.” He reassured her. “But I really thought he loved me, and he just dumped me in front of everyone saying he doesn’t love me because I don’t belong here” She spoke as she wriggle her way out of his warm embrace. He tucked a hair behind her ear as he spoke “Neither he or anyone else is going to ever hurt you anymore. I have to protect you Violet you’re very fragile.” He smiled at her. Violet blushed. “But why?” “I know you’re putting up a façade in front of everyone, acting all strong and tough -- but even the toughest persons can be vulnerable inside” “T-thank you” And finally for the first time since that incident, she smiled which made him grin even more. Alex stood up and extended his hand. “Now c’mon let’s get back there and have fun. Show him what he’s missing.” She took his hand and Alex wiped away her tears. “I will always be here for you, Vi. Remember that” “Me too. Thanks ” “What can’t I do? I’m your best friend after all” he chuckled. Then a tear started to roll on her cheek again. “No, No more crying okay. Come on, we’ll enjoy the night like nothing’s happened” he extended his hand and Violet accepted it willingly. So they danced the night away, forgetting everything that had happened. The flashback ended and now a different kind of aura and tension was beginning to form between them. “In a few hours you’ll be getting married. I still can’t believe it” They both now sat on one of the garden chairs. “What? You never thought I was husband material?” he joked. ‘I’ve always thought about it -- you and me. But that couldn’t happen anymore right?’ she spoke on her mind. Sadness fills her. “I did. But it changed over time.” They both chuckled. After a few minutes of silence Violet started speaking. “I- I have been meaning to tell you something” She forced a smile. “What is it?” ‘What are you doing violet?’ she thought. Noticing she’s been silent for a long time, Alex began to worry and ask “Is everything okay?” This time he faced her. She glanced sideways at him then closed her eyes, bracing herself as to what might happen next. “I love you, Alex” She fidgeted on her purse. He half-smiled “I know. I love you too Vi. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had” ‘Ugh! Best friend, that word again’ She now opened her eyes and faced him “No, not like that. I-I meant I love you…more than that!” His smile then slowly faded. She never felt this way before -- like a big burden she’s carrying for too long had been taken away from her. It felt good and bad, bitter and sweet--letting her feelings out in the open. “What are you saying, Vi?” There’s now a hint of edginess in his voice. She chuckled as she suppressed a tear from falling, last thing she wanted to do right now is, cry. “I have always liked you since the first time we’ve met. You were always there for me and somehow I clumsily let myself fall for you” She stared at the flowers in front of her. “But why? Why are you telling me this now?” “Because--” she looked away as tears rolled down on her cheeks “--Because you have always thought of me as…a best friend, nothing more. And I just want you to know how I feel even if it’s too late” His eyes widened as he was caught off guard. He seemed so surprised that he wanted to punch himself in the face for being insensitive. He never knew until now that all this time, Violet loved him. He felt a little regretful and guilty at the same time because he too loved Violet. It was like he felt a pang of pain and a punch in his gut for never telling her how he really feels for her. All those times, he had been afraid of rejection. Then that time came when Violet introduced him to Grace. Yes, it was the so-called love at first sight, but that time, he also thought that Violet wanted her for him, that she wanted Alex to be happy with someone else. So Alex willingly accepted Grace, sincerely loved her and gave her everything ‘God, she was worth everything’ Alex thought. “F**k!” he clenched his fists tightly making the knuckles go white “Why are you making this so hard for me Vi?” He said with pain obvious in his voice. Violet sniffed and wiped away all her tears “You’re right! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Forget everything I’ve said, okay? We have a wedding to attend to. I have to go. There’s still a lot of stuff to do” She attempted to stand up but Alex grabbed her wrist and squeezed it gently. She didn’t bother to look at him. “I have loved you too, all this time, Violet” With this her head instinctively swiveled in his direction and tears now poured all over her face but she can clearly see what he said were true. He liked her, too. Yes! He liked her. The feeling wasn’t just one-sided all this time. She could just kiss him right there and run away forever with him, but somehow she felt like she has ruined something. ‘What about Grace?’ She thought. She felt a lump on her throat and she had to swallow a few times before words came out her mouth. “But I have to let you go” She spoke softly but he heard it loud and clear. He let go of his grip. He felt like an explosion just went off in his chest. Though it was painful but Violet was right. It was the right thing to do. He didn’t want Grace hurt too. “I know you and Grace will have a perfect family. I love you Alex, always will. But this is goodbye” And she ran away from him as tears overflowed and ruined her make-up. At the reception… “Sweetie, I’m going to say Hi to the guests okay? Can you get us me some wine please?” Gracie asked Alex. “Sure” He approached the wine area and saw Ben, the butler. “Hey Ben. Have you seen Violet?” “Oh yes. She was eager to leave the party. She got an important call oversees and had to leave immediately. I guess by now she’s on the Plane” “What? Did she say where she was going? Did she leave any message for me or something?” “I’m sorry sir, but none” “Did she say when she’s coming back, at least?” “No” And now he lost her best friend --maybe for forever. His eyes were sad like a boy who had his toy train broken. He searched for Violet in his memories and half-smiled. ‘Good old times’ he thought. Then he looked at Grace, smiling happily while talking to the guests, realizing how he was lucky to have Grace in his life and that he had Violet to thank for that. .... 6 years later… Violet was currently drinking coffee and reading a book while relaxing in Les Café au Laitshe, a coffee shop she just recently discovered, when she saw a young girl bewildered, scared and crying. She seemed lost, so Violet approached her. “Hey there little girl. Are you alone?” “I *sniff* l-I can’t find papa. I want my papa" “You don’t look like you’re from here. Stop crying now. Come on we’ll sit and tell me about your dad okay? So we can look for him” “Okay” The little girl wipes the tears on her eyes. Violet was about to get a paper from her purse when the little girl shouted “papa!” and ran. She gazed to where the little’s girl destination was. She gaped and saw someone she never expected to see again. “Oh! Honey, are you okay?" he wiped the little girl's tears "I'm so sorry papa lost you. It won’t happen again I promise, okay?” he kissed her forehead and gave her a warm embrace. The girl sniffed “It’s okay, besides I met a pretty lady over there” The little girl pointed towards Violet’s direction as the guy stood up. “Vi?” Violet smiled at him. God he missed those smile. “Hey Alex” she spoke as Alex and his daughter approached. “W-w… How long has it been? How are you?” Alex smiled brightly. “Same old. Well actually I just opened a Bridal shop here in Paris” “Really? You’ve always wanted that. It finally came true!” the excitement on his tone was evident. “Yeah! It’s great” She smiled at him in reply. The little girl looked at her dad, then to violet and back to Alex “Hey papa, you two know each other?” the little girl asked in surprise. “Yes Honey, she’s an old friend of mine” “Cool. I’m violet by the way. And you’re really pretty” the little girl extended her hand and grinned in the cutest possible way. Violet crouched and accepted the little girls’ hand. “Oh thank you Violet, that’s so sweet. It just so happened my name too is Violet” she glanced at Alex accusingly with one eyebrow raised. “Yay! That’s really amazing. Hey papa can I get some ice cream?” “Sure, honey. Here buy some and don’t get lost from sight okay?” “Okay” The little girl hummed a song as she skipped towards the ice cream store “So” he cleared his throat as she stood up. “I named her after you” “I’m flattered. Thank you” she smiled at him warmly “So how are things? Where’s Grace? Is there any addition to the family?” She asked just to keep the conversation going and less awkward. “Uhmm…You haven’t heard? Gracie passed away a year now” He half-smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. It’s been a year but he still missed her dearly. She gasped “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” “I know. Its okay “Alex said with a calm voice and changed the subject. “How about you? Do I hear a Mrs. Coming? Can I meet this lucky guy?” “No, None at the moment” she shook her head and half-smiled “That surprised me. Why?” “Well I’ve been busy lately, with the opening of the shop and everything else” And so the talking went on and reminiscing the good old times. “Could we grab a bite sometime?” Alex asked Violet, hoping she’d say yes. “That’ll be cool!” “You know, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, But I never expected to see you here, in all places” “Really? Well maybe fate brought us together again” he grinned wider, this time “Uhmm…Vi, Can I ask you something?” “What is it?” He cleared his throat “Am I too late to ask you for, you know uhm... maybe for a second chance?” Violet looked deeply into his eyes and saw a hint of hope. She smiled and replied with gleeful eyes. “No, not at all” They both smiled in sync. And so their story begins again….