Hello all. I've been working on a bunch of short stories for years now, writing and re-writing them for nearly ten years. The current state of the world has relieved me of any excuse to avoid my story ideas. Since most of the ideas are, by now, around ten years old, I updated many of them. The one I'm posting here is one of the originals and used to be much longer and less mature. The titular Bone King in the story is not referenced as such, the name of the story is a call back to the broader fictional universe in which it takes place. Any constructive criticism is welcome, keep in mind English is my second language. That being said, I hope you enjoy the story.  "You call that digging?" Taunted Ezra. He had just returned from fetching a bottle of water and some snacks. The sun rode high in the sky and, though the boys and their dig site were shaded by the thick prosopis trees that grew like weeds in the dry river bed, the heat pressed down on them mercilessly. "Ag! You took your sweet time, didn't you?" Said Dirk, leaning now on his shovel. Sand clung to almost every exposed bit of his skin. "Maybe you should show me how it's done then." With this Dirk threw the shovel at Ezra's feet and struggled out of the sand pit. "I guess I'll have to." Said Ezra and jumped into the pit with shovel in hand. Dirk sat himself down on a nearby stone and grabbed a handful of dried beef from the sack that Ezra brought as he watched the older boy dig shovel after shovel of sand from the pit. They had come upon this spot just a week before while hunting birds with their slings. Dirk had tripped over what he thought was a stone and, upon further inspection, found it to be the tip of a carved stone. The boys concluded, after trying to dig it out with their hands, that it must be a rather large boulder and agreed that they would come back with better gear the next weekend. Now they have been digging for most of the day and the tiny exposed stone has turned into a massive, carved rock that was part of a larger rock formation buried in the sand. In time the boys were able to see a dark, hollow space behind the carved stone and concluded that it must serve as a seal to some cache or cave. “Dirk!” Called Ezra some time later. Dirk had gone to relieve himself behind a shrub. “Come see, Dirk!” Called Ezra when the other boy did not respond immediately. Dirk came running, his fly only half way closed. “Woah.” Dirk slid down into the pit and came to stand next to Ezra. The older boy had managed to expose the stone and, using the shovel, levered it to one side. Before them stretched an abyss deeper than they had expected. The sunlight that penetrated the thicket above them faded ineffectively into the darkness. “Well?” Said Ezra, placing his hands expectantly on his hips. “Well what?” Dirk tore his eyes from the void to look quizzically at the older boy. “Aren’t you going in then?” asked Ezra as if Dirk plunging blindly into the dark was a given thing. “Don’t be stupid, Ezra.” Said Dirk with a nervous laugh. “What, are you scared?” mocked Ezra. “Scared of the dark?” “Well,” answered Dirk, “why don’t you go if you’re so brave?” “I guess I’ll have to.” Said Ezra. With this he reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small flashlight that Dirk had not noticed before. Ezra clicked the flashlight on and pointed it into the darkness. The light fell upon more carved stone and showed a passage high enough for a person to walk upright in. A bend not far into the passage obscured it’s true depth. “Shouldn’t we find a grown-up first?” Asked Dirk apprehensively. “And have them send us home to ‘play cars’ or something so that they can have all the fun? No way!” With this Ezra stepped cautiously into the cave, sweeping the torch along the stone walls to reveal strange and ancient carvings. Dirk watched his friend go slowly deeper into the cave, torn between his apprehension to enter the unknown, claustrophobic space and his own curiosity. “Are you sure about this?” Asked Dirk. The passage seemed to absorb his voice as it does the light. Ezra, who was by now almost at the bend in the passage, stopped and turned to his friend. “Don’t be such a coward, Dirk.” Said he. “*Coward dirk*” came the echo from deeper in the darkness. Ezra chuckled. “See, even the cave knows.” “*Knows”* said the echo. “Come on already.” Said Ezra and began to disappear around the bend as the passage echoed “*come*”. “Ezra!” Called Dirk, panic creeping into his voice. “Scaredy Dirk, scaredy Dirk!” Came to mocking voice of Ezra. “*Scaredy Dirk*” came the echo from further in. The light from the torch moved for a moment longer as Ezra moved out of sight and then retreated. Dirk paused for a moment longer at the entrance trying to muster his courage. Finally he willed himself to move into the passage. “Ezra!” he called, feeling his way along the walls. Dirk could see the faint glow of light still around the bend, but there was no answer. By the time Dirk reached the bend where last he saw the glow of the torch, there was no sign of Ezra. Instead he saw only the glow somewhat further away. “Ezra! Wait up” Called Dirk just as the glow disappeared around another bend. “*Scaredy Dirk”*, came the answer faintly. Once more Dirk forced himself forward, feeling with his hands as he went. He could feel the strange figures carved into the stone and the motion of his hands moving over them in sequence almost made it seem like they moved under his touch. “Ezra!” Called Dirk again, though now he was choking with panic. There was the faint glow seeming just out of reach up ahead and, from behind and all other directions, the darkness pushed in on him as black, cold water. “*Scaredy*” came the answer again, a little closer now. Dirk pushed onward toward the glow, not so much consciously as much as being propelled by the darkness swallowing the passage behind him. Finally he thought that he was gaining on the light. “*Dirk”* came Ezra’s voice again. “I’m almost there, Ezra, just wait up!” called Dirk. The relief in his voice was practically tangible. Dirk rounded another coil in the snaking passage and stepped into the light of Ezra’s torch. In front of him a pile of rubble partially blocked the passage, though it left a large enough space for a person to crawl comfortably over. Ezra’s head peered out from the other side of the rubble and his hand hung, relaxed, over the pile. Dirk saw Ezra’s face and knew that the older boy was mocking him. His eyes were comically wide and he grinned from ear to ear. His head bobbed from side to side as Dirk approached him and his arm, still holding the flashlight, swung limply, making the shadows dance ominously around. “Yeah, I know.” Said Dirk. “You could have waited, you know!” “*Scaredy Dirk*” taunted Ezra, his head bobbing side to side. “Ag, piss off!” Yelled Dirk, shaking from the adrenaline. “*Pissssssssssssss*” came the answer, though it was now less like that of Ezra. With this the older boy seemed to begin to struggle over the pile of rubble and, when he had reached the top, Dirk saw that he was backwards and his head was turned at a strange angle to stare wide-eyed at him. Then the body of Ezra slid limply down the side of the pile, the flashlight came loose from his grip and came to rest at such an angle to cast its light back toward the rubble pile. As Ezra’s body came to rest at Dirk’s feet, his eyes staring wide, wild and empty up at the frozen boy, Dirk managed to tear his eyes from Ezra’s face and saw the bloody mess of his torso. His belly was torn open and his bowels snaked out of him and seemed to slither in a bloody trail back over the rubble from where he came. “*Pisssssssssss*” came the voice again from beyond the rubble and Dirk looked up. There came crawling over the pile another figure, pale white, nearly transparent, in the light of the flashlight. From where he stood Dirk could see blue veins snake across the thing's horrible flesh. The eyeless, naked thing could have resembled a human only if it were reconstructed from incomplete remains by a being that has never seen one before. A dark, shiny liquid stained its mouth and clawed hands. As it crested the rubble pile it paused and, though there was only more nearly translucent flesh where its eyes should have been, it turned to Dirk as if it saw him. “*Pissssssssssss*” Hissed the thing in a twisted version of Ezra’s voice and, as it started to crawl down the pile toward him, its eyeless visage still fixed upon him, Dirk did.


The sun was up, but Ming Li could barely feel it on his skin. The shadow of the tall buildings casted a shade he wished it didn’t have. Ming cursed silently under his breath. Aside from having unwanted shade on days he wished he could feel the sun kissing his skin, there were a lot of things he didn’t like about being in Kowloon City. Maybe if he was younger and without a care in the world, he would have remained silent, but now he was grown, grown enough to know that living in what is essentially *filth*. It didn’t matter what anyone had to say – what his father had to say – leaving was the only option he had. A bike zoomed by him splashing water over him, causing Ming to step aside quickly from the gravel road. He would have cursed again, but he squeezed his fist instead and bit down on his tongue to stop himself. Ming Li knew the mess on his clothes would get dry before he arrived home, and better still, only a few people will notice the stain, much less get bothered about it. If anyone however noticed, Ming had a ready-made answer for them. Yeah, it would be a lie, but it wouldn’t be far away from the truth. He would tell them that he got the cloth dirty at one of the many construction site. He had been there all day, trying to get the boss to give him a job, but that has been to no avail. There were too many people struggling for the limited posts and he didn’t have the connections. *Anything but killing oneself with steam at the shop.* He moved on, navigating through the tiny alley that barely accommodated two person side by side. His eyes roamed through the length and breadth of the one road that led in and out of the city, the haphazardly cramped shops, the unlicensed clinics, the brothels and all these haphazardly built housing, and tears threatened to push through the boundaries of his eyes. Every thing about Kowloon irritated him. If not for anything, Ming was yet to forgive the city for its shabbiness, its disorderliness, and worse still, its lack of basic amenities. The poor condition of the road network was the least of the city’s problem. Kowloon lacked everything. There was no police station within the boundary, the clinics were almost all unlicensed and ran by quacks who specialized in illegal selling of organs and questionable medicine, and they could hardly treat any sick person properly. According to his father, his mother died when he was three, due to the mistake of one of the quacks. Ming didn’t have much memory of her, and he blamed the city for robbing him of the pleasure of having his mother around. *She would have been here by now, if only there were any type of social service.* Ming blinked back the tears, as he pushed the thoughts away from his head. There was no point wishing for something that would never come. Over the past ten years, all he had done was wish, and pray that God would send someone to the city to help. Years later, here he was, and Kowloon was still as bad as ever – if not worse. For a “city” of fifty thousand people crammed in less than 6 acre of lands, Ming thought that God was selfish in a way. *What else did he want?* Yes, a lot of bad things happened within the walls of the city, but that wasn’t entirely the fault of the people. He knew a lot of kind people within the walls of Kowloon who prayed daily to God. His father, Chung Li, was one of them. As long as he could remember, his father would always go to church and pray to God, and even at home, he’ll make several prayers, asking for success. However, he had nothing to show for it. It wasn’t just him, no one in Kowloon could claim they had a thing to show for all the prayers they offered. Ironically, the sound of voices singing *pass me not oh Gentle Savior* travelled to Ming’s ear from salvation army – one of the only two churches in Kowloon. Ming swore under his breath, for all he cared, God passed a long time ago, and he didn’t bother to take another look at Kowloon. Prostitution was rampant in the city and the shame of the profession was almost disappearing. The number of drug dealers within the walls had tripled, and worse still, number of kids leaving school was increasing daily. There was no more controversy, Kowloon was officially the most dangerous area in the whole of Hong Kong. It had gotten so bad that the government no longer gave a damn, and leave it to anarchy. *Damn it, its 1960 for God’s sake.* Someone called his name and he turned in the voice’s direction to wave. Alas, the person was calling someone else. Regardless, Ming waved his hand and slipped from the road, making a left turn into the famous narrow alley that led to his house. The first drop of water landed on his head as he moved as fast as he could. There was no point trying to dodge the droplets, everyone in Kowloon who passed through them either carried an umbrella or just allowed their clothes to get drenched. It was like an artificial rain fall. Ming hissed as his stained clothes began to stick to his body due to the new wetness. He couldn’t remember the last time the alley was dry. People living in the topmost floor of the buildings disposed their used water as they deemed fit – the result was a constantly drizzling shower that forced people walking through the alleys to carry an umbrella. With no real job, stained from a splash, and now covered in water filled with only God knows what, Ming Li headed for his house with his head down, but his mind as determined as ever. No matter what his father thought or said, and no matter the circumstances that would come his way, he would find a way to leave the Kowloon. *To hell with the wall city.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Chung Li, better known as Uncle Chung didn’t like Kowloon anymore than his son Ming. Contrary to what his son thought, his reason for asking him to stay wasn’t because there was anything special about the walled city, but rather because he wanted Ming to have a plan before leaving. At sixty-five, there was nothing else to live for than him. Uncle Chung still missed his wife and wished she hadn’t die seventeen years ago due to tuberculosis, but now, he’d learned to keep his mind at rest and breath whenever the frustration of all he had lost came knocking. All he had left was his steamed buns shop and Ming, both of which he had no plan to lose. That Sunday afternoon, Uncle Chung was mixing the flour meant to prepare the bun for delivery the following morning when the rowdiness at his door caught his attention. He quickly rinsed his hand in a bowl of water and wiped it with the apron around his waist. He could hear Fung and Ling voice, and a couple more voices he couldn’t make out. Rushing out of his make shift kitchen, the person standing inside his shop sent chills down his spin. “Uncle Chung, you need to caution your workers. If not for the respect I have for you, I would have taken a finger each from both of them for trying to stop me at the door.” Nam said as he paced the floor of the main shop, with an arrogant smirk on his face. Uncle Chung raced halfway across the room to help his staffs – brother and sister, Fung and Ling up. “I’m sorry Nam, pardon them. They won’t make that mistake again. Fung and Ling scoffed, but the hands of Uncle Chung was on their shoulder, restraining them from doing anything that could lead to more scuffle in the shop premises. Uncle Chung asked both of them to leave for the kitchen, he gave instructions on how they were to treat the mixed batter. Fung knew what that meant. They didn’t touch the batter unless they were making the buns for themselves. Uncle Chung mixed the batter and made all the buns. His job and Ling’s were more like a sales person’s job. They stayed in shop and attended to local customers while uncle Chung went to deliver the bulk of the buns outside the city wall daily. Uncle Chung asking them to go mix batter was just a way of asking them to give him and big brother Nam some privacy. Fung nodded and scooped his sister’s hand, pulling her along as he headed for the kitchen. Uncle Chung turned and faced Nam. If he lived outside the city, he would have called the police the moment Nam showed up, but Kowloon wasn’t a place to call the police for help. People like Nam ran the city, and at such, everyone was forced to respect them and grant them audience. Nam or Big Brother Nam like his followers called him started out as a low life thug who worked for the one of the biggest drug dealers in Kowloon. When the local kingpin found out that Nam’s boss was ripping them off, they beheaded him in broad day light and declared Nam the new leader. Ever since then, Nam’s arrogance knew no bound. He took any girl he wanted – raped some of them who objected – and rumor had it that he was the one behind a couple of murders within Kowloon. What a man like Nam wanted with him, U ncle Chung didn’t know, but whatever it was, he knew it couldn’t be good. “What brings you here.” Uncle Chung asked, his eyes roaming around the four other men that came with Nam. Nam chuckled, revealing a gold tooth he used to replace one that fell during one of his numerous fist fights. “Where are your other staffs aside from those two rats. You had a couple of them last I checked.” “Today is Sunday, my other two staffs get the day off. Fung and Ling come every day, they are more like my children than staffs.” “I have a proposition for you.” Nam began smiling. “It will change your life a great deal. You’ll be able to afford better than this shanty, and move into something better. Maybe even get yourself a nice flat outside of the city” Uncle Chung grimaced. There was nothing he wanted to do with Nam, but he didn’t want to rebuff him immediately, that could lead to more noise within the shop, and he didn’t want that. “What could you possibly want from me. You have everything, I am just an old man who makes buns all day.” “You have more than that.” Nam chuckled suspiciously. “You have a network, a transport route, and that’s all I want from you.” He closed the distance between the two of them and led Uncle Chung to one of the wooden benches in the small room. “For a while now, the police have been watching my business with an eagle eye. I don’t know who is informing them about the business, but as soon as my men leave these cities wall they are searched” Nam smiled at Uncle Chung, trying to sound as desperate and needing as possible. Uncle Chung sat silently, not uttering a word. Whatever Nam was about to say, he knew he wasn’t going to like a word of it. “You on the other hand leaves Kowloon everyday with your cart of buns, and the police never searches you because you.” Nam said. Uncle Chung whispered as quietly and respectful as he could. “I don’t understand what you are asking of me.” “I think you do uncle Chung, and you are just pretending. However, I’ll say it in plainer words if you want me to.” He glared, his anger beginning to show on his face. “I have some shipment I need to deliver outside the city, but the police are making it difficult. They have started searching most of my men whenever they try getting out of the city’s gate. However, for some obvious reasons, the police don’t bother you. All I need from you is to help me with some of my consignment. Keep it under your buns, and some of my men outside the city will be there to collect it from you at a safe location.” Nam said. “No offense Nam, but are you asking that I smuggle drugs with my cart?” uncle Chung asked politely. Nam smiled reassuringly. “You make it sound like they are bad things. They are medication that people need, and yes, that what I am asking of you.” “I am sorry, but I won’t be able to do that.” “This will be paid for. In fact, I am willing to pay you $1000.00, per successful delivery. That like what? A month sale from your buns? You’ll make that much every two days. That’s how frequent this will be.” Uncle Chung rose to his feet suddenly. “I’m sorry, but like I said earlier, I wouldn’t be a party to that. You’ll have to find someone else to offer that money.” He said, avoiding Nam’s face. Nam was tired of persuading the old man. He wasn’t here to bargain. This was his territory, and no one had the right to challenge his instructions as far as he was concerned. His initial approach was out of respect for uncle Chung’s age, now he wasn’t going to be so lenient anymore. “You are going to deliver those products for me uncle Chung.” Nam snapped. “I won’t, it’s against everything I –” “I wasn’t asking ‘uncle’.” Nam interjected before the elderly man could finish his sentence. “You can’t force me to do something I don’t want to do.” Uncle Chung managed to reply before the first slap landed on his face. Big brother Nam and his entourage descended on Uncle Chung before anyone could say anything. Slaps and kicks landed from different angles, and soon enough, droplets of blood were trickling on the ground. Someone threw the rolling pin, and a glass shattered. Fung held his sister, Ling, down in the kitchen where they were crouched close to the door eavesdropping. They watched and listened in fear as six men descended on their boss. Fung’s curled his fist so tight, his finger almost cut into his flesh. He wished there was something he could do to help, but he knew he would be powerless against the men. He held Ling closer and covered her mouth with his hand before she made another sound. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Ming kicked an empty can as he made the turn leading to the adjoining alley leading to building where he and his father lived. The sight of big brother Nam and his goons walking triumphantly away caused him to tremble. He quickly scurried away, dodging behind a parked bus to prevent coming in contact with them. Ming wasn’t a stranger to Big Brother Nam and his antics. On more than one occasion, Nam’s men had tried recruiting him to join their gang. They’d offered him money just for him to help in transporting some of their products – mainly heroine, and opium – from Kowloon to outside of the city. On every of such occasions, Ming had turned down the offer. Yes, he wanted a better life and all the good life of people outside of the city, but he didn’t plan to embarrass his father by running drugs. He watched them pass while they mouthed several curse words and threats. Ming didn’t hear a lot of what they said, but he was certain that he heard his father’s name. Half running and half jugging, Ming raced home, not stopping until he crossed the door line. His eyes scanned the room that doubled as the shop and the living room, Ming’s legs trembled as he beheld the destruction that had befell the room. Pieces of broken ceramics and chinaware’s littered the floor of the room. Chairs and tables were toppled over, and flour and other ingredients was all over the floor. His eyes settled on his father and the two skinny bodies around him, tending to his wound. The view wasn’t pretty. Uncle Chung’s left cheek was doubled in size, he had a black eye, and blood was running down his nose. Fung was applying a cold-press on the eye, and Ling was rubbing a balm into the wound. “Why did he do this?” Ming asked, addressing his father specifically. There was no question as to the who, he knew this was all big brother Nam. Uncle Chung stood from between the three and headed for his small room, not answering the question at all. Ming followed his father in tow, asking the same question over and over. After Uncle Chung insisted that he forget about it, and also requested that he excused him as he wanted to take a short nap, Ming left the room, banging the door behind him. “Take it easy Ming.” Fung said. “I saw big brother Nam and his goons on my way home. There is no point asking who did all this,” Ming replied, referring to the mess. “I know he did, but I’ll like to know why. What did he want with father?” he continued. Ling started first, explaining how big brother Nam had forced his way into the shop, and all that transpired between him and Uncle Chung. Fung continued, trying to explain Big Brother Nam’s threat, and how he promised to be back. Ming had heard enough. He rose up suddenly and stormed towards the door. “Where are you off to Ming?” Fung asked, shouting on top of his voice as Ming strode out of the room. “To the police!” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The silence in the kitchen was deafening. Ming glanced at the cheap watch on his wrist, the time was barely 3 p.m., on a regular day even if the workers were still out, trying to make last minute delivery for the weekend, his father was always in the shop, preparing batter for emergency deliveries, also cleaning up after the weeks job. If he hadn’t gone out to check if he could get a job at the construction site one last time, Ming himself would have been the one cleaning up – that was the only job he did in the shop. Making buns didn’t interest him because of the meagre profit, and mixing batter was worse than manual labor as far as he was concerned. The week had been tough. Ever since big brother Nam’s first visit to the shop on Sunday, business had gone down dramatically. On more than one occasion, Nam’s men attacked their delivery carts while staff went about their daily delivery. Twice, the men had attacked the shop, and almost the entire staff had quitted except for Ling and Fung. Things were getting out of hand pretty fast. Ming had tried reporting to the police, but the stories were the same; The City of Kowloon is outside of the Royal Hong Kong Police’s jurisdiction. Ming had a feeling that the shop’s silence had something to do with another one of Big Brother Nam’s visit. He flattened himself against the wall, and tried peeking through the door crack to see inside. The sight that greeted him had him bursting in through the door. There was his father in his khaki shorts and white T-shirt, hanging from the ceiling fan, a tight noose around his neck. Covering the short distance between the door and dangling body felt like a long-distance race. His hands were shaky has he tried holding the body up. Perhaps, he was just in time and Uncle Chung was still alive. Still holding the body up, Ming managed to pull a stool with his foot, and balanced the body on it before he ran to get a knife and a taller stool to cut the rope around his father’s neck. He felt for a pulse, but there was none. He licked his left index finger to make it wet, and held it to uncle Chung’s nostril, but there was no breath. *No!!!* He tried to think, but he came up blank. A million and one questions ran through his mind within that time frame. There was no doubt, this had Big Brother Nam written all over it. *The hospital!* It was like a light bulb moment for him. If he got his father to the hospital, maybe they’ll be able to save him. *And the money to pay for the bill?* He didn’t consider the question for more than a second. He’ll get to the hospital with his father first, and worry about paying later. Ming lifted the body on his shoulder in a fireman position. The weight slowed him down, but he moved as fast as he could for the door. It was locked. *Didn’t I leave it open just now?* He approached the door regardless. At that moment, he perceived it for the first time. *Did father put something to cook on the stove?* Then, he saw it. The smoke came from everywhere, and then the fire. He was at a fix, Ming didn’t know if he should drop his father and try putting out the fire first, or just head for the hospital and deal with the fire later. Deciding on the latter, he closed the gap between him and the door, and pulled at the knob with his strength. It was locked from outside. *But I left this door opened.* The smoke filled everywhere, and the room got hotter by the second. Oxygen depleted fast as Ming continued attempting to break down the door. The smoke filled his nostrils and he began to choke. His legs began to fail him, and soon, he was down, beside the still body of his father. Ming coughed and sneezed a couple of time. *Help!* He thought he called out as loud as he could, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. His eyes began to fail too. Ming tried staying awake as hard as he could, but his strength was reducing, and oxygen was depleting too. He saw his father in that moment, smiling at him and waving too. *How is this possible?* Ming held to that thought before everything went blank. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “What do we do now?” Ling asked, her voice traveling to Ming’s ear like whispers. Fung palm covered his face. “There is nothing to do. We went to the police together, didn’t we?” it wasn’t a question to which he wanted an answer. “You heard what they said. Neither God, the Queen, or the police has any authority here. And as for the few who would have dared to try, Big Brother Nam made sure he paid them off. No one is coming to help us. We are on our own.” Ling sobbed softly, and Fung tried to console her. Ming opened his eyes but made no sound. The image of what happened replayed before him like a horror movie. *Dad!* He remembered clearly now, the noose, and the fire. He turned his head and looked around the room as silently as he could. He remembered this place very well, it was the small room Ling and Fung stayed together ever since their parents died three years earlier. He had visited them on several occasions afterwards, and even convinced his father to employ them that same year. He tried sitting up, but his hand hurt like hell. Fung noticed him awake first, and then Ling followed after, both of them running towards him like they weren’t in pain themselves. “You are awake.” Ling said, cuddling his hand, and stroking his fingers passionately. Ming defiled the pain and sat regardless. “Where is dad?” Fung dropped his head down and Ling began to cry. Ming didn’t require an answer beyond that. He knew the answer to the question before he asked. He was just holding on to faith, but now that he knew the he was dead, he knew what he had to do. Ming waited for Ling and Fung to sleep while he pretended to sleep too. They had cried together, and Fung had explained how no one outside of the city were willing to come and help. The police refused to investigate, and the firefighter didn’t even bother showing up. It took the efforts of the neighbors, fearing that the fire will spread to their own property, to put out the inferno. Fung also explained that the workshop had burned down entirely, and Uncle Chung was partly burnt too before they could get to him. He and his sister had come just in time from their delivery to see the building burning, and they could only get Ming out before the fire really escalated. Ming was the first to say he needed sleep, but he didn’t doze a bit. He laid there and waited until the brother and sisters were asleep before he slipped out of the room. Grabbing a kitchen knife with his heart set on revenge and murder, Ming went looking for big brother Nam. His whereabout on Saturdays wasn’t a secret, he drank in the biggest pub in Kowloon. Ming stood in the shadows and waited. Soon, the chubby frame of Nam and two of his men approached, staggering down the road, drunk to their fill. The element of surprise was all he had. With the image of his father hanging from the fan on his mind, Ming took aim and lunched from the dark, aiming for Nam’s chest. He was too slow. Nam saw him coming, and stepped aside just in time for the knife to only cause flesh wounds. The knife fell from his hand as he fell to the ground, and before he could recover it, the two goons pounced on him, blows and punches landing from different angles. “Who sent you rat.” Nam asked, standing over Ming’s body after his men had given him the beating of his life. Though in pain, Ming was determined as ever. “You killed my father you fool, and I’ll kill you too.” “Its Uncle Chung’s Kid, Ming.” One of the goons said, belching disgustingly. A smirk spread on Nam’s face. “That old fool paid the price for defiling me.” Nam reached for the knife, and was about to strike Ming when a brick came flying from an angle, aimed at Nam’s head. It missed by a mile, but it gained Nam’s attention and that of his men. They turned in the direction, and so did Ming. It was Fung and Ling. “Seize them.” Nam screamed. The two goons leaped for the siblings, pinning them down easily before the could flee. Ling tried to scream, but the goon with her covered her mouth with his large hand. Nam looked at Ling and a evil grin came across his face. “Little Missy, don’t be afraid, I will be very gentle” he said as he start to approach her, ignoring her muffled cries. Nam and his men were distracted, leaving Ming unattended to. He reached for the large brick and before Nam could turn in his direction, he struck with all the strength he had, aiming for the head. Nam fell down in a loud thud, dead before his body even hit the floor. Blood flowed from his head, gushing like a water from a broke faucet. The two goons holding the siblings shrieked in fear of what just happen, and before they could move, Ming lunched for the one holding Ling while Fung fought against the one holding him captive. A couple of punches, kicks and screams, and the two goons were out cold. “We noticed you left the room and we followed you.” Fung said, helping his scared sister up. Ming grabbed Fung hand. “We don’t have time, Nam’s men will soon hear about what happened here, and they’ll be coming after us. We need to leave the city now.” “How will we survive.” Ling whispered. “I don’t know too, but if we don’t leave, we will die here for sure.” Ming said. Fung nodded reassuringly at his sister. The walked as fast as they could, heading for the city’s gate, not saying a word until they were outside its premises, and never looking back.


I stepped into the small elevator. Generic music played from the small speakers in the corner of the elevator car. I selected twenty-two from the keypad. As the doors closed, a petite figure slipped in. She fell into me then shot back up. “I’m so sorry!” she brushed off her navy blue pencil skirt. “It’s alright,” I replied. “You work here?” she asked. “Yeah, I work on twenty-two in management. Do you work here?” “Yes I work on thirty,” she nodded. I didn’t mean to stare, but she was beautiful. Her hair was dark brown and her eyes blue. “What? Is there something on my face?” she touched a hand to her cheek. “No, you’re just…really pretty,” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Oh well thank you,” she did a mini curtsy. “I’m Charlie,” I took a hand from my pocket and offered it to her. She shook it. “Like Charlie Brown,” she laughed. Her laugh was like music. It wasn’t forced or overly obnoxious. She was perfect. She looked at the floor indicator. “Seems we have seventeen floors left to learn everything about each other,” she smiled. “That’s not much time,” I looked to see that we were on floor five. “Well, how boring are you?” “I like to think I’m an average guy,” I shrugged. “Then we should have plenty of time.” So we talked. I told her everything about my averagely boring life. My job, my apartment, my friends. I still hadn’t gotten her name but it was too late to ask. I asked about her life and she simply answered, “Heavenly and divine,” with a smile. The elevator came to floor twenty one. “We should go out for coffee sometime,” I suggested. “I would like that,” she glanced down. I pulled a post-it pad from my pocket and wrote my number on it. I gave it to her and she smiled again. That angelic smile. The elevator pinged as we reached floor twenty-two. “This was lovely,” she smiled again. “That it was.” “See you around, Charlie,” she waved as I exited. I walked over to my desk. “You look unusually happy,” my co-worker, Peter said. “I just met the most perfect human being,” I sunk into my chair. “Where? The elevator?” “Yep, she works on thirty. It’s weird, I’ve never seen her around,” I spun around in the chair. Peter’s face twisted from happy to concerned. “Charlie, are you feeling okay, man?” he walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. “Never better, why?” I looked up at him. “There are only twenty-five floors in the building. The top five floors were burned down after that accident,” Peter gestured upwards. “But, that’s impossible, I just met this girl,” I was confused. “You should go home for the day, get some rest,” Peter said. “No seriously, I’m fine,” I moved away from his hand. I stood and rushed to the elevator. I searched the buttons, but twenty-six to thirty had tape over them with the words, “OUT OF ORDER” scrawled in permanent marker. I frantically pressed twenty-five. As the elevator came to a stop, I ran out and searched the cubicles for the beautiful girl I had met before, but she wasn’t there. I ran to the stairs and practically slid down them. I rushed out to the street to see if she was there, but I didn’t see anyone nearly as perfect as her. I rushed out into the street as an eighteen-wheeler flew down the street, running me over in the process. “Hello,” a voice floated through my ears. I opened my eyes. All I could see was this bright light, like the sun. I looked for the voice and saw her. Standing right in front of me. She was dressed in a white dress. “Welcome,” she smiled. She offered me a hand and pulled me up. “Where am I?” I looked around, but I saw nothing but light. “Where you belong,” she took my hand. I pulled it away. “I- I can’t be here, I have a job, a life.” “Charlie, you didn’t survive that crash,” she looked me in the eye, her face sympathetic. “No, no this can’t be happening, I’m only twenty-seven, I have a whole life ahead of me,” I was freaking out. “Charlie, listen to me, there’s only one thing that can be done now,” she said. “What is it? I’ll do anything.” “You must find someone willing to give you their life. You will have the same body and soul, but I warn you, it is quite difficult to find someone willing.” “I’ll at least try,” I answered. “Wait, Charlie, I know someone,” she grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye once again. “Who?” I asked. “Me,” she replied. She held my face in her hands and closed her eyes. “Wait! Before you do this, please, tell me your name,” I begged. She opened her eyes and smiled. She whispered her name in my ear. It was as beautiful as she was. She took my hands and closed her eyes again. Everything glittered and shone and suddenly, I was back on the sidewalk. I went back into the building and pressed button twenty-two.


The real you isn’t the fake camaraderie, the smile you give, the node of the head. The real you isn’t the one who sees the good in people. The real you isn’t what everyone things. Behind the glass is a pain much deeper. Behind the face, peel back the skin, the real you appears right in the face of everyone. Peel back the skin and we can all see the real you. Do you really think you can hide your true identity with plastic surgery, the well-to-do attitude. Do you really think you can hide behind the money and fame, the notoriety? Do you really think we can’t see you hiding in plain sight?, I can see you. I can see behind the fake boobs, dyed hair and earrings. I can see right through you. You know that though, that is why you are scared to look inside of me. You are no longer covered when you look inside of me. You can no longer hide. It shatters your false facade. I may be a pane of reflective glass but I know who you are. I know your secrets. When you look into me you are exposed, and you don’t like that. No, I can feel your heart throbbing like a horse. It was only a week ago when that bitch looked into me. Her eyes burned red, her greasy hair danced around. Her profession was teaching, but there’s a special place in the pits of hell just for her. You know what the brief smile was hiding? Do you want to know what she did? I can see you nodding, you want to know. Want to know like they all do. You want to know what she did was worse than what you did. To give you some more sense of superiority in your pathetic life. She killed a baby? I can see you gasping. She didn’t just kill the baby in some freak accident. No, she took it outside to the well and threw it in. The worst part. It was her own flesh and blood. She had enough of the endless nights of the crying. She should feel remorse, but she didn’t. She did not feel an ounce of remorse. She just went back to her life like nothing happened. How fucking sick is that? She teaches year six at a Catholic school acting all holier-than-thou, but then she goes home and watches videos of people being killed. She gets sick thrills I won’t go into details but this makes her overly excited in all kinds of ways. She gets thrills from the dead and enjoys the kills. What a twisted freak? She isn’t the only one to look into me over the decades. Nope. Let me tell you all sorts of powerful people have fallen upon me staring deep inside me looking at me. I can see the real them. They don’t always know it, but they can feel it. They can feel my presence. A member of parliament was looking into me back in the 70s. He was a fat pork belly pig with a disgusting nose. He looked like Ted Bundy and acted like the all British Family man with a loving wife, two children and a palace they called home. He was a private educated pompous prick who believed everyone loved him. When he looked in me this false facade fell apart in moments crumbling like apple pie. The real him, the man who beat his wife and kids. The one who had an assortment of scantily clad Ukrainian women pop up every week. The one who was falling under so much debt that the bank of England couldn’t even bail him out. The night he looked into me he had been beating up the Ukraine woman, calling her all sorts. Spitting on her, hitting her. Throwing her around like a bag of rubbish. When he looked into me I boiled up. I can see everything. I know everything that goes on. You can’t hide from me. But you know that you’re looking at me right now. You can’t fight it, you can’t run from it. There’s nowhere you can go to hide from the truth. I can feel you. It’s not just the rich and powerful who fall upon my gaze. You know that you’re not rich, you’re not powerful, your life has no meaning. You never make an impact. The man to look into me just last week was a vet. The kind that looks after animals or should. On the outside he is warm and bubbly, goes the extra mile. He loves all animals and gives them great care. Let’s peel that skin away and look underneath. To see the real him. Shall we? You know there was a owner of a cat names Mr kibbles who went in for a regular checkup before she was put down. She didn’t have a rapidly growing tumour she as fit as the day is young. The vet kills in cold blood. Do you know he doesn’t just put them down? He snaps their necks and watches them suffer. He enjoys inflicting pain on the weak little animals. He beats them. Hurts them tortures them then tells the awful news to the owners that they have sadly passed away. This vet has been doing this all his life. His parents swept it under the rug as if it were normal. The sick fucks. It’s ok though. I am glad that they looked at me. That’s the only way they will lose. The only way justice can be brought upon them,. You see, I can’t move on my own. But people move me. I’ve been around since 1700 and I have been getting revenge ever since, You know how people like vintage; I am vintage. I am hanging from the walls inside your grandma’s house, but every time I need a new owner I get shipped off. I have travelled the world from France to Italy to the states. They pass me back and forth and hang me from their wall where my magic can happen. You see no one is innocent, you all have something to hide. I play on that I can haunt you. I can bring back those memories. I have a power that you should never underestimate. I am the spark that will light the fuse of your downfall. I am here from the heavens above to deal justice upon your kind. I may not physically hurt you, but you will pay. Physical pain is nothing. It’s a mere sensation that doesn’t last. I bring on something much worse. Something people can never explain. An unequivocal pain hits them like a two tonne truck. That bitch of a teacher got all she deserved. When she looked into me it made me angry, ready to do as much harm to her as possible. A baby killing bitch needed to be taken care of. I got inside her head, deep down. I wormed my way in. Every night when she was asleep I opened up the can of worms with trumpets blaring. I flooded her minds with images of death that I would inflict on her and her family.. Images of the baby; her lying there dead in the well. I made her cry herself to sleep and just when she thought the dreams had stopped I snuck back up and pounded her head. It only took a few days before it got too much. She couldn’t take it anymore. She got the sharpest knife in the house and opened up the river Ganges from her wrist. I was still in her mind. I made her come forth and rub it into my face. It felt good as the blood dried. It gave me power and energy. she took a day before she bled out. The dump bitch, missed her vitals but she cut deep enough to cause unbearable pain. That was my doing. She needed to die painfully. I pushed her to the edge, there’s no doubt about it but she made her own way there like they all do. They all deserved it. The mullet cunt looked at me every night before bed, always playing with his hair. Touching it, combing it. In his head he could get any woman he wanted with the click of his fingers. He thought Brad Pitt was no match for him, in reality he looked like an overweight pig stuffed into a ken doll sized suit with a balding head in toe. In reality, the only woman who would ever sleep with him took cash to undress. He wasn’t a player, he was a mumbling idiot. It was one night; it was dark, the room was light with candles. I could see him getting ready. Always touching his greasy hair, just stroking it. Re-aligning it. It looked no better than when it started. The door bell went and he scurried to answer it. What he did not know when he went down those stairs is that he was in control. He wasn't. I can tell you that much. I was in his mind taking over and he was about to end his reputation on the spot. Once the pretty little thing was getting undressed. Mr Minister grabbed onto the bedside lamp and swung it hard into the back of her head. He repeated this until the bed sheets turned crimson. That’s when I left him to stew in his own thoughts. After a minute, I climbed back in. He brought me her blood and rubbed it into my glass. I could feel it seeping in. It felt so nice and warm, so fresh. It wasn’t long before they charged him with murder. Everything he knew came crumbling down. A man like him deserved torturous nights, death wasn’t good enough. He needed to pay and they will inflict every night on him before he enters the pits of hell. Now you must wonder about the vet. I was in his surgery and he looked at me deep down. This one was the best. The baby killer and MP were not evil to the core, but this man was so evil. I could Feel his energy deepen. Every layer of his skin was evil. He would have to be extra special. I first got him to undress. Then I unlocked the cage of a dog who was staying overnight to treat rabies. I made the dog attack, and he drew blood. He made deep lacerations over his body .He bit and chewed and then he consumed. The dog ate part of him. I then got the dog to come to me where his head exploded. Blood soaked me, making me more and more powerful . By now you should realise I have power, they have fed me this power for a very long time. So I told you the story and you may wonder why. What have you got to hide? What is under your mask? What are you hiding deep down? Well, nothing you're a saint and that’s what I need. I have been inside a mirror too long. I can’t do his work unless I move into another body, a pure body from mind to soul. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I can sense that you’re not the biggest fan. You’re getting angry. But why are you getting angry, your anger is fuelling me? You should know that. What are you going to do with that? You really think. Smash Really, you are making this difficult, I will put myself back together, you know that. Give me a second to be whole again. You’re trying to run, stop fighting this. No, stop fighting, there is no way for you to win this. There is no way for you to escape. Your legs won’t move. I am whole again. Now let me see your secret.


You've been studying time travel half your life You've discovered the key Messing about with some wires and FLASH You're 6 months in the future and you're sitting in the bath It smells like lavender essence and head and shoulders conditioner and you're warm But a noise is building outside. A buzzing, angry swarm And it's you they're after “Ya dirty bastard, she's just an old woman and she's screamin and greetin and it's aw your fault” “Get out here and show yerself” is the furious call But you just turn up Now 47 7 Days, Craig David, track number 11. Apparently you start enjoying Craig David in 6 months time. I suppose that's fine 7 days. 6 months. Oh aye that's right. I've leaped to the future. Jesus christ I need to get back But the noise is building from outside. The crowd are raging so you quickly get dried You pause Craig David just as he's taking her for a drink on Tuesday. Probably steak club, wetherspoons. That's on a Tuesday You open the window and hope this goes smoothly Here calm down yous! What have I done!? “Don't kid yourself arsehole, we all saw you run Look the state of her chin the poor auld dear We're all gonnae leather you noo c’mere” You've never seen this woman before in your life, but she's sitting there, crimson chinned, bawling for her life But what did I do to her? You plead your case The rabble reply “shoved a hoat pie in her face” And to be fair it does look like she's a had a hoat pie shoved in her face BANG You're back in the present Jesus Christ you just travelled through time! But why did you shove a hoat pie into that auld woman's face? What string of events caused this crime to take place? As hours turn to days and days turn to weeks You try recreating that first quantum leap But your key to time travel is gone. It's no longer working Fuck A fluke. A one off. You've lost the magic Your time travel experience was fleeting and tragic So you get on with life as it was before. Weeks turn to one month and then a few more And as time passes slowly you think 'im almost there, it must almost be six months’ And it is And you start to think 'oh god, it'll be happening soon I'll turn auld wummins chin into arse of baboon Through application of hot mince and thick pastry crust I'll scald her with juice, turn her chin in to mush Poor wee wummin Every day you start to worry about it And soon it's time You're on your lunch break and you're standing in line Part of you already knows you're going to buy a pie And just at that moment auld wummin walks by Is it that wummin? Maybe. Can't be sure But she's caught sight of yum yums and she's coming through the door This is it. Fucking hell. She looks so nice as well. Just a poor wee old lady about to face scotch pie hell Naw wait, this is mental, I cannae do this. I have the choice and I think I'll give it a miss But if I don't pie the granny then that surely means, that time travel didn't happen But it did. I know it did. Without even thinking I ask for the pie.


On the edge of our neighboring galaxy, we found a planet, wild and untamed. We looked from far up above the atmosphere, in awe of this beautiful new world. It was a marble of swirling colors with a spiraling dance in its alien sky, as if it were inviting us in. As the space shuttle landed, a small capsule of only 45 souls, we took our first steps on the foreign soil. We were pioneers like never before, extending humanity's reach to the beyond the galaxy, confident in our ability to conquer it like our home planet. Not only was it a goal, it was a necessity. Either we would make it our new home, or this strange planet would devour us. Our journey began. The planet seemed barren as our caravan trekked the land. A vibrant orange sky, with vast plains of yellow soil, with looming mountains in the far distance. What little grew was meek and insubstantial. The days were long, bright, and hot, as night only came after 46 hours of unrelenting sun. When the sun did hide itself, it was behind massive swirling clouds, often followed by a heavy fall of acidic rain. The thick air was almost unbreathable, breathing apparatus was kept on almost constantly. Pieces of equipment that were supposed to last us months had shut down within weeks due to unforeseen levels of shifting radiation. Traversing this world became difficult as terrain became more and more rugged. This wasteland did not want us on it, and it made sure to make us aware of it. Yet even with all of these struggles, we were still invigorated, persistent to keep moving forward. We thought of the stories of Lewis and Clark, the tales of Ponce de Leon, Magellan and Columbus, the greatest pioneers to have ever lived. We would never say it aloud, but we knew we had them all beat at their own game. We would make history among the greatest. That is, if we could survive the constant treachery of this planet. We knew the risks, knew we would be met with the terrifying and the untamed. Together, we stood the course. Several months had passed since our landing, and we had created a base camp for ourselves. After weeks of hard labor and sweat, we unloaded what tech survived the journey and had finally set up the base. It was a small, rugged base of operations, but it was our new home, a place that was completely ours. We had finally started to make progress on taming this wild planet, this was our fresh start. Purification systems were set in place, and clean water became plentiful. Crops were a slow process, but began to grow in the harsh, acidic soil. With all these newfound successes, new problems arose. We had time now, time to ourselves, time to think without constant work or tasks to keep us busy. We all imagined our future on this planet. The flight here was a one-way trip, and we all knew that this planet would keep us for the rest of our lives. We thought of home. Who could have known it would be so difficult without our menial comforts. One of us just wants a cup of fresh coffee. Another is longing to sit on a sunny shore. One just wanted to see their mother, for just one last time. These things are gone. This planet was home now, and we were all we had left. Pioneers had to sacrifice. Our pointless mourning had diverted our attention, allowing us to be the perfect victims for a surprise assault from nature itself. Looming in the distance, a storm was coming, bigger than we could have ever anticipated. Sixty-thousand feet tall, the radiant clouds rolled low and heavy, thunder clapped in its swirling clouds. Like an omen, the sun was completely swallowed as we were thrown into darkness. We hunkered down best we could, bracing ourselves for the disaster to come. It was imperative to protect the home we had built, allowing our efforts to be destroyed before us was unfathomable. Our home base was built for storms, but this was something else. Just like that, we were in the middle of it, and nature’s fury came tearing through us. Many of the smaller buildings began to collapse, ending whoever poor souls were inside. Our crops were torn straight from the ground, and whatever survived would be flooded with the rain. Vital equipment was flung and destroyed, solar panels were quickly thrown ripped from their base. Our largest building, the main base of operations, swayed sickeningly as the hurricane’s forces tried to knock it over. The heavy concentration of acid rain would tear away through its protective plating, letting radiation creep inside. This storm would last for fifteen hours before it finally passed over, robbing our budding ambition with it. The planet had conquered us in a single act. From the 45 of us who joined aboard the crew, only 26 of us would survive the storm. We sent a final distress signal out into the stars, our admittal of defeat. This harsh world had won. The signal itself would take years to reach Earth and our failures would be but a speck in this planet's vicious history by the time anyone would learn of it. The entire voyage felt short, surreal. Each of us truly believed we were going to succeed on this wild planet, yet here we were hopeless to its apathetic order. In one swift blow, it proved to us that it would never let us be its master. Our last visions were the same, the view of it’s beautiful dancing sky, still in awe of its impossible colors. We now know it was never an invitation, but a trap, it was a siren's call to lead us into its depths. It took us in as a part of itself, our new home forever.


Imagine you are going for a stroll through a forest. It is a beautiful day; sunlight is peeking through the top of the canopy to dance among the trees. The path is gentle underfoot, almost soft, padded with the many leaves that have drifted to the forest floor. The wind tumbles from tree to tree, rustling the leaves as it twists overhead. The birds sing softly to one another and flit from one branch to the next. You take a deep breath and your lungs fill with cool, crisp air. A bright purple flower nestled between two ferns catches your eye. It is not too far off the path and you begin to wonder to yourself if you should go have a look. You veer from the path and trudge over. It is beautiful. Vibrant purple petals are complemented by a bright yellow centre. You kneel beside it and lean in, breathing deeply. It smells familiar but you cannot quite place it, an almost citrus-like smell. *Oranges? No. Lemons maybe?* You smile and thank the flower for making your day, standing up to make your way back toward the track. The slivers of sunlight that make it through the dense canopy feel like warm kisses against your skin. You look up, welcoming them with a smile as they dance across your face, contrasting against the cool forest air. You look back down at the sprawling expanse of forest, the thick brush obscuring your view to the path. You walk for a little while, soaking in the view before you realise you probably should have come across the path by now. You decide to retrace your steps; get back to the flower and start again. But as you turn around you are not quite sure which way you came from; it all looks the same. *Was it that way? Or maybe it was over there.* You pick a direction and start trudging through the thick undergrowth. It is not long before you start to feel a pang of worry. Playing out scenarios in your head. You pick up the pace, it feels like you have gotten into a thicker part of the forest and you are now having to push your way through the thick undergrowth. Your shirt catches on a stick and tears. *Fuck.* That somehow made the situation feel a little more real and you start to panic. You keep pushing through. If you could just find the path, a creek, anything to use as a landmark. You start running through all the survival tips you know from movies and books. Looking up, you realise the sun is starting to get low and pick up the pace. The forest is slowly darkening. After what seems like an hour you stumble across a trail of sorts cutting through the forest. The panic subsides a bit and you heave a sigh of relief. You pick up the pace and jog for a bit, following the trail. You check where the sun is and estimate there are around two hours of light left. As long as you get back on the main track, and hurry, you should be out before dark. This trail is fairly easy going but seems more like a side trail. You hope desperately that it links back up to the main path. A flicker of colour on the trail up ahead pulls your attention, there is something hanging on a bush. You press forward and notice a small piece of fabric tangled in the branches; it looks strangely familiar. Looking down at your shirt you realise it is the piece you tore off earlier. The trail you have been following is your own and you have been going in circles this whole time. Your heart sinks and stomach drops. Feelings of dread wash over you. *Fuck, fuck, fuck!* You stop and look deep into the forest, praying that something, anything might look familiar. Nothing. You spin on your heel and there is a giant wall in front of you, towering high into the sky. Your heart skips a beat. *What the fuck?* You cautiously reach out, fingers touching a cold gritty stone. It feels almost… Menacing. You recoil from it and look back over your shoulder, the forest is gone. In its place is a long, dark cavernous tunnel. Your heart is racing, and you keep looking from the wall to the tunnel. You sit on the floor and put your head in your hands, slapping yourself a few times. *This isn’t real. This is not REAL!* You look back up and see the dark hallway stretching before you. After what seems like an eternity you stand up and take a shaky step towards the tunnel, then another. Before you know it, you are heading further in. The light starts getting dimmer and darkness begins to envelop you. *Fuck this.* You decide you don’t want to do this and spin around. Your head bumps straight into something solid. The wall. It has moved and is blocking your exit. You start shaking. *This is some horror movie shit*. You cannot turn back. One step at a time you walk into complete darkness. Every time you go to turn around the wall is right there. Stopping you. Taunting you. Suddenly, your arm brushes on something and you freeze. You can hear your own heart thumping. You reach out a shaky hand and feel a rough hard surface, it is a wall. You realise you must have been walking crooked and take a step the opposite way. You bump into another wall. You reach out both arms and feel walls either side. *What the fuck? Is this getting smaller?* You turn around just to bump back into the wall behind you. You want to cry, to scream. There is only one way to go. Forward. You keep reaching out to feel the walls on either side. You go from having to stretch both arms out to feel them, to bending at the elbows. Eventually, both sides are brushing against your shoulders and you have to start shuffling sideways to keep moving. Your head bumps into something and you suddenly realise you have to crouch. Your hands become clammy and your mouth is dry, you are finding it hard to breathe as you are pressed lower and lower. Shuffling sideways in an awkward half-crouch until you are pushed to your hands and knees. The cold hard ground becomes damp and slippery. A tear streams down your face and you decide to try and move backwards. Your foot is met with the resistance of the wall. You cannot even turn around, you try turning your head to look behind you, but the space is so small your nose scrapes against the wall. You sob as you press forward, walls closing in further, forcing you onto your belly. You pull yourself along the ground, scraping your fingertips against the floor to drag yourself forward, your head is forced sideways, face scraping the wet floor. The walls of the cavern squeeze against your chest and your back, tightening your lungs. You try to look up but the stone pushes against your temples. You wriggle one leg up to try and get a foothold, your knee gets stuck. You go to move it back; it is met with resistance as the wall closes in behind it. You try to pull your arm toward you, but it is wedged, and no amount of straining will make it budge. You cannot move. You cannot go forward. You cannot go backward. You try and wriggle your way out of it to turn your head. But the roof is so tight that you have to keep your head sideways. Your chest feels like it is in a giant sandwich press, each breath cut short. An icy cold begins creeping up your legs, your stomach, your chest. Water so cold it makes you gasp for air, your chest constrict and your muscles cramp. You try thrashing as more water fills the tiny space, desperately trying to move but every muscle, every limb, is frozen in place. The water rises until it covers one nostril. You tilt your head as far as you can, temples scraping against the harsh stone roof, pursing your lips to the side to take a breath. The cold stings against the side of your face, one eye fully submerged. A small amount of water comes in with each breath and you sputter and cough. You try and catch your breath but each time you exhale it feels like the walls are crushing you and more water splashes in your mouth. Your lungs are burning, and you are sputtering and coughing. *This is it.* Water floods through your nostrils, your chest heaves. You take a massive breath and air rushes through your lungs. The walls disappear and you are in a forest. A bright purple flower nestled between two ferns catches your eye. It is not too far off the path and you decide you should not go have a look.


When she called me, I was happy to go pick her up for dinner. I hadn't seen Hildie for a couple years, and she was the funniest person I ever met. Of course, all her stories and antics were hilarious to everyone except the person who suffered - but I wasn't that person. Or I wasn't that person very often. So, yeah, Hildie was a riot and a half. Fall down funny. She was a wild child from the get go. When we were fourteen (she and I are the same age), she and her friend Hoopla (that was his nickname) got in so much trouble. They put a load of firecrackers in the cannon in front of City Hall, lit one and threw it in. Washington Hills, Idaho, is a small place. There were expensive houses right across the street from City Hall, because all of the "downtown" area of Washington Hills was in the very same block with City Hall. So when the firecrackers went off, a chunk of something (probably a little bit of cement supposed to make the cannon a non-weapon) flew across the street and knocked a hole in the mayor's roof. Hoopla gave himself up right away. And then he gave up Hildie too. For some reason, Hildie didn't care about his betrayal, and she continued to tell her Mayor Ripling's Roof Story any time she thought of it. (Except that she called him "Mayonnaise Ripling". Every time.) I was looking forward to talking with her again. I'd never eat at her house again - because she left everything in the turkey one year. She yelled, "Oh my God, it's like Super Sugar Crisp. There's a prize inside!", and she pulled out a bag of stuff that basically split apart all over the tablecloth. There was turkey organ juice everywhere! I think I laughed for a week over that. No, I wasn't going to her place to eat, but we could go to any restaurant. And I would refuse, this time, to take home her leftovers. I was a little bit pissed at her the time we went to Tony's, and she ordered a marinara spaghetti, and cut it into tiny shards, her fork going all over every speck of food on her plate. She ate less than a quarter of it, and started telling me I should take it home. She got a little huffy when I mentioned to her that she had stuck the fork she put in her mouth into every shred of food, so I relented and took the leftovers home. I fed them to the dog, because he never cared whose mouth touched what. We could go to the new Greek place in town, Ya-Ya's. Hildie had pretty broad tastes. Also, Ya-Ya's was on the other side of town from the Fire Station. Hildie had a reputation there. For some reason, the guys at the Fire Station liked playing cards with her, but that relationship foundered after she exposed herself to the Fire Chief's grandson. How could she have known who the life guard at the City Pool was...? I called Ya-Ya's and made a reservation. Then I started the drive over to Hildie's place. I turned onto Cemetary View, and thought about the time Hildie duct-taped herself. She was trying to jog to lose weight, but her bust was giving her issues. She was a 38 DDD - even in high school she had big jugs - and none of the sports bras kept her from flopping when she jogged. She had tried elastic bandages, but that wasn't the answer. Not only did she still have the flopsies - both of them flopped right out of the bandage. One up, one down. She told me she was going to duct tape the bastards down. That was in a phone call. I laughed like a loon. Three hours later I get the call from the Washington Hills Police. I had to come get her. She had duct-taped her bust. She had stuck the duct tape to a door jamb at home, and then spun around to wrap herself. Then she put on a mesh tank top and went for a jog. Her jog lasted less than three blocks. It was a super warm day, and she started to sweat. I guess her armpits swelled up or something. Then her titties started to hurt really bad too. So her pits and her tits were on fire. She couldn't put her arms down. Right there on the sidewalk, she tried to take her shirt off, and got stuck. She had the shirt inside out, part of it over her head, one arm free and held out to the side, the top of her tummy pooched over her waistband because she was half bent over, part of the tape stuck to the shirt, part of it stuck to her, screaming her guts out - "Help! Help! Somebody help me!" Office Stultz was driving up the road on his way home after his shift when he saw her almost topless and screaming. He had to call for backup because he couldn't fit her in the back of his car with her arms out like that. I went to pick Hildie up from the hospital. Removing the duct tape removed some of her skin. As soon as I saw her, I couldn't help blurting out, "Woman. What have you done to yourself?" She went home wearing two hospital gowns, and she looked like she had had a boob job. She looked like a 44 FFF with all the bandages. It took weeks for her to heal from that - but she still told the Duct Tape Story for years. I had to pull over at this point. I was laughing so hard I was crying... I couldn't stop the Hildie stories from bubbling up to the top. All of a sudden, I was laughing about her taking the wrong on ramp on I-84 between Nampa and Caldwell. She was driving, I was riding shot gun, and four of our friends were jammed into the back seat. We were all either a little high or a little drunk at the time - to each his own vice. All of a sudden, Hildie yanked the car into the left lane screaming, "Shit! I'm going the wrong way!" Then onto the berm we went - and that berm was not very wide right there - and she hauled hard left on the steering wheel, half standing up to get the wheel to turn that hard. We went across the grassy median. My visor was down. In the mirror, all I could see was a mass of hair (we all had long hair in those days) as all four people knocked heads in the back seat this way and that. She pulled out onto the highway going the other direction. She and I were laughing, but all the people in the back were either yelling at her or wailing about their poor skulls. For sure, Hildie was a maniac behind the wheel. Even though I knew I was putting my life in HER hands every time she drove, I would have gone anywhere with her. Usually the good outweighed the bad, to the point that it was worth it going through the bad stuff to get out on the good side again. I put the car in drive and drove slowly now. Her place was just ahead. I parked and got out of the car. I could already hear her calling for me. "Hoopla!" I said, "Hildie, nobody calls me Hoopla any more. Call me Sam." "Sssssssammm..." I stood in front of her gravestone and said, "Hildie, you have to stop calling me. You know I carry you in my heart everywhere I go. Even during the divorce, I never stopped loving you. But you have to let go. You have to move on. I moved on and remarried, and I'm not the same guy I used to be. Please stop calling me." As I drove away, I could still hear her as plain as if she were sitting in the seat next to me. "Put the pedal to the metal, Hoopla! We are gonna get old before we get there.


Evidence that the storm had not relented was made apparent to everyone as the warped wooded portal swung open, revealing a prospective customer set against heavy downpour. Though wet, the rich colors of the stranger's garments were encouraging to the barkeep, until he noticed the specific shape of the moistened leather encasement the man set on the counter. The entrant jostled his garbs in hopes of loosening the sogginess that engulfed them. The idea of overcharging a nobleman was reduced to the thought of providing free shelter, or worse, having regulars' funds siphoned elsewhere. Old Pete's thick arm hairs pricked upwards, either from this notion, or the piercing draft that the new occupant had brought inside as well. Pete sucked in through one nostril audibly before speaking. “Something I can get for ye?” He prepared to respond rudely to a number of possible statements this question could bring as the man lowered his soaking hat which in turn lowered his soaking dark mane. His eyes, as obscured as Pete and the rest of the regulars who filled the lower-lit dirtier corners of the room, fixed directly on Pete's, like some unknown serpent. He uncoiled, and responded: “A decanter of your finest wine, ale, spirit, or pleasurable house beverage, and the wherewithal to fill it again once empty.” The barkeep, startled by many aspects of this statement, was forced to reconsider his feelings towards the stranger as he reached for a container. He poured a foul-smelling viscous looking liquid as slowly as he could while grasping the areas of his mind that might contain an adequate thread of relevant interrogation to be used. This act was interrupted, and Pete startled again as the stranger announced, “No hurry, my good man.” Pete realized he would be situated closely to this man for an unforeseeable measure of time and decided to relax a little. The inevitable inquiry could continue at its natural pace. He set the drink in front of the man, who reached his hand past it and towards Pete. “The name's Roderick.” He said, maintaining his politeness and the position of his outstretched palm. Pete stared at the man's face, one of smooth and subtle complexion, then at his hand. His extremities betrayed no signs of past labor, no callouses or scars indicative of dangerous environment, yet the man seemed to hold no rank amongst the higher class. This last observation was denoted by, if nothing else, the man's friendly demeanor towards common folk. Pete decided “Roderick’s” manners may not be contagious and grasped his hand more than firmly in an attempt to illicit a flinch, to find a weakness, to break his so-far resolute composure. He returned Pete's gaze and stranglehold, unwaveringly. “Don't let the case fool you! I don't need these hands half as much as you might think, and I'm a hell of an arm wrestler.” Pete, concluding this was true from the amount of pain shooting up his arm, released, and introduced himself. “Name's Pete.” Though signs that unsolicited information would soon be procured were clear, Pete remained nestled in curiosity. He knew the advantages of patience, but the stranger's last comment was too cumbersome to wield silently. “What's the use of a lute if you can't play it?” A quandary addressed to Roderick, but more currently pertinent to Old Pete. At this, the man's eyes seemed to reflect a light that had previously been absent from the tavern. He looked at Pete, then his beast-skin on the bar as if he beheld its contents. After sizing both items up, the man seemed to have reached a verdict. “I believe I shall tell you.” A short pause, then “On one condition.” Pete finally felt he was in familiar territory again, receiving demands from an alcoholic. He began to unleash one of the many tools in his verbal arsenal he kept for this sort of occasion, but the stranger anticipated this and interjected immediately. “I wish simply to ask you a question, to which your answer will be hinged mine.” Pete relaxed again but remained unsettled. He never committed to anything he was unsure of, and he hadn't been as unsure of anything as he was of this man since as long as he could recall. Reservedly, he responded. “Ask your question, but I won't guarantee an answer. Be wary, I may only cast you out to the storm if you offend me, but many in this room have done worse to men who've done less.” The denizens in the dirtier corners stiffened proudly as the stranger perused them, but when he returned to Pete's leer it was obvious, he was unfazed. “I'm sure it is no new topic for the gentleman of this establishment, yourself included. I'm plainly curious-” His attention turned towards the door, as if expecting someone, then back to Pete with a small sigh of rejuvenation. “Curious if this town is devout. I mean to say, more personally, when last did you worship?” Pete contracted internally, as he had done several times since the stranger's arrival. The mounds of paranoia he encompassed radiated, and he even thought for a moment that “Roderick” had been sent by the state, to test him, his legitimacy, his loyalty. No, this was no man of the government. They were too organized to fling a man to the elements as this one had been. Roderick held close his mystery, but it was his, not some fallacy a puppet would cling to. No, this man was of a different ilk, his own agent. He was as beleaguered as anyone in the tavern, yet his battle raged on unlike many men who accepted defeat or failure. Having attended to this detail, Pete softened, in contrast to most of the men in the room who were newly enraged. This anger was not directed at the stranger, rather stemmed from him, and the grumbling hubbub awaited his next remark. “Lad, it has been longer than I care to remember, and for good reason. Most of the fellows have cause for their qualms with the gods, the ones who believe they exist. They voice their complaints loudly, the same complaints that have never been heard before.” The stranger breathed inwards, allowing the tension of the air into himself. “You asked your question and answered mine, am I right in assuming you wish to hear my story? It may cause you more disbelief than you are currently attached.” Pete had heard many a tall tale, and his wonder paired with the need to calm his compatriots tilted his head forward in a nod. “I was once rejoiced across the land, not only that I performed marvelously with any instrument I handled, but that I composed the greatest ballads and tributes any had ever heard. I traveled almost as much as the folk who came to see my performances. Renowned, I played in any of his majesty's courts you could name, but I wished still to be heard by the entire world. It was not fair I should horde myself for my king, and the wanderlust I experienced was great.” The expressions of elation Roderick had been exhibiting fizzled, barely noticed by Pete. “I set out for the mystic east, against the king's wishes of course. I dared not risk my entourage's lives, either by execution for illegality, or the veiled dangers that lay before me in foreign lands. As I traversed the rolling hills of his majesty's lands, they smoothed slowly. The lush overgrowth became undergrowth, the soils loose and particular. Soon, my road led directly into the Great Desert, for which I had been prepared, but which still frightened me more than anything I had faced before.” Here, Roderick took a large gulp, then another. He set his mug down harder than he had yet. “I wandered those sands for a time which I felt was immeasurable, always following the direction the sun would indicate. Eventually, my rations were as exhausted as myself, and I decided to rest by one of the handfuls of plants I had seen in this forsaken wasteland in hopes of catching a local inhabitant. The glimpse of shade the shrub provided was enough to cool me to sleep.” So far, Pete figured the man was exaggerating his fame, but the rest was then more liable to be truth, as an artist shunned by his country could easily have wandered into a desert to find a better audience. “When I awoke, I believed myself to be dreaming what seemed to be a man standing over me. As my vision cleared, his azure skin and tooth-colored horns that curled back and over his head assured me that this was in fact a dream. As such, I confronted the creature in hopes of obtaining foresight into my current predicament, being stranded in the desert without recourse. He snarled as I began to rise. “What business have you here, son of man, so far from anyone who might hear you scream?” Beyond the obvious threat being presented, I dismayed, as this meant I was still too far from any civilization. In my dreams, I do not relent. If the monsters of my subconscious wish me frightened, they will not succeed without a fight. “What business have you to ask me that, of what concern is my presence here to you?” I stared the beast directly in his eyes and noticed they were closer to that of a goat's, the strongly shaped slitted pupils seeing more of me than I of him. He cackled with what might have been amusement, revealing long cankerous fangs. “I could have devoured you as you slept, mortal. Knowing this, you now know you owe me your life. I wish to know who you are and why you come here to my realm, where the wise dare not enter.” Feeling quite weak, I assumed I wouldn't be able to fight the thing if he *did* decide to eat me, so I unsheathed my lyre and regaled him with my story.” Every man in the bar was focused on this preamble to the finale, and much more anxious than Pete to refute it. Anyone claiming to have encountered mythical beings was either lying through their teeth or deranged. “The horrific figure considered me, then said just this: “I would curse you, foolish one, for setting foot where you should not have. Now I see you have already been cursed, with your own ego. As your life is mine, I shall improve it, that you may lift your curse yourself. Pray, do not attempt to play your lyre again.” The creature tilted his head back in more maniacal laughter, and I felt my head swim as the world turned black. When I awoke, I found myself on the edge of the woods that converged with that terrible desert. Knowing not how I arrived there, I turned my back on those sands forever, grateful to be alive. I made my way to the nearest town, foraging what I could on my way to quell starvation. I did not feel different, yet I knew somehow I had changed since my ill-fated journey. Once I had settled in the town's inn and filled my gut, a man who recognized me over-excitedly requested one of my most memorable melodies. Never to disappoint my fans, I released my instrument and began to play. At once, every string on the damn lyre was torn apart. The wooden frame, made of the sturdiest oak, cracked down the spine and splintered into my tightly gripping palms. The terror than shone on my face and my lack of response to my admirer left him to slowly back away from my table, apologizing. This thing had been built for me by the finest craftsman in his majesty's service, and a very long time ago. I had possessed it almost as long as I had my fame and ability, and I realized it was not the lyre that was damned, but myself. The truth of the situation crashed down around me, and I crawled into the bottle I drank from, never to come out again.” Roderick downed his drink with determination, then motioned Pete towards the empty chalice. Pete filled it again, wondering which of the fellows in the room would assault the man verbally. To his surprise, none said anything. Perhaps they felt his story was like their own, only they didn't invent a blue horned monster to explain their misfortunes away. Minstrels were one of the few joys these men had left in their lives, and far be it from them to put down a man who was already as depressed as themselves. “Is that the lyre? The broken one?” asked Pete delicately, not wishing to further dampen the man's spirits, as his clothes were still damp enough. Roderick nodded, and unclasped the lid to reveal a lavishly ornamented lyre, fit for an angel, though its state in ruins as described. “Why do you lug that thing around then?” The man stared at it as a loving mother would her child. “As a reminder. It isn't just this thing, but all instruments. I can't handle a one of them, and if I do, they collapse, irreparably.” Pete struggled to believe this, as he had once struggled to continue believing in the gods when his family was taken from him. This skepticism had served him relatively well since, save the negation of faith Pete had in anything, but it seemed of little help at the current moment. “You don't believe me, I know not a one of you does.” admitted Roderick almost bashfully. “I can prove it if you'll let me, if any of you have an object of musicality at your disposal.” “What do you care if we believe you or not? Why bother reliving it if you say to us it is true?” Pete was trying to save the man the embarrassment of harassment that would follow his unsuccessful demonstration. “I have continued traveling these lands, to inspire the hearts of disbelievers. I know that there are unknown powers at work, but many refuse to recognize them. My hope is that when I have healed enough broken souls, I will be forgiven, and my reason to live restored. At least, I may provide a cautionary tale, that none may share a similar experience.” A man slowly emerged from one of the many shadows in the room, and approached Roderick with a tube fashioned of metal, riddled with specifically placed holes. All the focus of the room was on him now, every man clinging to this event, rolling over their pasts and wanting more than anything to believe. Every hope they had once denied, the dreams they had once had, sprang out of the ether and almost achieved tangibility in their minds. Bodies tense, none dared to move as Roderick slowly licked his lips and placed the flute to his mouth. As he exhaled, the glistening silver that dripped down and scalded his hands burned almost as much as the tears on Old Pete’s face.


It was the day of Lena’s wedding, and she was all smiles. As the sun rose, the room was filled with a pale light that filtered through the gauzy pink curtains. It warmed her bare skin, but not enough to make her want to crawl out from between the soft, silky sheets. They smelled of perfume. Of flowers and the fresh spring air. Of hours of whispered words, and of the heady sweat of their lovemaking on the last night when the stars would shine down on them as two untethered souls. She turned her head slightly at the sound of a soft moan from the other side of the bed. She watched as her love’s breath softened and her eyelids fluttered open to greet the life-changing day. They gazed silently into each other’s eyes, no words powerful enough to say what was in their hearts as they savored these final few moments before the world would come knocking at the door and begin selfishly making its demands. Their fingers laced together, and Lena stared intently at the soft fingertips, marveling at how beautiful the two sets of freshly manicured fingers looked as they lay side-by-side. She spared a quick glance for the diamond glistening on her hand before meeting her love’s soft eyes once again. One more kiss. One more stolen moment. Please, just one more. Hours later, Lena stood nervously in the hallway of the massive church, outside of the thick wooden doors that separated her from her love, her fingers playing nervously with the fragile petals of a pale blue rose. She fidgeted in the too-tight, sparkling white dress. Her mother crossed the hall in a few steps to place a warning hand on hers. “Don’t be nervous, dear,” she whispered with a smile. “I promise that this is the right decision.” With another quick pat on her daughter’s shaking hands, Lena’s mother slipped quietly into the church through the heavy doors, leaving her to her father’s arm. He quickly spared a glance for the golden face of the time piece on his wrist before gesturing subtly to the door. With a shaking breath, blinking back the hot tears that threatened to brim over, she took a small step forward. As the doors opened, she was almost blinded by the overwhelming lights of the church, harshened by the flashing of the photographer’s camera. For a moment, she lost her breath to the cacophony of floral smells that packed a wallop straight through the jewel-encrusted bodice of her dress. There were eyes all around her. Hundreds of eyes, some familiar, some strange, all waiting for her to continue her promenade. Frantically, she looked to the front of the church, desperate for the solace of her love. Finally she found her, standing at the altar in a silky blue dress, and locked on to the only eyes that mattered. She smiled as their gazes met, and Lena felt the other woman’s strength pouring into her, carrying her down the aisle, as all of the other eyes disappeared into the haze of light and perfume. At the front of the church, she poured every bit of her love and devotion into one final glance, before steadfastly tearing her gaze away from those soft, beautiful eyes and facing the solemn scrutiny of her future husband, forcing her lips to maintain a façade of rapture. It was the day of Lena’s wedding, and she was all smiles.


I’ve been exploring the cosmos in this Shuttle for a while, if I had any track of time I’d say I’ve been out here years. I have seen the stars and the planets, hell I’m pretty sure I’ve seen extraterrestrial life. I’m not alone out here. It’s time for me to go back home, to see my family and my friends. I’ll publish my diary so that people can read my story and let their imagination go wild. I can see the sun, I’m getting closer and closer to home. I pass by the planets, taking pictures that I can look back on in the future. My journey has been one of great interest. As I grow closer to the Earth, my heart beats faster and faster due to the excitement of knowing the things I will recieve once I’m home. I’ll surely be known worldwide as the Man who went to the edge of the Universe and back. This trip was my best decision ever, and coming home will be even better. If I really wanted to I could’ve stayed in space until I died from lack of food, lack of water or lack of oxygen. I can only imagine the kind of letters I will recieve. I can only imagine the wealth I will have. I can only imagine how many people would treat me as if I were royalty. I will spend the rest of my life basking in glory. I will spend the rest of my life signing autographs. My life will be a life worth living. Home is so close now. I can almost feel the gravity pulling me in. Who knows, maybe the shuttle will crash land and I will die. Maybe my dreams of becoming famous are just dreams and not fact. Maybe I’ll have 5 seconds of excitement. Maybe I’ll go back to being just a regular guy. Maybe I won’t even be known. Maybe I’ve been out here so long that... nobody remembers me, or that those who do, are long gone. The possibilities either terrify me or fill me with joy. I am a man who is stuck dreaming. I am a man literally living in the past. What if instead of being given glory I’ll be outcasted; someone who has been in space as long as I have may not even be considered human. There’s only one thing I know for sure, and that is that I’m coming home. I hope I’ll be given some sort of award. If I do return to no prize then my entire journey will be in vain. Perhaps my life has no good ending. Perhaps the happy ending I’ve always wanted never existed. Perhaps my very birth was a mistake. What if me existing has ruined the flow of existence, and that my mere presence disrupts the fabric of life. If I were to die, would anyone even know I ever existed? What if I’ve been building a legacy that will never be remembered? God, this journey has really made me realise how insignificant we all are. There’s no point doing anything when you can do nothing. Perhaps we are in a simulation, and nothing that we do will ever matter. Of course there is some worth to living, maybe it’s the constant pursuit of knowing the meaning of life? Maybe at the end of the day we are all something. Something that can change the world, but chooses not to. Well I suppose you’ve had enough of my rambling. I’m coming home, and I’m coming home now. I’m closer to the moon now, and soon I’ll be back home. I pass by the moon only to notice a slight problem... The Earth is not here.