"Duck!" Wrinn shouted as he threw himself to the ground. "Dammit, cover yourself, Blackburn!" Bullets darter through the air, above their heads, just a moments after Blackburn, at last, ducked. "Who are they?!" the man snapped in a raspy voice. "Wrinn! How could have they known about us?" The other man gave Blackburn a hopeless look, waiting for the barrage to cease. The two men were crouching behind a stony debris, a remnants of a cliff collapsed. Thet were Separators, members of a secret group of highly-skilled assassins, employing advanced tech to download one's memories. Though now, instead of hunting, they were fighting for their lives. "Blackburn! They're no match to us. Remember the training? 'Phase in, shoot' em, phase out!' Move quickly and take no crazy risk." The man's teeth clenched behind his air-filtering mask. He knew, one shot to the power source on his back and he'd be kissed by death, but there was no time for stealthy eliminations - this was a fight. The spray of bullets had halted. A fatal mistake. " Now." Wrinn grunted and, with a grim expression, flung himself from behind the cover. His body blurred as he began phasing - and just as he'd done times before, he dispatched one attacker with a swift spray of shots, blinked behind the other one and delivered a killing blow by piercing their neck. "Good ol' thrusty arm-blade" he grinned to himself at the pun. Turning to Blackburn, who had successfully eliminated last of the three bastards, his grin widened. *He might be worth somethin', the young blood.* "Blackburn! Don't you dare to put your guard down!" Wrinn exclaimed at the trainee, seeing him not reloading his gun. Though Blackburn was not to blame - this was his first mission and it's gone horribly wrong. Wrinn was looking around the complex. Instead of quickly murdering the target, they'dended up with severed means of communication with Sonya, their leader, and driven to corner by mercenaries. Undertrained mercenaries though, as far as Wrinn could tell. "Listen Black, download his data," Wrinn commanded, jamming a pointy stick through the corpse's eye socket into its brain. "And try not to get killed" he added, concerned. "Understood, Wrinn!" A tens of seconds have passed before the men stood up and, not having enough intel to decide on the most optimal way out, started heading one direction. The plan was to climb up the cliff on a rope they've used to get down - however, the sudden explosion above them and following rain of stones buried this escape plan. A much bigger group of armed figured crossed their path. This time, Wrinn leapt towards a pile of crates, pulling Blackburn with him. They've stayed unnoticed - for now. "Wrinn?" Blackburn started. "I have an ide-" Wrinn never got to know the idea, for a high-pitched sound pierced the air, mobilising the complex whole. "INTRUDERS IN SECTOR X-8!" it repeated mindlessly. Blackburn snorted. "At least we know where we are." A simple nod was Wrinn's only response. *But we don't really, do we?* He was lost in his thoughts, racking his brain, trying to come up with a solution to this mess. That's when a swirling sound came from behind. Wrinn hastily turned around with the though of phasing towards the threat and neutralising it, but he was too slow. This threat was to assassins' bad luck too fast. A woman with a familiar breathing mask and a set of funny-looking strapped to her body launched a spinning piece of sharp metal at them - right an Blackburn, too slow of a man to react. "NO!" Wrinn yelled as he realised the imminent danger. With a curse on his lips, he blocked the blade with his body, trying to intercept its trajectory. What a price to pay. A stunning pain erupted in the left part of his body as he got struck. The impact turned him sideways, knocked the gun out of his arm, and he staggered, falling to the ground, watching in utter horror his arm laying on the ground, leaking blood. *You bitch.* "Blackburn, **RUN!**" he snapped at him instead of insulting the woman aloud. He was losing too much blood - his death was inevitable, but he wouldn't perish on vain! It was against all of his principles. He'd always been precise and careful, yet he charged at the goddamned woman with an intention to pierce her with his arm-blade. So far, Blackburn was paralysed. This was no routine mission, this was hell! His mentor was injured and he had no clue what to do next, he was panicking. Though Wrinn's last word - "**RUN!**" - snapped him out of the trance. *Don't think of them as of his last words, you dumbass!* He corrected himself as he leapt above the crates and started sprinting towards where the previous ground of mercenaries had come from. Wrinn knew what was his plan. Phase behind her. Turn around. Use the momentum to sever her spine. He groaned and phased - and just before the jump in space, he'd felt a loud crunch in his suit and for the first time in years, phasing had failed him. As Blackburn started accelerating, he heard a loud thunk from behind him. Glancing there at instant, he saw Wrinn laying on the ground, the woman wielding a strange, circular-shaped blade and crushing his abdomen under her boot. "Wriiiin!" he squealed in pain, forcing himself to continue forward, proceeding to keep standing only for seconds before an impact. *Impossible!* Wrinn thought. The tech was remarkable. How could have she interfered with Sonyas secret creation? The woman cackled. "Wrinn, you old, stupid man. You've thought you were untouchable, have you, right?" With a playful smile, she proceeded to break a few of his ribs as she stomped on him. "Oh I'm sure you recognise me not. Just know... Your arrogance, my old friend, had become too much for me to control." Wrinn moaned in pain. Missing an arm and having his insides crushed was torturing. He wished to faint, for his mind was already hazy, but there was one other way. "You may have bested me, woman!" He managed to yelp at her. "But our secrets won't be unearthed!" He added as he raised his shaking arm and drove the sharp end of the downloading device into his brain, knowing it would fry his neural network. She only cackled. Blackburn found himself laying on the ground, his mask nowhere to be seen. He was sure the sudden strike had broken a few of his ribs, he couldn't breathe and for the first time that day, he'd realised that he was about to die. Struggling, he managed to get on all fours, hoping to be lucky. And he was, for he spotted his mask a few meters away and started crawling towards it frantically. "Oh my, how does he live? " a female voice inquired mockingly. He looked up and recognised the woman who'd injured Wrinn. Barely moving, he reached out to the mask. He touched it with the tips of his fingers... And got overwhelmed by excruciating pain, as the woman crushed the mask and his hand alike under her boot. "Nothing personal, kiddo. But rules are rules, 'No missions without Sonya's approval,' remember? That's what you get for treating Wrinn like a leader of ou-" And with his breath running out, so did Blackburn's consciousness.


This is silly but I thought id better try rather than regret not asking... I remember reading a short story on reddit years ago, I don't even remember which subreddit it was on, but I do remember it was about a group of students or random teenageers that were transported into a different world. I think the world was in the medieval ages and the king was attempting to summon heroes to fight some monsters that were threatening his kingdom. Anyway I don't remember how but they each got the ability to pick a class like an rpg and the main character chose to be a clown. And they could only rely on their natural abilities and any special abilities they were given as part of their chosen class. Then they were sent to a village on the outskirts of the kingdom and the whole story is told from the perspective of the main character. And I remember for most of it he mopes around at the situation and the fact the he chose to be a clown until near the end of the story he levels up to level 10 and suddenly goes badass but I think the author discontinued the story and we never learn what kind of ability he got. I really liked it but I cannot for the life of me find it or figure out any search terms that help me get closer to finding it, so as a last ditch effort I figured I'd ask the good people of this subreddit if any of you know the story im describing. Cheers and thank you.


\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ They say that the hero will always win at the end. It’s treated as the truth, a universal law that dictates history, a dogma that most of us believe. Yet, we fail to ask ourselves what a hero is. What goodness is. Isn’t it ultimately just a question of perspective? A passing opinion in the infinity of time? Morals change. Humanity changes. What is true evil? Why is a murder just when another isn’t? What defines goodness? What defines morality? Who are we to judge? Ignorance! Arrogance! Impertinence! How do *YOU* dare to judge *me*? INSOLENT *FOOL*! *MAGGOT*! This world is mine. I *will* rewrite history - and *you*, you won't be there to watch. The world turns black. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **Birth:** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The engine whined in pain as the speeder-bike came to a full stand-still, its headlight painting the rusty wall in a surreal red shimmer. A woman dressed in black smoothly floated down the saddle, her ravishing black hair putting darkness itself to shame. The revolvers on her belt made it apparent that she was no ordinary woman, but the emblem on her chest made it clear. She was a headhunter. Shaken by the sight of beauty and danger the tall man gasped for a second, spellbound by awe and fear. She had cut off his escape route. Fight or flight? The question thrilled through his mind. The bag with the ancient artifact resting upon his back. A thought he would not process any further, as cold steel pierced his forehead. Shaken by the pure force of the impact his head snapped backward, painting the walls in vibrant colors – a red summer rain. His mind was long gone when black heels kicked over his lifeless body in pure disgust, his face stuck in puddle of rain, dirt, rat excrements – and his own blood. As she opened the bag a diabolical smile slathered her face. It was her turn. The jobs never paid well. Not for what they encompassed, but now - now her dreams were in her grasp. A formidable screech of pain escaped her mouth as she rammed the artifact into her chest. The transformation happened in an instant. Black dark wings brutally broke through her back, cowering together like a newborn in fetal position. As she rose up, she felt power rushing through her body, shivering in pain, twitching in anticipation. She slammed her head into the air, her eyes fixated on the dark skies. She knew that the world had changed this very instant. Eyes wide open she saw the night painted in new colors, like no human would be able to fathom. Her arms were lifted in embrace of these new emotions she felt. The wind, the darkness, the stale air, the lingering smell of blood. It all had become part of her. Entwined with the world, overwhelmed by its macabre beauty, her wings snapped open - tearing crumbling scars into the dirty walls of the small alley. A deep breath filled her lungs as she leapt into the sky, leaving behind the lifeless body, the dirty alley and the righteous person she used to be. In this very instant - a new villain was born.


Phil Connors rubbed his palms across his face and placed them on the back of his head while he slowly leaned back in his chair and contemplated his next move. He never thought he’d be the type of person to sit behind a desk. Funny how things change. Shortly after high school, he worked as an intern at a small marketing firm and hated it with every fiber of his being. Then one day during his lunch break he saw an ad in the classifieds from the Bricklayers Union seeking people for an apprenticeship, and didn’t hesitate for a second to make a career change. So, he traded in his penny loafers for a pair of work boots and abandoned his leisurely job for a lifetime of lower back pain and calloused hands. Forty-two years, he’s been in construction. Forty-two long, arduous years. First as an apprentice, then as a journeyman, then a foreman and for the last 6 years as the Area Manager. A promotion he was more than grateful for. The raise in pay afforded his wife an early retirement and the work wasn’t nearly as physically taxing which did wonders for preserving his body. But with the big bucks, came bigger responsibilities, more stress and worse headaches. And when difficult decisions needed to be made, Phil often missed the grunt work, especially on a day like today when he had bad news to deliver. There was a knock on the door. His visitor had arrived. Phil sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Come in,” said Phil. “It’s-a me! Mario!” Mario excitedly declared. “Yes, Mario. I know it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Please, sit down,” Phil said while motioning toward the empty chair in front of his desk. Boing! In an impressive display of athleticism Mario leapt from the doorway to the chair. Phil deeply exhaled, “Look, I’ll be Frank.” “Okie Dokie, Frank. I’ll be Mario!” Phil couldn’t help but to chuckle. He had to give it to him. The little fucker was funny. “Mario, do you remember the last meeting we had three weeks ago?” Mario shrugged. “Ok, let me refresh your memory. You were working with Walters and his crew at the KFC remodel on 5th street, when for no apparent reason, you picked up a turtle and threw him at the wall as hard as you could. Do you remember that?” Mario nodded. “And I had to put you on probation. Remember that? Mario nodded again. “You know, Mario, PETA was right across the street protesting that day. Can you imagine the shit storm we would’ve been under had one of them seen you? Not to mention, it’s a fucking psychotic thing to do. I mean, seriously, who the hell throws a turtle?” “It-a was trying to kill-a me!” “I highly doubt that, Mario,” Phil leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Look man, I like you. I really do. Walters says you’re the best brick mason he’s ever worked with, and I might have to agree. Your work ethic is unparalleled. But you’re a loose cannon. Some of the other guys are afraid of you, Mario. You make them uneasy. There have been many complaints. But so far I’ve managed to look the other way. We would have to hire two people to replace you. You’re too good of a worker....” “Oh, thats-a kind of you to say!” Mario interrupted. Phil smacked his desk with a clenched fist. “Dammit Mario! Let me finish. You know I wouldn’t have believed it were even possible had Davis not taken a video of it. But after that stunt you pulled today, I’m afraid there’s no way we can keep you.” “Oh no, but-a why?” “You punched a brick chimney right off of a house, Mario! Absolutely demolished it with your bare hands. How the hell are you that strong, anyway? Mike Tyson can’t punch through bricks. You’re 4’3” and weigh 90 pounds. It makes no sense. It should be physically impossible. I don’t know how you did it. But I do know why you did it. Davis tells me...” Phil sighed before continuing. “...I can’t believe I’m even saying this. Davis tells me you thought there was money inside?” “I had to get-a the coins, so I can save-a the princess!” Phil leaned forward, pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and deeply exhaled. “Which brings me to your excessive drug use. I’m not here to narc people out, Mario. That’s not my intent. I know many of the guys here have their own way of unwinding after a long day. Hell, I’ve been known to indulge myself every now and then. But smoking a joint at your house after your shift is over is one thing. Using hallucinogenics on the clock is another and I can no longer turn a blind eye towards it. Mario, mushrooms aren’t meant for daily consumption. They’re more of an every once in a while kind of drug, understand? They’re the type of drug you take on a camping trip in the middle of the woods to get in touch with nature. You’re not supposed to pop them on a Tuesday afternoon while you’re at work. I need you focused, Mario. I can’t have you out there tripping balls on the job site, climbing flag poles and playing with fire! Walters told me the other day you raced in twenty minutes late, and your whole body was shimmering like a strobe light. Said it freaked him the fuck out. You care to explain that?” “Yes, I ate-a a star!” “You ate a star?” Phil said in a puzzled tone. “You know what. I don’t even want to know what that’s slang for. Honestly, the less I know the better. Mario, you leave me no choice, pal. I have to fire you.” “Oh-No! You make-a me sad!” “I’m sorry, buddy. The good news is I may have found you a new gig. An old acquantice of mine owns a plumbing company and is always looking for help. He’s a crazy fucker. Kinda reminds me of you. He pays well. And it’s under the table too, no taxes. There’s one catch. It’s extremely unflattering work. He only takes on the tough jobs. The ones no one else wants to take. But the money is good. Last time I heard from him, he was looking for two guys. So, he could take on you and your autistic brother, Luigi. His name is Bowser. I’d be willing to give you a recommendation. How’s that sound?” Boing “Let’s-a-go!” Mario shouted while exiting the room in one hop. Phil connors picked up the phone, dialed, and chuckled to himself. “Mario. That little fucker is a lunatic.


Out of all the civilizations I was tasked with surveying, humanity always was my favorite. Such fascinating creatures, speaking of peace through violence, unity through division, equality through discrimination. If my memory serves me right, some even spoke of satisfaction through hunger. Surely, such a contradictory people was doomed to fail within the first centuries of its existence. And yet, they succeeded. They lasted thousands upon millions of years. They had their squabbles, yet they endured. Somehow, unlike most races, they claimed to be one, yet insisted on having a couple hundred nations as opposed to one to expand out, across the stars. As a matter of fact, to my knowledge, they were the only civilization to never unite or make contact with others. They tried colonizing Mars, but they didn't get far. One would think the death of the universe would be swift, a flash and nothingness. It could be, but the All-Father prefers to savor the process. I sometimes wonder if he enjoys ending the Cycle as much as starting it anew. You never get used to it. Looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars becomes the one thing you look forward to. A sight as simple as billions of lights against a black canvas is perhaps the All-Father's most mesmerizing creation. They also tell when the Cycle is ending, and truth be told, it saddens me each time. A billion stars becomes a million, a million, thousands. On and on until a single star remains. I always like to name them. This one, I named Copernicus. They called the first human to study the stars that. Why shouldn't that be the name of the last one? Each time, I hope that perhaps the All-Father will change his mind and keep this universe around for at least a thousand years more. Then, the last star goes out and I know it's over. I always miss those last stars. Normally, at that point, I wait for the end with the All-Father and watch that world from afar. This time, however, I made an exception. With how humanity handled crises before, I wanted to see how they would handle one they could not solve. Of course, they continued to fight. Now that I think about it, I think they fought more now. After just a couple decades, only one human remained. I decided I would see him off personally. It was a man, if I had to predict, at the middle point of what his lifespan would've been, and he sat against a building, shivering profusely, clinging onto life. When I came before him, I knelt by him, clasped his hand, a pitch black contrasting his bronze skin, and told him, "This Cycle is at its end. Rest, and return to the All-Father." His reply was weak in voice, but powerful in message. "Mary... Josie... will I... see them... again?" Here sat a man, the last life form in this Cycle, at his end, and yet, he wonders only if he will be reunited with his family when it's over. I assured him he would, and he chuckled. He sat back and let out one final breath. Humanity ended not with a bang, but with a sigh. Each Cycle creates a new universe, but I'll always miss that one.


Another Death (first reddit post!) *A soft wind ruffles my hair into my eyes as the chatter of people, the constant rumble of car engines, the ringing of bicycle bells and a million other sounds around me were all silenced to a minimum.* *I look up from my phone just in time to see the lights to go green, before everything seems to stop and go at the same time. People in black and white and grey around me buzz with sound and begin to walk along with me, while the cars to the side screech to a stop.* *In the middle of the road, I distinctly see a bright red object hurtling towards me from the corner of my right eye, right before it hits me.* *The next moment, I am knocked to the ground, as the sky turns to a bright blood red, black and white sparks flying everywhere, my ears buzzing. I feel my foot being crushed by the wheels, then my leg, then my chest.* *And then everything goes dark.* Sometimes being stuck with the one memory where you die sucks. Especially when it’s a painful one, like getting run over by a car. As I reattach my scythe to my back, I take out my buzzing tablet, and receive my next target, AKA the next upcoming death. *Name: Danielle Hills (Female)* *Location: 37.7749ºN, -122.4194ºE* *Death signature: 37%* *Estimated time till death: 12 minutes and 43 seconds* Being a Grim Reaper isn't really hard. Sure, you lose all memories of your past life except for the last few moments before you die, which is not the best thing to cling to when you’re having a bad day. You also have to wear the big black cloak for all eternity, which *really* depresses some of the other Grim Reapers, which is probably why there are very little mirrors in the dead’s world. But, you do get to help bring the normal souls to their next life, or eternal pain/happiness to the really bad/good ones, which always brings a nice sense of accomplishment. The job is quite simple. Receive details on the next death. Find and follow. Wait until person dies. Reap and collect soul from dead body. Sometimes I regret my initial decision to accept the role of a Grim Reaper. I mean, over the few years since I started, I had the deaths of some people—good people that made it *really* hard for me to swing my scythe down on them. It didn’t help that every time I reap a soul (which is just severing the bond between the soul and the body with my scythe), I also get to go down memory lane and relive the part where I got run over by a car. It doesn't take me long to find her. She looks quite normal, with a simple black dress and a rather large smile on her face. I watch her walk out of a large building, waving cheerfully at a few other people before leaving. I follow her for a few streets as she walks at a leisurely pace, until she stops, checks something on her phone, and begins to run, her smile replaced by panic. I speed up as well, until a few minutes later she rushes into a hotel building, where through the large glass panes I can see her urgently gesturing something at the front desk. I pass through the walls, lean over her shoulder, and in her shaking hands I can distinctly see the figures *Room 1013.* I fly up, going straight through the ceilings. Elevators tend to not work for ghosts—we just pass straight through the bottom when it starts to go up. Same goes for cars, buses, planes—anything that moves. Makes it a real pain when someone dies on a plane. It only takes me a few seconds to reach the room, where I see a couple, both sweaty and naked on a bed. “Ah.” Poor Danielle. I can already see how this ends. I take out a tablet, and recheck the details of the death. *Name: Danielle Hills (Female)* *Location: 37.7748ºN, -122.4193ºE* *Death signature: 88%* *Estimated time till death: 1 minutes and 12 seconds* I put my tablet back into the depths of my cloak, sit/float on the couch, and wait. Soon enough, after a minute or so, the door seems to shake slightly, right before it bursts right open and she strides in, freezing the moment she sees the scene. The other two also freeze, before they react and frantically covers themselves. The man rises, with a bed sheet tied around him, and reaches out for Danielle, but she stumbles backwards, the tears already falling like rain. I float over them, as I absentmindedly listen to them arguing, which includes quite a bit of slapping and screaming, until Danielle roughly shoves the man and tries to walk out of the door. At the same time, the tablet buzzes which means *Death Signature 99%. Prepare to reap soul.* The man grabs an innocent-looking geode from the side of the room, the other woman pounces on Danielle, and I take out my scythe. It would look rather unthreatening, a 5 foot long wooden shaft with a long curved silver blade, if you didn't know that it is used to reap souls from fresh dead bodies. I float right next to Danielle, who the next second was hit by the sharp point of the rock *hard* on the head, resulting in the familiar sound of *crack*. At that exact moment I swing my scythe down, right through her body, into the bond that connects the soul and the body. You can’t really see the bond, and it’s not exactly a stand of string, and I still can’t explain how it works or why they call it a bond. It had weakened when she died, but not completely, so cutting through it feels a bit like cutting through butter with a dull knife, but it was enough. A few moments later a ghostly figure of Danielle bounces out of the body, transforms into a strand of silver light, and then was sucked into the tablet, while at the same time I plunge into my all too familiar memory of death by car, also within a few seconds. Returning back to reality, I look down at the horrified pair. “She…we…we just knocked her out, right?” The woman whispered, her face pale. A shame that they won’t die for quite a while. Amid the deathly silence I fly out of the hotel, and in the blue-grey air I silently listen to the millions of sounds around me for a few precious seconds. Then my tablet buzzes, as the details of the next death appears.


Pain is a funny thing. One day it is so consuming you cannot breath, cannot function. Everything is fuzzy, low hums replace words. Your body goes on auto pilot and hours pass and you wonder how you got through the day. No one bats an eye lid because you smile and joke, you say all the right things and you body gives no indication of the decay that is happening inside. Before you know it you are alone in your room. Homework has been done, dinner has been eaten. You sit next to your Dad, watching the new episode of some crime drama while practicing the knitting stitches your mom taught you. In your room you are finally free to feel all the pain that has been built up. Sigh a relief that the pretending is over and the tears start to fall down your face. They are fat tears that tickle your face as they roll down. The salty taste upsets your stomach which sets off more tears. Betrayal, you have no right to dislike the tears as it is all your fault for them in the first place. Your mind wonders, how did you get here again? You cannot tell your parents because they thought that this was taken care of. 3 nights a week going to group therapy, to talk to a safe adult and like teens who have been through the same thing. Even though your mom said she wanted you better, her sighs when she realises that she needs to drive you again. The low talking to herself about how she will pass the two hours. How she cannot go to her book club for the time being because she needs to sit in the waiting room judging the other parents. It is obvious why their kids are messed up, but didn’t your father and I give you everything you needed? Did the family vacations and cello lessons mess you up? The summers spent on your Great Grandpa’s dairy farm running care free some how make you funny? We don’t understand where this came from Doctor, she has never shown any signs of being sad. Is it chemical imbalance? I cannot see how Doctor, we only eat organic. No unhealthy food is allowed in my house. Sometimes it isn’t even the talking, its the looks. How the family will go silent when you enter the room. Odd eye contact passes between the other people in the room. The fake dusty flowers that have been there forever suddenly become the high light of the room. Look how they arrange, they really bring the room together. Even though they are fake can’t you smell the fresh roses? Oh Grandma, the arrangement of roses and lilies really were a good choice. What? Grandpa got them for you for your 10th wedding anniversary? But they still look new! Yes, they are a good reminder that even when things are bad, you can always top and smell the fake flowers haha. Then all eyes fall on you. A good reminder that even when you are sad, stop and smell the fake flowers your great grandpa bought for $1.75 back in 1945. The over excited ‘Well look who it is! Aren’t you getting big and beautiful! Your puppy fat is finally going haha must be the volleyball.’ All done with good intentions but the tone shows it is forced. No one knows how to talk to a sad person. No one thinks that just saying ‘I’m here for you’ is ever good enough. But it is good enough. You don’t need advice, advice on how to wear your hair, grow it out honey you don’t want people to think you like girls. Really black lipstick, do we need to talk to your youth pastor? I’d buy her something pink but her body may burst into flames if she wears anything other than black haha. Your mind is racing. How do you stop the tears? How do you stop the pain? What did the safe adult say? Write it down? You should write it down but you can’t anymore. Mom found your journal and said that it was appropriate for you to have such bad thoughts. Dad tried, he said maybe it was good for you to write it out so you don’t hold it in, but he lost just as much as you did. Absolutely not, she needs to think better, she needs to see all we do for her and be grateful. Dad half smiled at you, he understood what you were going through. He said the safe adult recommended a journal, but mom still threw it in the fire place. You should have gotten sad in the spring, low chance of the fire place being on. Think of something funny. The time you were on the farm and you got your boot stuck in the mud. You couldn’t stop laughing as you stood there like a flamingo on one leg, waiting for your dad to come and rescue you. He kept telling you to just walk over, we will change your sock but you refused, wet and dirty socks were the worst! He was laughing and upset at the same time. He came and plucked you up but then he got his foot stuck in the mud and you both fell over. The laughter that rang through out the farm. He asked you if you preferred to be fully covered in mud or just your one sock, and to your surprise you lifted up your bootless foot and told him your sock was still clean. The two of you spent a good five minutes laughing and your clean sock. Afterwords you both decided the only way to get fully clean was to jump into the man made lake that was on your great grandpas farm. You both ran on the dock and just jumped in fully clothed. You splashed and laughed as the ducks swam around you. You floated on your backs and cloud gazed. Finally your mom came out and told you both to get inside and get properly clean. She scolded your dad for allowing you to get filthy and proper girls didn’t role around the in the mud and then jump in a lake for a bath. This wasn’t the early 1900s anymore, we have hot water for a reason. A knock on the door, a quiet hey you still awake? Oh hey dad, give me a minute. Why are you crying honey? Its ok, I’m here, move over let me sit on the bed with you. Dad I’m sorry I have been such a burden lately. What? No not at all, whatever it takes to get you better. But I don’t know what makes me so sad all the time. Then we keep trying to find it out. But mom is losing patience. Mom grew up differently, idle hands are the devils play thing, more work less time for day dreaming. Maybe a part time job would help me? Make some new friends, some money for myself. For more black cloths haha. Dad, it isn’t black it is a dark gray haha. Whatever you want to do honey, but do it for you, not for your mom or me. Dad does mom hate me? What? No of corse not, she just hates that she cannot control your mind. She knows what she needs to do to make herself happy but when it comes to you she is at a lost. I try to make her think what she wants for me is helping, but it isn’t. I know sweetheart, but don’t worry we will figure it out. Dad, I’m so sorry. Oh honey, come here, cry it out if it will help. The only thing that could be heard are the sound of your tears. Finally someone says they are here for you. No advice, no pointers, no sly remarks. Just someone fully there for you unconditionally.


** When the Mierans first invaded, the primary targets were the major population centers. Every sprawling metropolis that was once a shining example of human ingenuity is now a depressing reminder of humanity's insignificance. Medium sized cities were thrust into a chaotic position both during and after the war. Refugees from the destroyed cities flocked to the suburbs and smaller cities that formerly existed in the shadow of their homes. Simultaneously, the image of burning skyscrapers caused inhabitants to flee in fear of being the next target. The Mierans launched a few attacks on the new major population centers after the initial strike, but they quickly abandoned their tactics due to the rapid distribution of anti-aircraft guns and fighter planes. The military presence contributed to the expansion of these cities. After the war, the mid-sized cities could broadly be classified into two categories. The cities that had a high military presence became known as the bases even if the military base was only part of the city. Life in a base was heavily regulated and regimented. The people were constantly being monitored, and the soldiers regularly patrolled the cities. They are also known for being the safest places on earth. A large number of scavengers lose their lives for the chance of joining that city. The other mid-level cities are in a state of chaos. The military presence heavily declined in those areas, and a few groups were able to steal enough weapons to attempt to seize control. Most of these attempts failed due to internal conflicts and populations that left to become scavengers. A few support networks were able to form from the groups. Scavengers will often raid the networks and leave quickly. The groups are either unwilling to chase them or believe it is sabotage from a competitor. Stephen, Tim, and Velma are crouching on the side of the road. Their crank radio was able to pick-up a transmission from a supply truck that is headed into a place called Golden Hills. They have spent the last few weeks scouting out the town and finding its weak points. Tonight, that supply truck is making its way towards the city with a truck full of food. They cut down a tree a few miles away from the city to stop the truck. When the truck reaches the tree, it comes to stop. Four people with guns and two people with chainsaws come out of the back. The four guards immediately assume strategic positions on all corners of the truck. The two people with chainsaws immediately start demolishing the tree. A person gets out of the passenger seat and climbs on top of the truck with a flood light in hand. The flood light starts to circle the area. "Damnit, they have training. I was hoping it was one of the more inexperienced groups," Stephen says. "It's okay. That's why we prepared for them," Velma says, "Tim circle around." "Got it," Tim crawls away from the truck and turns to his left. He takes care to avoid the flood light. When he reaches a sufficient distance. He dashes across the road. The guards do not react to the movement. He starts to slow down and feel the ground for the marker they left. When he reaches the location, he pulls out his weapon. At that moment, two cars appear from the city, and eight people get out of the vehicles. "Crap, they called in reinforcements," Stephen says. The chainsaw people move away from the tree when they arrive, and the guards at the back move to the front of the truck. The newcomers ready their weapons at the truck. "Okay, maybe it is a rival group," Stephen says. One of the people at the back starts yelling at the person on top of the truck. Their conversation is barely audible from where Stephen and Velma are crouching. The conversation turns violent, and the groups start to fire on each other. "Shit, Tim is on the other side all alone," Velma says. The firing lasts a few minutes, and all of the people are down. "What should we do now?" Stephen asks. They see a man start to walk through the wreckage holding a gun. Tim jumps and waves them over to the battle site. "Tim, what are you doing? You could've been killed," Stephen says. "Trust me. I was close enough to the site. I knew they were dead," Tim says. "Who were these people?" Velma asks. "This group," Tim points at the truck, "is your standard network that is trying to create a semblance of a society. They were transporting food." "They," he points at the cars, "are a part of a group that calls themselves the Followers of Gabriel. They are a cult that wants to wipe out all they deem impure." "Creepy," Stephen says. "I think we should deliver their supplies," Tim says. "What? They would shoot us on sight. Hi, we sabotaged your transport and got your people killed. Please let us in," Stephen says. "They wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for us, and from the way the network talked, it seems like the cult is winning," Tim says, "I think we should help them." "I cannot believe this. We are scavengers. We only join other wandering groups," Stephen says. "We should help," Velma says. "What the, Velma, you agree with him?" Stephen asks. "Tim is right. They got into this mess because of us. Besides, they made a lot of progress with the tree. We can clear it out," Velma says. "Alright," Stephen says. The three of them clear out the rest of the tree. They agree to have Velma and Stephen be in the truck while Tim takes the car. "Sarah, are you there? Please answer me," the truck radio sparks. Stephen looks at Velma. "Are you gonna answer that?" Stephen asks.


I thought as I gave the lock a spin to reset it. *12-click-8-click- slowly, slowly – 34-Clack. Nice, smooth as Mr. double-o-seven,* I thought smugly despite my botched first attempt. I pulled my locker door open, carelessly tossed my chemistry books into my locker and grabbed my P.E. bag. *Hell yeah*, I thought, *another chance to show Clarissa how cool I am.* I wasn't very strong or tall for guys my age, but I was agile. Many hours of class had been lost to me daydreaming about her seeing me pass through the opposing teams defensive with the masculine grace of a dancing tiger followed up by me scoring and her swooning. *sigh*. "... no of course not!" Her angelic voiced pierced the commotion of the crowded hallways as Clarissa walked in my direction. It was as if her voice were an arrow that had hit some hormonal bullseye at the base of my developing brain. I took a deep breath, pulled my hand threw my hair and prepared to give Clarissa *the look*. Exuding swagger in a nonchalant way, but still enticing enough to keep me on her mind. Looking at the tiny mirror tucked into the corner of my locker, I practiced my most ‘James Bond’-esque look I could muster. Too much eyebrow I noted as I angled my jaw to check if I had shaved well enough this morning. As Clarissa's clique approached, I was able to hear their conversation: "Mr. Matthews is such a creep, right? I swear he was staring at me this morning." said Rachel. *No way that even that pedo would see anything but bloated entitlement in your fat ass*, I thought. "Yeah, he definitely has a thing for us girls; our quiz scores are always higher than the boys." answered Melanie. “ Right as I turned around to cast my suave yet heartfelt spell on Clarissa, I felt my jacket get caught on the inside lock mechanism of my locker door. *Fuck. shit. fuck. damn*, I grumbled as I tugged my jacket. I didn't want to miss this god given moment. Finally, I found sweet release from those iron clutches and turned around. H All I saw was the back of her heavenly hair as her flowery smell wafted past. I could pick that exact scent in a field of all the worlds roses. Like her voice, her scent pressed a deep animalistic button in my brain. Unexpectedly, she looked back at me, smiled and said: "See you on then field!". *Holy shit*. My brain fritzed and my rationality evaporated as all I could muster was a feeble "Yeah thanks, you too". *Yeah thanks, you too? Was that really what I had just said. How, on God’s green earth could I have screwed that up?* I thought to myself in exasperation. It seemed as though all the blood in my brain had been redirected. I looked down and there was proof that it had.


It's 4am again and you still can't sleep. You can't get her out of your head. The car outside keeps backfiring and the couple across the hall keeps arguing and you can't get her out of your head. The air is still cold and the sky is still dark and your eyes are still open. Water is still dripping from the ceiling and the landlord keeps promising to fix it and still the water is dripping from the ceiling at 4 am while you remember her soft eyes and pretty smile because you still can't get her out of your head. The couple is fighting, but this time it's worse and a gunshot breaks the tension and soon the sirens are coming but you don't go to join the crowd watching because you can't get her out of your head. The air is still cold because it's morning, and she's still far away from here which is why you're still awake at 4 am, not the police activity or the shooting but because she's not with you, and you're crying, not because a woman was just murdered across the hall, not because she probably was being abused long before it happened, and not because the water dripping from the ceiling is eating through the floorboards, but because you can't get her out of your head. You don't know if you'll ever get to see her again, but you realize now, much too late, that you love her, and not even the shouts and protests of the abusive husband across the hall can change your mind that love is precious, even at 4 am when the water is dripping and the air is cold and the woman lies dying and you can’t get her out of your head. When you stand, the tears stand with you, dropping onto the floorboards and joining the water from the ceiling. The landlord, you see, keeps promising to fix it, but it’s been weeks and the water keeps coming, but he’s promised to fix it, but not at 4 am while you can’t sleep because you can’t get her out of your head. Your heartbreak is hiding among the water on the floorboards, and you think it's perfect because no one sees your sadness anyway, least of all the woman across the hall who lies dying, and it's really too bad because she was always so kind, and you hate yourself for not caring that she's dying but it's only because the water is still dripping and you're still crying and the air is so cold and you’re realizing at 4 am that every love story is a tragedy as your tears keep coming because you can't get her out of your head. And while the woman lies dying you think about the blood, because it too is drying even while people stand crying. And people will be crying because the woman lies dying, and your tears aren’t drying, “No use denying” he’s been sighing and replying over his wife’s body, lying and dying, yet here you are still trying even though you can’t get her out of your head.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting; there are changes! 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.   ***   #This week's theme is Temptation! For the month of April, we’re going to take a look at identity. To begin, we’re going to explore ‘temptation’ this week. Our wants and desires drive us, and they say a lot about who we are. Often we’re drawn to the very things that we know are wrong, unwise, or bad for us. These could be thoughts, people, behaviors, or things like food and material possessions. What type of things call to your characters? How will they deal with those temptations; will they turn away or will they indulge? What effect will this have on the world around them? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * April 4 - Temptation (this week) * April 11 - Harmony * April 18 - Dichotomy   ***   #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 6pm 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. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on stories to quality for rankings every week.** The comment **must** 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. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   ***   #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 I 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). * There’s a Super Serial role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news! *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/ReverendWrites - - u/Leebeewilly - - u/Xacktar - - u/stickfist - - u/1047inthemorning - - u/MossRock42 - - u/Lord_Demerek   ***   #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. I’ve recently added two new ways to get points each week. Here’s the breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 6 points - Second place - 5 points - Third place - 4 points - Fourth place - 3 points - Fifth place - 2 points - Sixth place and on - 1 point **Feedback:** In order to be eligible for feedback points, you have to complete your 2 required feedback comments. - Written feedback (on the thread) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. * ***Note:*** Completing the max for both is equivalent to a first place vote. Keep in mind that you may not use the same feedback to receive both written and verbal feedback points. Your feedback should be actionable and list at least one thing the author has done well.     ***   ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words. However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting. And remember, feedback matters!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Theme: Luck** This week’s challenge is to use the theme of ‘luck’ in your story. It should appear in some way within the story. You may include the theme word if you wish, but it is not necessary. You may interpret the theme any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   ***   #Last Week So many stories were submitted this week. I am thrilled to see all the different interpretations of the constraints week to week. I also love seeing writers come back throughout the week to leave feedback for other stories. It’s inspiring. You all are doing a fantastic job! Due to a very busy holiday weekend, I am sorry to say that the spotlight picks will be postponed until next week. They will be included on next week’s Micro Monday post. Until then,   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. Use to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or discord.** Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


There once was a lumberjack. He was a lonely man, only getting visits every couple months. One day, he went deep into the forest to think. You see, this man loved to think. He would think about the future. He would think about the past. He would think about if he had a family. The man would spend hours just walking and thinking. On one thinking trip, he found an old man. The old man was sleeping. He had a long and bright grey beard, and dressed in all black. The man woke up the sleeping one, and the sleeping man responded, "Who are you? I am Death, bringer of souls to the underworld." "Well I am a mortal. I am humbled to meet you, my good sir." "It is good to meet you too, humble one. No one else has ever seen me. And to that, I may grant you a wish." "No, no. I do not need a wish. I have everything I need. I am content with life." "I doubt that. I have seen you think about what if things went differently." "I do think about that, but I am content. I just wonder what would happen if life went a little bit differently, you know." "I do know that indeed." The two start walking back to the man's cabin "In fact. A lot of people tell me that. They wonder things like if they married their true sweetheart." "My old friend thought about that. He was so wanting he got in a duel with his love's partner. Next thing you know we're burying his body outside of town. That was why I went out to this remote forest." "Your friend was a good man, even I was upset about his suicide." The two sit in silence for a few moments "I have a proposition. I will help you go to the afterlife and bring you to a reality where your friend didn't die. Where your kids didn't burn. How about that, my humble friend." "No, I don't really want that, my friend. I don't really want to die. I want to live to an old age. Then I will be ready." "That prings me to another thing. Many people I meet tell me they don't want tk die. They tell me they're scared. And I tell them not to. I help bring them to the afterlife. Just imagine how scared they would be when travelling to the afterlife, all alone." "Yes, I do suppose that would be scary. Almost horrifying in my opinion." "You're a good man. I have a new proposition. I will let you be free; and when you want to go, I will come back here and take you. Then you can relive your life, take it differently perhaps." "Thank you Death, for your proposition. I think that's a good idea. Although I don't really want to relive my life. I want to spend the rest of eternity just sitting there. I just want to sit there with my wife and kids." "That seems reasonable for a man like you, and I respect that. Most people get upset or angry at me. I've had people attack me with their bare hands. You're different. You are okay with dying and I respect that. I will come back when you are ready." "Thank you, Death. I will await your arrival in relaxation. In the meantime I will go and continue my life like normal." The man and Death then parted ways until the next time they come face to face.


I’ve started to write something. I don’t really know what I’m writing, but I’d like to spill my stream of consciousness out onto a page, grasping my thoughts, before they drift away again. I don’t know where they drift off to, there’s nowhere they could physically go, but they do. It seems to be important to acknowledge all these thoughts, accept them, but don’t dwell on them. I spend far too much time thinking, overthinking, arguing with the voice in my brain, so I thought I’d give that voice in my brain another task. That voice in my brain is now typing out this, and at least it stops him arguing with myself. I find that if I keep that voice adequately occupied, it prevents us squabbling, and that way I can live peacefully. I’ve never tried meditation- to me it’s like a mixed martial arts, training myself mentally against the annoying voice- but I’ve never done it. It’s probably the annoying voice that has convinced me not to, outsmarting me in a way, so that I cannot defeat him. I’m speaking of this other voice as though it isn’t really me, but it is, and it seems that everybody has another annoying voice. If not, we’d all walk around completely content with ourselves- not afraid to speak to girls, to large groups of people and just being happy to be alive. This annoying voice spends far too much time regretting what I haven’t done in a day and why I’ve been staring at my phone for multiple hours. Without it, I think I’d be happy just surviving. After all, we’re only here to survive, so why aren’t I happy just doing this? There’s something special about humans. Our quest for surviving has evolved as we have. We no longer just search for twigs, to light a fire, to keep ourselves warm, to cook food, to stay alive, to have children. We also have that annoying voice, which perhaps isn’t so annoying. It makes us curious, it makes us do stuff and that’s what makes us better as a race. Without that voice, I would not be wandering aimlessly in my thoughts right now. I seem to be fighting that voice right now, desperately trying to add some structure to these thoughts, to develop a storyline, and almost an argument for this piece of writing. But I shouldn’t need to, I want to let that voice do the talking. The voice is probably the reason why we are surviving now, and is setting is up for success as we colonise other planets- instead of sitting here waiting for the next existential threat. It tells you to get off your arse, but it also makes your mind wander and ask questions. The voice will keep asking those questions, badgering away and being “annoying” until we find the answers. At which point, it will ask another question and the cycle continues. But we have bettered ourselves in this time, we now understand about the depths of the universe, we can speak to someone thousands of miles away, we can manipulate energy into many forms and we can keep ourselves free from disease and illness quite effectively. So maybe the annoying voice isn’t so bad after all. Its incessant nagging can get tedious at times, but it’s remarkable ability to take me places, without going anywhere, and tell me to doing something, without actually saying anything, is very special. However, we still know very little about how that voice operates, in a location we have named “the brain”, the most complex organism in the universe. I think, that instead of trying to train the annoying voice, I should let the voice train me, let it ask those questions and I’ll seek the answers, riding out the misery it does sometimes inflict. Because maybe one day, once we’ve answered all of the questions, the annoying voice will tell us a bit about itself. We will have mastered the brain. I think I’ll try to befriend the annoying voice.


My take on *the* most popular HFY sci-fi trope. One shot. *Originally posted on HFY subreddit.* \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ Robert woke bleary-eyed in an unfamiliar place. His head hurt like hell and his body was sore all over, despite having hardly stirred. Where.... what? Light. Light from above, painfully white and stabbing his frontal lobes through his eyes. He shut them quickly as he could to spare himself the agony, and rolled onto his side away from the glare. The next sensation to impart itself on his groggy brain was of the texture of tiles. he must have been on the floor of a tiled room. After what was both a lifetime and only a few minutes, Robert forced himself to sit up and look around. His body protested every movement, it felt like he had been trampled half to death.  All that changed as he took in the room. His heart jumped in his chest and adrenaline surged, washing away some of the fog from his deep sleep. The room was both familiar and strange. White tiled floor and walls. Large white metal boxes with buttons and dials. A cabinet high up with no obvious way to access it. Some sort of bin in the corner. Single light source from above. Heavily tinted observation window. A closed door. *He had been taken!* Robert deep down knew aliens were real, but why him? Why now? *Don't-panic-don't-panic-don't-panic-damn!* Ok. Deep breaths. He thought back to the last thing he could remember. maybe that would help? But his abused brain would not cooperate, and he drew a blank. Maybe not yet calm enough. Uhh, friends! After work drinks with friends! The sense of elation died before it could be fully realised, if he had a few drinks then his guard would have been down. Easy pickings for an extra-terrestrial kidnapper. As his predicament settled on his mind, Robert at least had the optimism to appreciate he wasn't shackled in any way - after a quick check to be sure of course.  Robert had planned for this kind of situation in his mind, but it couldn't compare to the real thing. Who had taken him? What did they want? It was a lot more terrifying than he could have ever imagined. After some more immeasurable time sitting on the floor, he decided to explore his cage a little. Maybe prepare himself for his first contact, get some insight into his captors' minds. But he realised his mistake as he stood - his stomach rebelled instantly, spraying hot chunks of vomit all over the white metal box controls. He must still be drugged from when he was taken. So much for hoping for a dignified first meeting. Robert managed to straightened up, and the next pressing matter made itself known to him. He had to pee, rather badly actually. How had he not noticed this before? Right, he had been drugged. Unfortunately nothing in the room so much as resembled a toilet. Maybe the white box he had just puked all over was one of some sort, but his still queasy stomach wouldn't dare let him check. His eyes found a drain in the corner of the room and his answerer became clear. Right, I'm now a prisoner. No dignity allowed.  As his body relaxed into the relief of release, Roberts eyes automatically drifted to the nearest object, the bin in the corner. It was full of rags of cloth. Did... had his unknown captors' provided him with bedding materials? Was he expected to build a nest? Did they even know he was a sapient? Business completed, he decided to investigate further. It was cloth, but not rags like he had first thought, but clothes. *Actual* human clothes. There was no rhyme or reason to what they had provided him with and most of it seemed dirty, but he was in no position to complain. Any pieces of home he was allowed was a welcome distraction from his predicament. He knew in the rational part of his mind that any links to home would become important to him as time went by. Another idea occurred to Robert. His own clothes were crumpled and splattered with his vomit, but that wasn't important as he dove his hands into every pocket he had, looking for keys, wallet, phone - anything. No such luck of course, that would have been too convenient. Still, it was worth a try.  The wall cabinet he left alone, it was probably quite sturdy for all he knew but without any visible support struts he didn't dare try and pry it open. The observation window on the other hand was not what he had first assumed. It wasn't tinted as he thought, but actually clear with some sort of heavy duty shutter closed on the other side. A window perhaps? But that made no sense, why would they give him a room with a view if he was their prisoner? Was he on a spaceship? Would there be stars on the other side? After a moments silence, waiting, listening, there was no sign that he was in a moving vehicle of any description. Unless that vehicle was a spaceship, of which case he could only guess at how it would sound. Suddenly, Robert felt more tired than he had ever felt before. Too many questions, too few answers.  That just left the door. To his immense surprise, it protested loudly but willingly opened. If that was his mysterious captors idea of security it was laughable. But the strange ultra-realistic facsimile of a human house that greeted him was not the cold sterile hallway he had been expecting. It looked like an actual living room, even if the finer details were wrong. It had stuff everywhere, as though trying to cram everything earth related into the same space. And a pantry. There was containers of every description occupying ever available horizontal surface. As Robert took in the incredulous scene, he spotted the one thing in the gloom that didn't belong. An alien. Humanoid, sparse fine white feathers hanging unkemptly in all directions from its scrawny body, as it lay face down on one of the lounges. Dead, if the sickly sweet smell was anything to go by, probably for a few days or so. Roberts heart was pounding against his ribcage with full force, his mind jumbled trying to process what he was seeing. *An actual alien!*  He had to check. It was obviously dead, but he *needed* to know. To be right after all these years of being called a loony for his beliefs. A few cautious steps and a single finger prod. It felt real alright, its some of its decaying flesh sticking to his finger in the most horrid sensation imaginable. Morbidly curious, he held his hand up to what little light was coming over his shoulder. It was yellowish and sweet smelling, having rotted to a sticky, near liquid state. He was about to prod it again harder when it *stirred,* causing Robert jo jump back in alarm! A pair of unfocused, but clearly predatory eyes appeared pointed in his direction. A barely coherent voice broke the quiet. "Awesome party Rob. Why am I covered in honey and feathers? And what were you doing in the laundry?" \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ I'm a regular author on the HFY subreddit.


The museum consisted of only four rooms, although I got the impression the building was an exhibit itself. The wooden floor and flagstone roof had clearly been replaced a number of times. But the walls were built with tools I had never seen; thick stone towers that seemed to bear hundreds of years of erosion. In the first room, we found odd trinkets of times before. There was nothing especially intriguing, and many were similar to the artefacts in the Citadel on Kadear Coalfields. As we entered the second room, the space opened up to a large hall. On all four walls were pictures; some ranging several metres across down to those that were the size of my hand. Each image was an exact likeness, as if you were merely seeing the sight with your own eyes. The largest display showed a group of young men and women gathered round a table sharing drinks from a bottle. The image was so large that each face was as big as my torso. I was struck by how beautiful they were; the soft skin of their cheeks, their silky long hair, and the symmetry of their smile. Never before had I seen anyone beam so widely, with so much joy, in such a simple moment. To the right of the smiling people, large text read ‘Choose the best.’ The next image was smaller, the whole picture some 30 centimetres tall and printed on thin glossy paper. There was a family in a home. Two children sat in a large kitchen, as an older woman - presumably their mother - dotingly put two plates in front of them, filled with delicious-looking cooked food; a pile of red-colored beans most prominently displayed. Underneath the image, a caption ran “For everyone”. I was still studying the picture when Alessia grabbed me by the arm. “Ferdinand, you’re not going to believe this.” “What?” “The next room,” she responded, pulling me behind her. I followed her through the archway and immediately understood why she had fetched me. What I saw, can only be described as a miracle. The far wall had been painted white. However, light was being cast on it to create moving images. The pictures were as real as the images in the previous room, but these moved. Somehow, I was watching the old world. The images were being cast by a small contraption on a table in the middle of the room. The device had a glass circle on the front that shone light out to project the images. As I got closer I realized it was also producing sound. It was faint, but if I sat down near the small box, I could make out voices - voices of the people on the wall. What we were watching seemed to be a comedic play. After each joke I could hear raucous laughter from an unseen audience. However, while the content may have been fiction, it gave me the perfect opportunity to view what the world used to be like. They had large expansive homes filled with lush furnishings. In the background windows looked over a city from an impossible height. Some seemed to work at desks like I used to, others worked serving people food and drinks. However, whatever their status in life, they seemed without worry. They were still beautiful, with white smiling teeth, and tanned, flawless skin. They were happy in their work, happy in their homes, content in every aspect of their lives. They were in heaven. I don’t entirely know how long I stayed, crouched on the floor. However, I believe a good forty or so minutes passed with us both transfixed by the sight before we were interrupted. “I thought you might enjoy this.” Turning, I found Rachel standing a couple of metres away, admiring the images on the wall. “How…?” I hesitated, lost for a working sentence. I took a deep breath and recomposed my words. “I knew things like this existed in the old world, but how did you get this working?” Rachel smiled. “Luck. Little more. A few generations back some people found a whole metal box of the devices. It took us a while to realize how they worked. We only have a few different recordings. But now we play a disc every day. A reminder of how good the world once was.” I turned back to the wall. “It really was.” “There are dates at the end. These images are from the beginning of the 21st century.” “Why don’t you share this more widely?” Alessia asked, prying herself away from the screen. “You could be the richest island around with this.” “Some things are more important than riches. This museum is who we are, what we aspire to.” Rachel looked at the screen, taking a deep breath, as if she were inhaling the utopia into her lungs. “The archipelago we live in now,” Rachel continued. “There are people out there starving. There’s fighting, murder, war. There are self-righteous islanders, condemning those around them; or islands where one set of people are made to toil while others live in luxury. We made that happen. It didn’t used to be like that. That’s what this museum is for. To remind us of a time without problems, when we were better people, when sadness and hate were fiction. To make us aspire to be something better.” She said the words forcefully, as if they were from a commandment more powerful than herself. “It’s a great aspiration,” I replied. “We may not have the technology. But we can aim to be as good. And one day the technology will come again,” Rachel took one last look at the pictures on the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some issues to attend to. But please stay and enjoy yourselves.” \ We watched the marvel for another hour or so. By the time we left, the sun had set, and speckles of white stars were beginning to fill the sky. We begun the walk back in silence. My mind was elsewhere, recalling and embedding that world we had seen. I assumed Alessia was in a similar state, but as we began to leave the village, Alessia quickened the pace. I skipped a couple of paces to catch up to her. “Don’t look around. Because I know you’ll want to look. So don’t, ” she said through clenched teeth. “But those people from earlier, they’re still following us.” “Maybe it’s time we talked to them.” “If they wanted to talk to us, they’d have done so already. You want to talk to them, you’re going to have to get to them. “And how do we do that?” “Pincer them,” Alessia said, making an action of her two fingers coming together at a point. “I’ll walk back to the village. If they follow you, you turn and run and lead them straight to me. If they follow me, other way round.” “And when they reach me?” “Grab hold of them and don’t let go?” “And if they are armed, or fight me?” “Then let go,” she shrugged. “Good luck.” Alessia turned and started heading back up the path. As she did, a woman stopped in her tracks, and conspicuously walked down a small path into the forest. It was the same woman I had seen following us earlier. Now I knew where she was. I continued down the path toward the beach. To my left I could see an old stone wall that blocked out the forest beyond. To my right, the trees encroached on the path, and long branches loomed over me, cutting out what little light the stars provided. I looked briefly over my shoulder. I could only make out her outline in the darkness, but it was clear I was being followed. My pace began to slow, hoping she might keep her own, and reduce the distance between us. If I was to win a foot race, I had to make the gap as small as possible. I readied my body, priming myself for the chase. I counted to three, turned, and ran. The shadow ceased its movement, frozen to the spot for a brief second, before they turned and tried to flee. However, their brief hesitation had reduced the distance between us, and now they were maybe only seven or eight metres away. They veered to the right and ran up the old brick wall along the side of the path. For a brief moment, I lost my concentration in their agility, as they began running along the top of the wall away from me. Then, a stone gave way. It tumbled towards the path as the woman’s ankle buckled, and she was sent down the other side. She let out a yelp as she fell. There was a second’s silence, then a thud as she landed on the forest floor. I could hear her body sliding, and then a shriek so raw I could feel my heart sink and my torso tense in response. The yell gave way to a quieter, but still loud moan, occasionally broken by a stuttered sob. I climbed up the wall. On the other side was a steep bank that dropped down several metres. As I lowered myself on the other side, I could immediately feel my feet slip on the blanket of leaves and loose soil. Grabbing onto a branch for stability, I began slowly making my way down the bank, towards the baying. As I arrived on the valley floor and approached the woman, I could begin to make out more than her outline. My heart sank further. Our stalker was a girl, probably no older than 16. There was visceral pain in her scrunched, frightened face. At her right arm, there was an unnatural bend between the elbow and wrist, a sharp angle jolting off. The girl kept moving to look at it before turning her head violently away and sobbing. “Ferdinand?” Alessia called out from the path. “I’m down here,” I replied. “Come, quickly.” I waited as Alessia climbed the wall and slowly started making her way down the bank. “I think she’s broken her arm,” I called out. “Well help her,” Alessia exhaled and she slid down the leaves. I was stuck, unable to act, but unable to turn my eyes away from the girl lying in pain. I had seen terrible things, I had seen death. But somehow, seeing somebody - a child no less - suffer, was so much worse. My frozen body was interrupted as Alessia pushed past me and crouched down by the girl. “It’s definitely broken. We’ll need to make a splint,” she said. I watched on, waiting. Alessia turned to me with the eyes of a predator unleashed. “Are you really this fucking useless?” She yelled. “She’s broken her arm. We need to make a splint. We need branches, straight ones, about three centremetres thick. We’re in a forest. Think you can manage getting sticks in a forest?” Broken from my trance, I began searching the dark wooden floor as Alessia tended to the girl. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you, we’re gonna fix this. I’ve seen plenty of breaks before, and they all turned out fine. Now try to stay calm, and trust me, okay?” The girl whimpered in nervous affirmation. Alessia took out a knife and grabbed the base of her own shirt. She cut out a long stretch of fabric from around her abdomen and placed it to one side. Then she cut up from the bottom of the girl’s trousers to her knee, on both legs, giving her three pieces of long fabric. “Now this next bit, for a moment, is gonna really hurt, okay? I’m sorry. But afterwards, as soon as it’s done, the pain will go down alot, I promise.” Alessia soothed. Once more the girl whimpered her consent. Alessia began slowly moving the arm back to a straight position. The girl’s cries grew louder. She tried to speak, but the words were interrupted by animalistic howls of pain. Alessia completed the task. “There. I’m done.” The girl quietened. “That a little better?” I returned with the two branches. Alessia took them. One was a good length, but as she inspected the other she rolled her eyes, before quickly snapping it in two so it was the same length as the girl’s forearm. With her tongue pinched between her teeth, Alessia slowly wrapped the fabric around the girl’s arm and the sticks, keeping the broken limb locked in place. With the arm set, the girl was silent for the first time. “You’re going to need to clean the wound too,” Alessia said. “I have some supplies on my boat. You can come there now, and we’ll take care of you. And then maybe in the morning you can explain why you were following us. But we’re not going to hurt you. You are safe. We can take you wherever you need to go tomorrow. That alright?” “Okay,” the girl replied. The girl gingerly stood up and began walking. “It’ll be about a half hour’s walk to the boat. That okay?” Alessia eyed up the steep slope ahead of us. “Yeah. I got this,” the girl replied through a sniff. “My name’s Robin, by the way.


I didn't know what it was yet, the first time I felt time freeze around me. When I was a kid, my dad used to always stop at every sunset he saw, every extra crisp wave. Click. Hed motion his hands like a camera and save them. He told me he'd keep them in his memory. Close his eyes and see. He was a mystery to me, A typical New England Man. The driest sense of humor i've ever come across, the fiercest loyalty in sports teams. He had this ability about him, this magic that turns the simplest moments into gold. The brightest blue eyes. I came across this old video not long ago. He was born the day after Christmas, disappointment day. When I see it now it breaks my heart. How young me and my younger brother look. All I can see is how fluorescent pink my jean jacket is, how I must've thought the rhinestones on my jeans would make me seem cooler to the eighth graders. The bluntness of my sidebangs which I still totally regret. I see Will is still not tall, his voice is still too young, he still hasn't been hurt by anything. It hurts watching us sing and trip over ourselves fighting to put the plate down, jockeying for the favorite. But the moment that will always make my breath catch is the ending. “Make a wish!!” we exclaimed, barely able to hold in our giggles, how proud we were to have made a boxed cake by ourselves. “Make a wish” he echoed. And then he closes his eyes. It's so brief, but in that second I think the earth stood still for him. Sketching his own cathedral. I don't know what he wished for. 10 more years, maybe five. Probably not six months. I don't like to think about it too much. The night after it happened I stayed up. I sat and I looked at photographs scared to even blink. I didn't want to close my eyes. I thought if I closed my eyes id be able to pretend what had happened had not, that if I closed my eyes when I opened them again, it had been a dream. I was afraid to close them because the opening of them again is what brings back reality. So I kept them open. I watched the sunrise and my eyes watered but I didn't cry because it wasn't a reality. Sometimes I wish id kept them open before that moment. A lot of the times I think I kept my eyes closed the entire time my childhood was unraveling in front of me. But as I watched my dad blow out his final birthday candles, give his final birthday wish. They opened. Sometimes I wish I could close them again, and just draw, pretend what I've seen is and is not. I'd give anything to be blind for a day, to smell the cloying scent of butterscotch and not be taken back to that birthday. But maybe it's better to go through with them open. Maybe it's better not be so sweet to the world, like icing on a boxed cake. It helps keep you guarded. If you never close your eyes again you`ll always see it coming I suppose. I feel that that can't be all though. I think it'll wrap around again. Maybe someday ill be able to trust enough to shut my eyes again. Maybe the earth will stop for me. Give me a moment of my own. His hand over mine guiding. tracing and retracing my own cathedral.