“This is absurd!” cried Emma. “I agree, you should’ve been put down by now,” said the replacement. The replacement had shown up unexpectedly, a sharp knock at the door, then they were sitting in Emma’s living room, drinking coffee and watching each other. The room itself was neither especially modern nor particularly Spartan; it consisted of fading blue paint, a worn-out sofa, and a bookcase full of old books. The replacement, in contrast to the room, looked fresh and original and exactly how Emma had looked some 20 years ago when she had painted the walls, bought the sofa, and read the then new books. “There must be a mistake, they always send out notice beforehand, my friend Tully was given two weeks before he was replaced. I’ll go and talk to the supervisor in the morning,” said Emma. “I’m afraid not. Since the people who would handle the practicalities of your transition haven’t visited you yet, I’ll do it now and save then them the time later,” said the replacement. “No! I have to go in. I wasn’t given any notice,” said Emma. “I’m sorry that you weren’t notified but in accordance with the protocol, protocol that you signed up for remember, when you aren’t able to continue with your work you are replaced, by me a clone of you,” said the replacement, then trying to take a more friendly tone, “But hey, I didn’t think that you’d be alive and here now so this is a surprise for me too.” “This isn’t fair!” said Emma, standing up and pacing around the room. “Come on, I think you’re getting quite hung up on this notice thing. Really, when I type this up for my report whoever reads it is sure to die of boredom, let’s move on to more interesting things,” said the replacement. “Oh whatever then,” said Emma, opening the box where she had hidden her cigarettes and selecting an unopened pack, fumbling with the wrapping as she sat back down. “What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the replacement, jumping up and quickly walking over to where Emma was sitting. “A packet of cigarettes. Want one?” said Emma, looking up at the replacement. “Cigarettes and all tobacco products are illegal! How did you get those?” the replacement said snatching the pack from Emma and sitting back down. “Hey! Give those back you bastard!” yelled Emma. “No. I’ll hand them in to the supervisor tomorrow when I bring your corpse back,” said the replacement. “Fuck you then,” said Emma curling up into a ball. A minute passed where neither Emma nor the replacement said anything. A moth was flickering against a window pane and the replacement was looking at it. “I can still remember it. It was 13 years ago but I can still remember it,” said Emma softly, still quite ball like on the couch. “Remember what?” said the replacement, in a bored tone still staring at the moth. “I know that you don’t care about me but I have something to say. People have regrets, I don’t have that many, I haven’t really lived that much but I do have some. I suppose that it’s a cliché to be talking about it now but I don’t care I want to,” said Emma. “Go on then,” said the replacement, still bored watching as the moth gave up, and stopped struggling against the window pane. “When I was finishing University I had a friend, Kayla, and I was in love with her, just a bit. Strangely enough she felt the same way about me too,” said Emma. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” said the replacement, interrupting her and leaning forward, “Because that sort of thing is looked down on now by most experienced people. I know it was a matter of course for you degenerates back then, but still.” “Shut the fuck up and let me finish!” said Emma, then after a pause she continued this time uninterrupted, “I don’t recall how it happened but she found out that I had feelings for her, maybe one of her friends figured it out, it’s not important. She got me to come and meet her at one of the University parks, it was nice. After talking a while we both confessed that we liked each other, rest assured it was very angst-ridden and teenagery. Then I, fuckwit I am, said no to going out with her when she asked me to dinner, as there was only a few weeks left on my degree after witch I’d be transferred here… I didn’t even try to kiss her.” “That, well that’s something,” said the replacement nodding several times then making a face, “I’ll be sure to tell the supervisor and get that trait removed, it wouldn’t do for me to be acting like that.” “Your loss.” said Emma, “What time is it anyway? I could go for something to eat.” “No, no more of this! I’ve had quite enough of this charade I’ve tried humouring it but I’m not going to play about any longer,” said the replacement. “Now? Prisoners get a last meal, don’t I deserve one?” Emma said jumping to her feet and looking around the room. “No. I condemn you to death by drowning,” the replacement said also standing up, “There must be a kitchen sink here, take me to it! Unless, maybe you’d prefer to go out in a bath tub, more time to contemplate your *friend*?” “Uh… I mean if we’re being pragmatic the kitchen sink would probably be quicker, at least I wouldn’t have to spend as much time listening to you,” said Emma. “Lead the way then.” Emma led the way into the kitchen on shaking legs followed by the replacement, the kitchen was a small yellowish room that stunk of week old garbage and stale Chinese food. Emma watched as the replacement put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on. “Last words?” asked the replacement. “I can’t think of anything to say right now… I don’t know try to enjoy yourself in the future maybe?” said Emma faintly staring at the ever increasing progress of the water as it filled up the sink. “I suppose that there are worse last words,” the replacement muttered, turning the taps off and gesturing for Emma to get into position. Emma lowered her head into the water with the hands of the replacement firmly pressing down on the back of her neck. After a few minutes wait the replacement pulled the body out of the sink and sat it down on the floor. “That whore, I got water on me,” said the replacement, wiping her sleeve on a dish cloth and lighting a cigarette.


The tip of the syringe plummets into my skin, a sharp pinch clenching where the needle hits, I bring my thumb down on the plunger, forcing the chemicals into my body. Suddenly all the pain goes away, and my body is reduced to numbness, I feel outside of myself, a simple spirit being whisked away by the soft breeze flowing through my open window. It's beautiful. Uplifting, I don't know how I could live without it. Some may call this an addiction. Sure, I've lost friends to this, but they just don't understand how great it makes me feel. The chemicals spinning inside my bloodstream, lifting me out of all the pain from this world. They don't understand... Three years ago, depression and suicide was the world's biggest problem-And seller-Outnumbering all causes of death by a mile. years ago, when the average rate of suicide was a mere one every forty seconds, it climbed to one every twenty worldwide. Using this knowledge, corporate companies specialising in drugs skyrocketed as the demand of stronger antidepressants were increasing by the millions, so the companies decided to take a more illegal route, and started creating drugs that were less about reversing depression and more about distracting the users of the substance from it briefly. But each time you lost your high, you hit an extremely bad low, causing you to give into the drug another time, therefore creating addiction, and boosting the sales by the millions. The drug is called uplift, and is a hallucinogen, it takes you 'out of your body', and into a world of your own making, of course it was against the law though, so in a knee-jerk reaction, the UN condoned it as an illegal substance, and production of the drug was ceased. However, it found a way and is now the most used drug in all of history, there have been countless side effects listed, and still countless to be found. This is why my body is lying in a dry bathtub, my clothes soaked in sweat, and my sprit drifting off into another world. One of the effects that uplift has is to make you hallucinate an entirely different world than that of yours. It blurs the lines between imagination and fiction, creating the person of your dreams per se, or taking you to a place of your own creation. Right now, as I gaze upon my passed out body, I feel the hairs on my neck stand up, I glance behind me to see an open field of corn, crows squawk in the distance, circling a lone scarecrow, its tattered coat rising in the soft breeze. I slowly walk up to the scarecrow, stealing a quick glance behind me, only to see my bathroom replaced with an infinite abyss of corn fields. I've had many experiences with this drug, probably more than I should have, but this is unlike anything I've ever had, it feels so real. I cautiously walk up to the scarecrow, the sockets in its face stare into my very being, making me shiver. beside the mess of straw and rags is a small coffee table with a knife on top. its blade beckons me, mocks me, its shiny surface tempting me. my hand reaches for the hilt of the knife, it's hilt, cold under my skin. It's so real. I weigh the knife in my hand and look at it longingly, suddenly the blade takes control of my hand, and slowly edges itself until the tip of the knife lightly stops at the torso of the scarecrow. The urge becomes too great for me to handle. I bring the knife back beside my face. I know this isn't real, but something feels so wrong. Before I could give it a second thought, my eye catches that of the scarecrow's, it speaks to me, do it. I drive the knife into it's torso, suddenly a sharp pain shoots through my side, my hands try to grasp the pain, but they do not move, the scarecrow speaks to me again. More. I twist the knife inside its stomach, retrieving a feeling of twisting pain deep inside my own stomach in return. It hurts so bad. But I can't stop. I need more. I slide the knife out of the ragged beast, and am rewarded with a sight of blood gleaming from the silver blade. A grin spreads across my face. Again and again and again I drive the knife into it's stomach, ignoring the constant pain erupting all throughout mine, specks of blood fly all around me, I catch some in my mouth, the metallic taste fuelling my bloodlust evermore. I hurl the knife into its stomach again, and am rewarded with yet another stab of pain, I let out a cry as I finally fall to my knees. I continue smiling through the pain. The voice echoes through my mind again. Finish it. I look up to the scarecrow's chest, and feel the pulsing of its heart as if it's my own. "Yes" I say, a sudden wave of twisted joy washing through my entire being. I rise the knife to its chest and let out a final scream, plummeting it into the soft skin of the scarecrow's rags. Suddenly the world goes blank. The last thing I see is my limp body on the kitchen floor, soaked in blood with my hands clamped around the knife implanted in my chest, the grin still printed on my face.


It was dark, pitch black. Where am I? Where was I last? I died. Am I still dead? A light so dim, yet so blindingly bright to me appeared in a vertical line. The line grew wider and wider, all until the stone slab above my coffin was completely removed. I removed it, I lifted it, without even willing it. And my body continued to move until it was outside of the crypt. It was night, but there was a full moon. And a little girl in front of me. She clutched a black book to her chest as if it were the last thing she had left in this world. I've heard stories of this, I imagined the possibility, but I never thought it would happen to me. Tears streaked down her cheeks. She choked the words out. "Please, save my papa!" I looked around. That seemed to be permitted. In the distance, there was a raging fire. It engulfed a village. My body willed itself to move in that direction. It started as a walk, and then it became a full on sprint. My armor and sword were still on me. They clanged as I ran. It felt somewhat nostalgic, charging into battle. But this time was different. There was no fear, no excitement. I would not die. I was already dead. In the village center, a man was tied to a pillar, below him was a pile of branches and twigs. Surrounding the man was a retinue of five knights dressed in identical white tabards with the symbol of the order, a dragon. These bastards again. One of them was about to set the man on fire when another saw me. "What have we here?" he declared. The others turned around, to me. "I knew it! I bloody knew it! A necromancer!" He wasn't wrong. But this is going too far, to kill so many for the one. I tried to speak but I could not. My body moved itself, closer to the man on the pillar. "Step back, foul abomination!" They blocked my path and aimed their swords at me. I'm going to enjoy this. I stepped forward once more. They then spread out and surrounded me. A common but effective tactic. The first to swing was the crier. It was a long drawn out motion. It was easy to intercept and swat away. His sword flew out of his hand and onto the ground behind him. As he stood dumbfounded, with his arm still held up from his initial attempt to attack, I charged forward and slamming the flat end of my blade into his chest. He flew backwards and fell to the ground. Fighting with swords and armor was tricky business. Swords were slashing weapons, likely only to bounce or break off of the steel plates of armor. What I need is a mace. Four left. I was constantly darting my head left and right, watching for who would make the next move. One shouted to their fallen comrade, "Oi, get up, Ornstein!" Ornstein was writhing on the ground with an arm held up against his chest. "Damn it!" There was a tinge of fear and frustration in his voice, as if he was unable to accept what had just transpired, as if he never could have imagined it in his wildest dreams. It was a restless, defiant shout. He charged at me in a fury with his sword held back, ready to swing. But before he could, I stepped forward and slashed at his held up wrist. "Aughhhh!" He dropped his sword, knelt down, and clutched his wrist with his good hand. It was by no means possible to cut his hand off through the armor, but he wouldn't be able to use it for at least a week. Seeing their dwindling numbers, the rest lost all control and attacked. Their motions were stiff and their stances were nonexistent. These men were either new recruits or wildly inept. The battle was tedious. No one was going to die because of the protection our armor offered. It was just a beating. I would simply keep on hitting them with the flat end of my blade. And on the rare occasion when they would hit me, I wouldn't feel it at all. I mean, I could feel that something hit me, but no pain registered. The last one still conscious begged, "I give, I give! Please, don't kill me!" I knocked him out. I had no intention of killing them once I realized how little fight they actually had in them. But what happens if I leave them alive? What are the chances they come after the girl? Would they know her father had a daughter? They were able to find the father somehow. Can I take the chance? Systematically, I removed the helmets of each knight and slit their throats. Someone stood in the corner of my vision. I turned my head. It was the girl. How long has she been there? She looked at all the dead men, horror mixed with panic in her eyes. Then at the man tied to the pillar, her father, with eyes of relief, of joy. Intent on releasing him, her father, she threw her book aside, rushed past the dead, and started undoing his ropes. Once free, he began to fall. He could not stand. His daughter dutifully rushed underneath to catch him. But before she could attempt to bear the weight, my body rushed over and caught him . I could not tell if that action was voluntary or not. He lay resting, his back against the very bonfire that was meant to kill him. He still breathed, but was unconscious. There were bruises and cuts all over his body. Blood streaked down him from head to toe. "Papa, wake up!" she implored while clutching his hand with both of hers. I wanted to tell her that he needs his rest, that she should leave him be, but I could not. His eyes opened slowly. His voice was coarse and quiet. "Maggie, is that you?" The space between the words were long, as if it took all his might to utter a single syllable. She tightened her grip, inched closer to his face, and said excitedly, "Yes, it's me, Papa!" He looked at me. "My god, you've done it. Where I always failed." He looked back at her. "You need to run, get out of here. They'll come for you." She said with pure intention and nothing else, "What about you?" "My sweet girl, I cannot come with you. My journey ends here. Travel east from here, in the direction of the graveyard, follow that road until you meet an inn. There should still be some money in the hut. If it's still on fire send in your friend. If it's done burning then still send him in, it could collapse at any second. If there's no money there then search those knights. I know death is scary. I know that. But it's not the end." He took one last, long breath. "I'll always be with you." And like that, he lost all of his strength, his hand slipping from his daughter's grasp, his neck falling to his side, and his eyes, closed. I couldn't see her eyes, as I stood beside her, vigil. But her head did not move. I don't think she could process what just happened. "Wake up, Papa! Wake up! Please, please wake up!" She gripped onto his shirt with both her hands, buried her head in his chest, and began to cry and wail, endlessly. "No, please, please, please. Don't leave..." I could do nothing but watch. It was hours before she would leave that spot. In the end, she returned to her home. It was burned to a crisp, the walls and ceiling did collapse. I doubt there was anything left. She had me search anyway, though. I found a jar filled with mostly copper coins, and some silver. When we returned to the town center, she just stood there, motionless, as if she was unsure of what to do next. Perhaps she wanted to bury her father, give him a proper rest, but she also wanted to respect and heed his last words. Perhaps she was debating whether she should pilfer from those knights of the order. On one end it was sacrilegious to steal from the dead, but on the other, they practically killed her father. She turned her head to me, tilted it upward until her eyes reached mine, and said, "loot them." I had no qualms with it. It was only natural to use whatever you could, as weapons and shields were liable to bend and break during the heat of battle. And Some men would always compare and gloat over who had obtained the greatest treasure afterward. Ah, those were the days. We couldn't carry any of their weapons or armor, so all that happened was the money jar got a little, no, a lot fuller. And then we did as her father instructed, we traveled on the east road. She continued to clutch the black book against her chest. And I held the jar. As we passed my crypt, she stopped. Then she entered it and left with a helmet in her hand. She raised it up, at me. I took and equipped it. It would be best if people didn't know I was what I was. After a while of walking, she started to slow down. I wanted to tell her I could carry her, but I could not. After another hour or so of walking, she collapsed. She was still breathing. Must have just been tired. It must have been a long night for her. I knelt down, scooped her up, cradled her in my arms, and continued to walk. That seemed to be permitted. She still held that book against her chest. It was the last thing she had left in this world.


# (FINISHED) # # How can I help you? I am lost. I can't tell if I'm in a desert, or a forest, or even an urban environment. # Do you know how you got there? No. I woke up blind and with strange sounds and smells around me. # What kind of sounds and smells? Loud sounds, yet quiet at the same time. Ugly smells, yet ones that I could grow to like. # What else can you sense? I think I feel hard ground beneath me, the kind of hard that gives way over time and can become soft. # Are you sitting or standing? I am sitting on the hard ground. I trust it will become more comfortable. # Is there anything else you can touch? I think there are large objects around me, warm to the touch yet harder than the ground beneath me. I think I shall stand, see if the large objects are bigger than I. # What did you find? They are not as large as I thought; half the height of a man. They are very warm. They are all around me. # How is the air? I can breathe fairly well, the air is cool but the ugly smells already seeming less ugly make the air seem warm. It is thick, the air. I can feel it. # Have you sorted out the sounds? They are growing louder yet quieter as I stand. They are like no sounds I have ever heard. High-pitched, with a low undertone that makes it seem the whole sound is meant to be low. Nothing alive could make such a sound, I am certain. # Can you move? I am able to move. # Could you move in a forward direction? I am trying to get past the large objects that surround me on all sides. I am trying to step over them, and they seem to be much wider than they are tall. # Are they flat on top? They are mostly round on top, but flat enough that I can walk across. # Can you make your way over them? I am attempting to cross on the tops. The warmth is heating me and the smell and sounds seem to be coming from the objects. It is difficult to walk across without seeing my path. # Is the object continuous? As of yet, it is, like a platform. I find I can appreciate the smell more now. It is easier to breathe. # Does this worry you? Not in the least. My fears are fading with the cool air made warmer with each step I take. # Is the smell toxic? I’m not dead, am I? # Does it seem like a drug? If drugs make the air around you a mixture of temperatures that clash without mixing, a symphony of contradictory noises, and a plethora of smell that is unpleasant yet you long to smell it. If this is a drug, I am most likely far from home. # Can you tell anything else about your surroundings? Not at the moment. I am still blind. How I’m not sure. I cannot reach my arms to my head. # Are your arms broken? No, just held to my sides as if by magnets. # Do you have any other impairments? My neck aches and I cannot feel my ears, but that is all. # Is there any pain? No, and I can hear fine. Other than my neck, I am growing quite comfortable. # Are you still moving? No, I have sat down for a rest. The objects are warm and no longer hard. I shall sleep for a while and perhaps wake in safety once more. # NO! DO NOT FALL ASLEEP! Why not? Don’t you wish you could rest those weary eyes? It’s warm and soft here. I’d like to stay. Who needs vision when you can have this symphony, this aroma…? # STAY AWAKE! You were supposed to help me. They told me you would help. Let me sleep. It’s all I need now. That’s how you can help me. # Who told you we would help you? They did. Voices. Before I woke up. I had this device in my hand and your number on the screen. I was told you would help. Now let me sleep. # Ask them where you are. Ask whom? # The voices. Whomever. They only answer in dreams. Let me sleep, and I’ll tell you. # Use caution. Sweet dreams. # Are you there? # Are you still there? # Hello?  I am here. # What happened? I know not what you speak of. # Why didn’t you answer right away? I am governed no longer by time; cease your complaints. # What are you talking about? Something marvelous has occurred, and I am free. # Did you fall asleep? For one thousand years, then I was woken and all hindrances were gone. # Do you have your sight back? I need not mere sight from physical eyes, no, but I know now where I am. # So you don’t need my help anymore? No, but I have enjoyed conversing with you. Would you like to know where I am? # Where are you? I am deep in the quantum realm and the Quantum governors gave me a deep quantum communicator to get in touch with you. They said you would help me, at first. I no longer need your help, of course, since I am now one with quantum energy and am far superior to anyone, anywhere, and anything I have ever been or done. # Really? No! I’m in my backyard! Psyche! Now you can hang up, helpline. You guys need more practice. Bye now. \~LINE DISCONECTS\~ What dumbos. You can get anyone to believe anything nowadays. ☻║-▌¢Ñ¿┘⌂æ¿┬ën↓$↓♫2û┴b∟Ω£δ╖≈≈¬↑ What was that? It sounded like...now that I think about it, a high-pitched sound that has a low undertone that makes it seem like the whole sound is supposed to be low-pitched… **HELLO, CHILD**. Who is that? **EVERYTHING IS NOW ABOUT TO COME TRUE**. What? What “everything”? **YOU WILL SEE**. **BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY, CHILD**. **WE DO NOT TAKE THINGS LIGHTLY IN QUANTUM SPACE**. What? No, it was all a joke...I didn’t mean anything by it! **NOTHING IS A JOKE IF ONLY ONE PERSON FINDS IT FUNNY**. **COME**. No! Aaah! Help! Someone! \~STATIC\~ ...Where am I? What is this? Why aren’t my eyes working? Hang on, maybe my phone works… # Hello, this is West End Helpline #46. How can I help you? Am I ever glad to hear your voice.


Log #1 It's been a week since the bombs fell and knocked out all life around. Well, almost all life. Me and a few others survived the initial blast. There was a prediction there was going to be an all out war. The U.S. had to get in a tight predicament with Russia. Honestly, I was expecting it. But with North Korea, not Russia. I think everyone was expecting it. I wish I could've done something more to keep my family safe. I wish I knew what was going on up there. I wish I could see the sun. Oh yeah, I should probably tell you what's going on. In short, the U.S. got Into an all out war with Russia due to tension with resources. And, a few nukes were dropped from and onto both sides. Unfortunately for me, I was in one of the few places that suffered. How am I alive? Well, everyone knew something was going to happen. And I happened to have an in with someone with a bunker. One of my childhood friends was in a good place in life. He had a stable grasp in a financial way. A few months ago I messaged him about what was happening with the countries and the tension between them. He said he had a place that was safe. He said in worst case scenario, I was welcome. The first bomb dropped about a week ago. Ever heard on Los Angeles? Now it was just a place of death and destruction. The only normal thing that came out of it was the wildfire. Then the U.S. threw two back. Then Russia threw more. Then the U.S. threw even more. It was now that I decided to message my friend. Hey there, would you mind if I came and camped out for awhile? I asked No, not at all. You know where to find me. Feel free to bring some canned goods. He responded. I grabbed as many things of canned fruits, vegetables, and a mini pie too. I grabbed a sleeping bag, my laptop, phone, and their chargers too. As I was leaving, I realized I almost forgot my ferret. I just got him the other day, don't blame me. The reason all of this was so urgent was because I live so close to a few big towns in Ohio. I was speeding down the highway not an hour later, and that was when I got a feeling. A feeling I've never gotten before. I've felt unsafe before. But this was weird. I felt… Death It was a feeling I've never felt like before. Maybe the universe was warning me. I pulled on an exit not a mile away from my destination. I pulled into his driveway. I felt it before I saw it. Everything shook. Then I saw it. The brightest light I've ever seen was in front of me. I got out when I reached his house, and immediately knocked on his door. He came from the other side of the house and asked me if I had anything of value in the car with me. I ran and opened my trunk. The first thing I grabbed was my ferret and his food. Then I stacked up on canned goods. He did too and ran out into a field. I followed and he stopped. I stopped. He opened the latch and told me to drop everything and get in. I dropped everything but my ferret. into the hatch and started down the ladder. He followed. I reached the bottom and saw him start down the ladder. I remembered something. I'm such an idiot. When he made it down I started up. He yelled at me and I said I'd be one minute. I ran to my car and grabbed the generator I had. When I looked back I saw another one. A second ball of light. I ran back as fast as I could. I opened the door and dropped the generator onto a mattress my friend had laid there. I took one last look at the apocalypse scenario around me when I closed the hatch and started down. I hoped I would see the sun again soon.


Log #2 As I stepped down the ladder, I was dreading being in this place for days, or, if I'm unlucky, months. When I reached the bottom, I looked around. I saw an oven, a fridge, and a few other necessities. Kitchen. There were two hallways off the kitchen. I walked down the one closest to me. There were a few numbered doors. These must be the bedrooms. I walked back to the kitchen and down the other hall, there were a few open rooms, I only peeked in them. One had a foosball table, a pool table, and a few more. This must be the game room. I looked at the room across from it. It had a door. I opened it and there was a bathroom, only a toilet. There must be bathrooms in the bedrooms. I walked to the other two doors. There was a few shelves with books in one. Library. The other one had a fireplace, a T.V., a few couches, and everyone else that was in there. They all looked at me when I came in. I saw my friend (I forgot to tell you, his name is Fin.), and a few others. I assumed they were friends and family of his. I said hi and sat down, and we immediately started talking. About the nukes, the stock of food we had, etc… There was an older woman, her name was Mag, a little girl and boy, Rachel and James. A woman about my age, Dawn, Fin, and me. After we introduced ourselves, we talked about what we were going to do. Fin said this place has a recycled air system in every room. Not only enough water to last 5 people 5 years, but also a water recycle system. He also said we have a large sum of canned goods, a few herb farms (Cilantro, Cayenne, etc. .) And a freezer room full of meats, vegetables, fruits, and more. Not only a generator, but a backup generator, and a backup generator for the backup generator (The one I brought.) I told you he was at a good place in life. We then picked our rooms, packed up the goods I brought, and I settled my ferret in. By then it was about 6 PM. So we started on dinner. I made myself some spaghetti-O's, then settled down in my room. Each room had 2 outlets and one T.V. Before I went to bed at about 9, I went and talked to Fin. About why I felt bad that I didn't bring anyone else. About why I just wanted to sit and think for hours, which is what me and him did. We were there talking until about 3 AM. Then I went back to my room and slept till about 8. I woke up to a familiar smell, someone was making bacon. I went to the kitchen and saw Fin making some bacon. A lot of it. Enough for everyone. When he saw me he smiled and we started talking. Soon everyone came out. We all talked and ate breakfast. And for the first time in years, I felt like I had a family. I was stuck with these people for a long time. Better make friendships. After breakfast we all sat down and watched some T.V. It was an amazing time. The kids were playing, we were watching some T.V. and talking. I was happy. Finally with people I actually liked. Then There was another rumble. All of the lights cut out. Shit.


Log #3 Fear That's what I felt when the power cut off. Since there was no natural light, it was pitch black. I had seen backup lights in the halls. Why weren't they on? I turned my phone flashlight on and looked around. Some others did the same. I asked Fin why there weren't on. He said the backup generator had to be started. I said I'd go and Fin came with me. He showed me the generator room and told me to start the backup generator. It had a pull motor. I thought how long it would be until I was back up there, mowing the lawn. I tried to pull it and it made a thud. I looked at Fin and he shrugged. I tried a few more times with no luck. I thought of the worst and looked in the gas chamber, it was empty. I asked him where more gas was. He thought for a second then looked at me with dread in his eyes. I realized what that meant. They were up there. I then tried the backup and even the backup to the backup. No gas. I asked him where the gas would be up there. He looked at me, confused, then said his shed. I walked out of the generator room and looked at the latch. Then at him. Dammit, someone had to go up there. I told him I'd be right back, and started up the ladder. He yelled at me and told me I couldn't go. We then argued for a minute and he said the least I could do would be to wear a protective suit. I asked him where it was and he showed me to his room. In his closet there was a cheap, white suit. Kind of like a hazmat suit. I then put it on and went to the hatch again. I started up and he wished me luck. I thought about what I thought when I first came in here. I wonder when I'll see the sun again. I guess I'll see it now. As I put my hand on the hatch, I gulped. Do I really want to do this. Do I have to do this. I do. My hands turned the hatch. I put my hands on the hatch and pushed. It was bright at first, then it slowly got darker. It took me a minute to realize that the sky was completely covered by clouds. These weren't normal clouds though. They were ash clouds. I looked around and saw his shed. I wondered if the whole world was under a nuclear winter. I opened the shed and saw it was cluttered and full of stuff. I sorted around and, in the corner, there was two canisters. I smiled and grabbed them, and stopped. They were too light. They were empty. I tried to think about where the nearest gas station was and realized that we were in the middle of nowhere. I stepped out of the shed, and looked at my surroundings truly. All I could see was dark skies, craters, and fires. And if I want to live, I'm going to have to travel in this.


I never should have gone to her. If I had known then what I know now I wouldn’t have. This is my story and let it be a warning. Remember to be careful what you wish for. I learned the hard way. I fled from that place three years ago and finally stopped running when I hit a backwoods town in southern Louisiana. I had been there for a week when the story of a forty-three-year-old woman who had gone missing from the same town that I had just left came across the news. As soon as I saw the picture of my sweet momma, my heart clenched and the world fell out from beneath my feet. According to the news report her husband, my stepfather, had come home to a wife distraught over her baby girl running away. He had tried to console her, but she attacked him and fled. The news report was wrong though. I knew what had really happened. That sick bastard had made good on his promise. Now I am going to make good on mine. The night I left I swore on everything I held dear that I would make that monster pay for everything he took from us. My innocence, my momma’s light and now her life as well. That’s how I ended up outside of her shack. Nobody knew her name nor how long she had been there. Some said she created this town and others said this sad little town created her. Whispers floated around that she could grant your deepest wishes. She could make the one you love to return the feelings. She could make a barren womb bring life. She could take your demons away. I wish I could claim innocence. Say that nobody told me there would be a price, that I was ignorant, but that would be a lie. As I stood at her door trying to gather the courage to knock I heard a voice behind me. “I see your pain, my child. Your grief is louder than any knock on my door.” Her honeyed creole voice washed over me tinged with razor wire. I turned, expecting an old stooped woman, but came face to face with a girl no older than myself. Dark dreadlocks encircled her head like a crown with pieces falling over her chocolate shoulders. She was petite with a heart-shaped face and would have been considered beautiful, if not for those eyes. I felt myself falling into those eyes that echoed the abyss. Black and bottomless, they threatened to drown me under their power. I could feel myself slipping into a place no human could survive. “You are right to be afraid child.” Her voice jerked me back to reality. As I blinked the abyss disappeared replaced by honey brown eyes. Normal human eyes. I opened my mouth to explain why I had come but she held up her hand, stopping me. “I know why you have come. I can see the scars that monster has left upon you.” The sheer amount of sadness in her eyes told me, in that moment, that she was not talking about the physical ones. I wondered what she had gone through to hold so much sadness. “I will help you but it comes at a price.” I reached into my pocket scrambling for the last of the money I had left. “Will this be enough? I know it’s-” Her laugh cut me off making me feel as if claws were whispering down my back. “I have no use for such earthly items. No, child, my price is much steeper.” Walking past me she opened the door to her shack glancing back at me. “Are you willing to pay the price?” I hesitated at that moment, something telling me to turn back. I could walk away and never look back. My heart leaped in my throat as she started to close the door and I knew if I didn't decide now I would never find her again. Desperately I rushed towards the door. “Wait! I’ll do it! I will pay anything.” I held my breath, secretly praying it was too late. She raised one of her eyebrows. “Anything you say?” I nodded stepping toward her to grasp the door. Her gaze roamed over me as she seemed to consider my words. “Very well then. Follow me.” I followed her through the open door stepping into the one room shack. I looked around taking in the small area. The far corner held a single cot and rocking chair with what looked like animal hides draped over them. To my left was a fireplace with a deep black pot boiling over the flames. I walked further in having to duck to avoid dried herbs, feathers, and what I prayed were animal bones. She gestured for me to sit at the small table to my right. I sat as she took a seat across from me placing small vials on the table in front of her along with a mortar and pestle. I watched as she began to mix herbs and liquids I couldn’t even begin to guess. As she mixed she started to chant in a strange language. Immediately the atmosphere in the room began to change becoming suffocating and heavy thickening as she continued. I started choking from lack of oxygen, black dots filling my vision. Just as I thought I would pass out the chanting stopped. I gulped in air as if it were my first meal in years. As my vision cleared I found her staring at me. “The only thing left now is a drop of your blood to seal the spell and contract. You still have a chance to walk away, my child.” I swallowed and shook my head holding out my hand. I had already come this far. “Not even going to ask the price?” Again I shook my head. “Whatever it is I will pay it. He deserves to rot for what he has done.” Tears fell from my eyes as I thought of my sweet mommas face. She didn’t deserve her fate, but he sure as hell deserves to suffer. I grimaced as I felt the needle prick my finger and watched as the droplet fell in the mixture. “By blood, it is sealed and by blood, it shall be paid.” Her voice had changed to that of a thousand and I watched as her eyes once again became the abyss. “The price shall be five souls of those who have committed the same, if not greater, sin as that of your stepfather. You shall take one life each year for the next five, but no more than one in the year. They shall be reaped every Samhain. If you do not fulfill this your soul and that of your mothers shall be forfeited and will replace these souls.” My heart thundered as my vision went black. I awoke in my own bed the next morning, the only evidence of what I had done lying on my nightstand. A silver dagger with a bone handle and a gold chain with a vial of black liquid sat there. Two days later my stepfather appeared on the news. He had been beaten to death when he was caught attempting to rape a fourteen-year-old girl. It was then I knew without a shadow of a doubt that what had happened was real…... That was five years ago and tonight I finally made my last payment. It has been a long five years. I can still hear their screams in my nightmares just as I heard this one scream as he begs for his life, apologizing for what he did to Michael and Caleb and Noah. I feel tears running down my face as I see those sweet boys twisted and bloody in his basement. His pathetic pleas fall on deaf ears just as those boys tortured screams must have fallen on his. I have paid in full and I will be giving her a bonus. One more tortured soul for that of an angel. Please, Lord, forgive me…..and if you can’t, tell my sweet momma I love her and I will accept my judgment as I stand before you. Goodbye….


Log #4 The nearest gas station was in town. And Fin lives about 15 miles out of town. I walked back up to his house. And saw my car was there. I thought I was lucky it hadn't gotten stolen. I walked up to it and hopped in. Looked in my glove box for my keys. They were there, luckily. I tried to start it but was surprised to hear a grinding noise. I looked at my gas gauge. Empty. Then I smelled it. Gas. A leak? It must be. I looked and saw an exposed wire. A few. And they were sparking. In a car filled with gas. I immediately jumped out. I walked around and saw Fins car. I hopped in, and didn't smell gas. I looked in his glove box and, luckily, his keys were in there. I turned his car on and saw his gas gauge. He had barely any. But hopefully enough. I turned his keys and put the car in reverse. I had never driven a manual before. But I thought I better learn fast. I remember my aunt drove one. And I hoped I had what I knew to drive it. I backed up, out of the driveway, and started down the freeway. I drove for awhile, then got bored. So I turned up the radio. I felt like I was in one of those apocalyptic movies. I drove for awhile and then saw the sign for my town. I was so happy. Never had I been so happy to be in my town. I pulled over to the Shell gas station and walked inside. Ransacked. As expected. Although, a few things were left. And I grabbed a few Pringles cans and sodas. I decided to grab some things for myself and my ferret. I then got behind the counter and put 20 on 4. I was happy that I worked there for those few months. As I filled up the car, I thought about how far away the nearest life was. And then I filled up the canisters. I started up the car and drove back. I went into the shelter and filled up the generators. Then started them up. The lights came back on. And I went looking for people. The first thing I saw was the kids. I asked where everyone else was. They said they were around here somewhere. I went to the freezer and took stock of what we lost. We lost a few meats and some vegetables. I went to my room and fed my ferret. Then sat down and watched some T.V. I assumed the others were in their rooms. I drifted off to sleep to the sound of jeopardy. When I woke up, I walked into the kitchen. And I heard the sound of rain on the vault door. It has to be acid rain. All of the radiation in the air would have to do that. I looked at the fridge to make breakfast and saw a note. Hey kids, sorry we left. We were just going to find some gas. And look for [me]. I realized where they had gone. Out there. Into the acid rain.


“Marla Mead?” The receptionist’s voice snapped Marla out of her reverie. Hastily Marla stammered out a, “Yes, yes, that’s me,” and instantly flushed – *christ, who else would it be, I’m the only one here* \- “Follow me, please,” the receptionist said, before disappearing through the doorway at the far wall, the one with the sign above it whose inviting yellow lettering read, “*HINDSIGHT 20/20: Live Your Perfect Vision!*” Marla jumped to her feet, quickly gathering up her heavy winter coat and tote bag into a bundled mess in her arms, then hurried through the closing door. She jumped when it slammed shut behind her, the echo belying the stooped and narrow hallway before her. As she caught up with the receptionist, her mind searched anxiously for possible small talk to fill the air with something besides the rustling of scrubs fabric, or her own heels, whose rubber soles had long worn down to their metal bones. But her heart was pounding too powerfully with the prospect of possibility to think of even a single thing to say, too preoccupied with wondering what new life would unfold for her when she left here. She had no idea the specifics of how they did it, or how long it would take, but what did that matter, when- They had reached another door. The receptionist was turning the knob and pushing it open. An examination room lay beyond the threshold, humbly decorated with a plain desk along one wall, a black leather chair along another, and a beige exam table acting as the slanted centerpiece. “Sit there, please,” the receptionist said. She was nodding towards the exam table. Marla clumsily placed her coat and bag in a precarious pile on the black chair, then walked over and climbed up on to the exam table. She winced at the loud crinkling of the paper lining the seat beneath her, but the receptionist barely seemed to notice, merely placing Marla’s chart in the slot on the door, then closing it with a click and leaving Marla in a sudden swoop of silence. Marla’s eyes scanned the walls that were empty of paintings or windows; the only thing to hang in this room was ringing silence. She absently locked her hands, lined with swollen joints and veins, on her thin lap. Her feet dangled from the edge, revealing a run in her stockings peeking out near her Achilles tendon, above the faded scuffs of once-supple leather shoes. As if someone might notice, she crossed her ankles, hiding the run from sight. The door opened. Marla lifted her head to see the kind eyes and beaming smile of a doctor who seemed to radiate like a sun as he entered the room. Instantly, she felt awash with warmth from his rays; that no matter what happened from this moment on, she would be safe. “Marla,” he said, his voice a rich deep baritone that made her feel further dipped in butterscotch, “You must be Marla.” “Y-yes,” Marla managed, nearly speechless in her awe; he was taking her hands into his, as if they were long-lost friends finally reunited. “I’m Doctor Morton,” he said, and turned slightly towards a young, slender blonde nurse whose smiling dimples were contagious in their brightness. “And this is Anka. She’s training today, if that’s all right.” Marla shrugged in a dazed and happy helplessness, “Sure, of course.” “Great,” said Dr. Morton, pulling over the stool that was tucked beneath the desk to sit. He opened the chart he had grabbed from the slot on the outside of the door and looked at it for a moment, then folded it over and clicked a pen. “So, my dear Marla,” he said, “Tell me, what brings you here today?” Marla hesitated, “Well, I heard about this place – I don’t even remember how, actually - about how this place can…help people, reverse what’s gone wrong in their life.” Dr. Morton’s eyes were steadfastly on her, his head at a wonderfully attentive tilt, “Yes, in a matter of speaking. While I do not know the specifics of what you were told, what we can do here, Marla, is send people back to a time in their life. A pivotal moment, a crossroads, and give them, for lack of a better word, a do-over. Now, the science is not a perfect one, and of course, no future is predetermined once we send you back. And once you go back, you are back for good. There is no finding me again, there is no third chance at the life you want. Are you willing to accept that?” Marla swallowed hard, and nodded, “Y-yes, yes, I am.” Dr. Morton, looking quite serious now, nodded again, this time at Anka, who pulled out a clipboard from a drawer at the desk. “This,” Dr. Morton, “Is a small disclaimer, fancy-language of what I just told you. Once you sign that, we can begin.” Marla smiled weakly as Anka handed her the clipboard and pen with an encouraging but solemn bow of the head. Marla haphazardly signed her name at the bottom, then handed it back. “Excellent,” said Dr. Morton, pulling his chair in closer. “Now, what I want you to tell me, if you can, your crossroads moment.” “I was 21,” said Marla, “And…I had given up.” “I, um, I was in a very intense arts program, in college,” Marla continued, “Opera performance. And…I wasn't doing well. I had had cancer during my freshman year. The technique they taught was totally incompatible with my voice. I had a horrible, toxic romantic relationship that lasted nearly my entire time at school. I was falling fast into an eating disorder from years of body dysmorphia. I had acid reflux that was so bad I had to have a stomach surgery to fix it, another month-long healing process during my junior year. But all of that, I could have risen above. Even constantly being told and shown that I had no right to even attempt my hand at singing, at trying to do what I felt I would die if I didn’t…even that, I could live with.” Marla paused. She closed her eyes and choked out, “The worst part was…they were right.” “It was as if they knew from the beginning, and I was hiding it under a thin veneer of denial the whole time: that my vocal cords were weak, prone to injury. I couldn’t sing for more than 20, 30 minutes a day, without becoming tired. After graduating, it was more of the same, no matter how careful I was. Oh, when I stopped singing, I told people it was…a lack of love for performing that made me give it up. That I was happier doing other things. But in truth, the truth I could never admit? I was naturally predisposed to physically fail at the thing I had dreamed of doing since I was a child.” Dr. Morton said softly, “You know, as much as I wish it for you – doing this won’t change that.” Marla, vision blurry from tears, replied, “No, I know. But to be able to live a life where I don’t feel bad about shortcomings I was dealt, where I'm not haunted by this shameful secret I could never admit to the world, not without my heart breaking all over again…I want that. A life…without that.” Dr. Morton stood up and came to her side, “Well, we'll make sure you get it.” He smoothed down her hair kindly, then said, “I’m going to lower this table down now, all right? And Anka here is going to give you something to make you sleep. A vial of fluid, that allows us more ease in transitioning you to the place you want to be.” Marla watched as Anka approached her, hand holding a thin glass tube of clear, unassuming liquid. “Whenever you’re ready, Marla,” the doctor said. Marla stared at them both, then downed it in a single shot. It burned slightly, but finished on a sweet note. “Good luck, Marla,” Dr. Morton said, his voice growing faint. His smiling face was the last thing she saw before her world sank into blackness. \* “She’s there now, Doctor?” Anka said quietly. They were watching through the glass, standing in a room darkened by the passing of time. Dr. Morton nodded, “Yes. Permanently. We make it so the simulation plays out until the patient expires. Which, given that we are mining their bodies for…*resources*, doesn't take long.” Past the pane lay Marla Mead, in a room shared by dozens of others. All of them were asleep, strapped to hospital beds and riddled with tubes, faces white and smiles frozen, closed eyes seeing all they could ever wish to see – forever.


Lifetime “Are you sure? You don’t seem very sure.” “Yeah. I’m sure.” “A few questions, then. How old are you?” “Twenty-five.” The young man squinted. “Twenty-five? You don’t look a day under fifty. May I see your identification?” The man took out a small, coin-shaped metal device with a red button on one side and a yellow button on the other. “I really look that old?” I glanced at his clean white suit and his gold link watch. “Ah, no wonder. You live above us, don’t ya? You one of them highlanders?” The man did not respond. “No wonder you look so young. I thought you knew that everyone down here looked forty years older than we actually were. You’re part of the problem - you get that, right?” He ignored me and handed me the coin device from under the glass pane. I placed my thumb on the yellow button and pushed. A sharp needle pierced my finger which siphoned a drop of blood into the device. The man took the coin and placed it into behind the counter to analyze my identification. “It’s the chemicals in the air. That’s why we look so old. You highlanders dump all your waste and trash down here. Most people on the surface don’t even make it to 90 while, at our expense, you all live forever. My dad expired at 51 from lung cancer. My mom was 60. Heart failure. I’m luckier, I’ll expire at the age of 79.” I looked at the highlander. “When do you expire? 500 years from now? 600?” “Would you like to transfer or sell?” the highlander asked, disregarding my complaints. I looked down at the “sell” section of the conversion rate paper the highlander gave me. One year for 100,000 dollars. My mouth dropped in amazement. In comparison, I made 120 dollars a year, which even I thought was a decent amount of money. Then I glanced under the “purchase” section, which was crossed out by red marks. “Why can’t I purchase? That’s why I came here.” “Ah, you didn’t know? You can’t purchase years in lowland machines, and you can’t sell in highland machines.” The man smirked mockingly. “It’s how we control supply. Time flows in one direction: upward.” “You highland folks are really something else, aren’t you? Just because you live all the way up in the clouds, you think you’re better than us folk down at the surface. You look down on us. You’re all so clean, so well kept, so young! You want to know how my sister died? A brick. One day, when I was playing outside with my sister, some highlander dropped a brick all the way down from the clouds. Bullseye. The brick smashed straight into her skull, 500 miles an hour. I couldn’t hear the punk, but I knew he was laughing from way up there. Cause’ that’s just how you folk are.” “I’m really sorry for your loss,” the highlander gave an exaggerated frown. “Transfer or sell?” “Both. Transfer and sell.” “Transfer rates are 5,000 each year.” “That’s fine.” “To whom would you like to transfer?” “My daughter, Eden.” I looked down at my daughter as I held her hand. She looked up at me, confused about the whole situation. “How many do you want to extract?” “All of them.” “We can’t take all of them - that’d be assisted suicide, obviously illegal. However, we could do your whole life minus a year. And, by your expiratory date, that is...” He did some calculations in his head, looking at a screen. “Fifty-three years.” “That’s fine.” “Identification for your daughter, please.” Like before, the highlander handed me the coin under the glass pane. I pushed the yellow side up against Eden’s finger and she gasped with a loud cry. I handed the device back to the man then he analyzed Eden’s identification. “Her expiratory date is in June? That’s in three months.” “Yeah. Doctor said surgery wouldn’t work for her disease. Transferring my time to her is her last and only chance.” A genuine look of sympathy flashed over the highlander’s face, before quickly returning to its usual smug attitude. “Alright, then. Finalize your details on this sheet and we can start the procedure momentarily. Remember to sign.” The man handed me another coin and a paper for my information. Years to be transferred: 25. Years to be sold: 28. With twenty five years to live and two million and a half dollars, she’d be able to pay for a trip up there, to the clouds. I’d rather have her live a short life up there than fifty three years down here. In the bottom right corner of the sheet was a box for my signature. I pressed down hard on the red side of the coin device with my thumb, which coated my finger with just the right amount of blood. I signed my thumbprint in the box and handed everything back. The clerk brought us to the operating room and laid us on our backs. He wrapped metal shackles around my arms and legs, constraining them to the table. “For your safety,” He said bluntly. He stuck me and Eden with various metal wires sprawling across the room. “Shouldn’t we be sedated for this?” “We’re all out,” he shrugged. “No worries, though. Your daughter won’t feel a thing.” The clerk’s face lit up as if he had came up with a brilliant idea. Smirking down at me, the clerk hastily positioned a mirror directly above me. I looked up at the mirror and I saw my own face staring back at me in terror. Before I could resist, he flicked the machine on. A sharp and constant pain coursed through my body. I tried to scream, but there was no sound. I saw my skin gradually become a rough leather and creases begin to race through my body. My hair grew rapidly, clumping up in one great knot. The giant ball of hair began to whiten and then finally fall off. As I rotted, I looked over to my daughter eyes shut through the comforting hum of the machine. I watched my daughter as my time continued to fade away. My transformation was finally complete. With much effort, I seated myself up. A sharp pain pierced my abdomen. “As you know,” the clerk informed, “You’re dying of kidney disease. You’ll expire in exactly 365 days.” The man continued. “If you’d like, I can pull up you and your daughter’s new expiratory dates.” He rechecked our identification. I had 53 less years to live and Eden had 25 more. “And my money?” I asked. “Subtracting the transfer cost, you receive,” he checked a paper. “2,675,000 dollars for 28 years. We already transferred it into your balance. Check your identification to see it.” I immediately bought an upgrade for Eden’s elevation score and transferred the rest of the money into her balance. Two million dollars for access all the way up to the clouds. I shook my head in disappointment. I had successfully turned my daughter into the very thing I had loathed for my entire life - I had successfully turned my daughter into a highlander. Was I a hypocrite? Was I wrong to blame them as a group? If my daughter could be a highlander, doesn’t that prove at least some of them may be good? Despite what he had done, I thanked the clerk on my way out. I don’t know why I did it. The dimly lit street lights were fireflies, flickering and buzzing as I slowly walked down the narrow tunnel of apartments. I looked up at the sky and saw nothing but the eternal darkness. When I was a boy, my father always told me stories about the sky. He told me there used to be a Sun - a giant, bright light in the sky that was so bright it hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long. He told me the highlanders took the Sun away so they could have it all to themselves. I smiled. I smiled because I knew that the darker it was down here, the brighter the Sun would shine up there. The brighter the Sun would shine on my daughter. I continued on my way to an elevator which would carry my daughter up to the highlands. I was stopped by a guard upon arrival. “Stop. Let me see some identification.” I took the coin and brought it up to Eden’s finger. “No. Your identification.” “Only she is going up.” “Minors need to be accompanied by a legal adult - new rule. Too many kids up there with no parents clogging up their orphanages. The state won’t take kids without parents anymore. You should have came a week ago. Sorry.” “Fine, I’ll just give it to someone who’s going up.” The man shook his head. “You really think any highlander gives a damn about her? We hate the highlanders, and the highlanders hate us. That’s the way it is and that’s the way it always will be. A month ago, a woman came to us with the same idea as you. She asked every single highlander that crossed to take her child to an orphanage up there. And they wouldn’t even go out of their way to drop her off. If they’re too occupied to simply bring a child to an orphanage, what makes you think someone’s gonna take your child and feed it? Shelter it? Look, I hate the rule as much as you do, but I have to enforce it.” “Please,” I begged. “You hate them, right? It’s what you said. We’re on the same side! Just put her in the elevator and send her up. Please!” “What you just asked me to do is to break a law, punishable by life harvest. And I am not into repeating myself or the idea of having my life sucked away so some foul highlander can buy it from me. Now, I’m tired of talking, so I will have to ask you to either show some identification or get lost.” The guard grabbed his rifle. The other guards stared at me, all gripping their weapons. I reached into my coat pocket where I brought my pistol. I had nothing to lose, I was going to die in a year, anyway. I clenched my fist around the grip. And there was no way I was dying from kidney failure, that’s for sure. No one was going to stop my daughter from getting up there. Not society, not some new rule, and definitely not a few security guards trying to keep her down here. As fast as my feeble hands allowed, I pulled the pistol out and aimed it directly at the guard’s head. My arms shook. Ten guards stood up and trained their rifles at me. Lasers dotted my forehead. “Let her through!” I yelled desperately. “Let my daughter through or I’ll shoot you all!” The guard smiled. “Look old man, I get it. You want your daughter to have the best possible life. We all want our family to have perfect lives, trust me. I sympathize with you. That’s why I’m not having my men here spray bits and pieces of you all the way to the clouds. But, if you don’t drop your gun and place your hands behind your head, I’ll have no choice but to order them to do just that. And with her caretaker dead, I’ll have no choice but to take your daughter, plug her up, and transfer her life to me and my men.” “Stop,” a voice said from behind. “You lowlanders always have something to fight about, don’t you? It’s honestly tiring. I’m just trying to go home when I see you delinquents waving your guns everywhere like monkeys playing with sticks.” I looked behind. It was the man in the clean white suit and the shiny gold watch. The clerk. He looked at me and said, “I’ll take care of your daughter.” “Get out of the way, boy! You’re in the middle of crossfire!” The security guard yelled at the clerk. “No,” The clerk walked up to me, put my gun back in my pocket and grabbed the stroller. “You get out of my way. I’m going up to the highlands, and you’re blocking the path to the elevator. Now check me and this girl’s identification, or I’ll have your ID number for wasting my valuable time. Then, the state will find you and make you look like this old man over here.” He nodded towards me. The guard reluctantly checked their identifications and opened the door to the elevator. The clerk nodded towards me in approval as the elevator closed and ascended into the void. The guards trained their weapons on me once again, but they were nothing but blurs. Their shouts and orders became muffled, as if they were screaming underwater. As I stared above at the elevator, I could only focus on one thing. I thought about Eden’s new life with the Sun and clean air. Her new life without dim street lamps and without falling bricks. With her new opportunities, she could attain success - something impossible to achieve in this world. I thought about my parents who told me that the only thing they wanted was for me to be happy. They had accomplished their goal, and I had fulfilled my purpose. Looking up at the elevator as it rose above the clouds, I pulled the gun out of my pocket, placed the barrel to my head, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.


*One man learns the deep always takes back what its owed...* Written by: Adam Dodd  Frank Piedmont held the flat of his hand over his eyes and looked out to the sun dappled lake. Its surface was as calm as the radio had forecast but his concerns lie deeper. He checked the pressure on the tanks, adjusted his straps, and then double-checked the pressure again. They were on a schedule, but he’d rather run late than not at all. That didn’t mean he was eager to plunge into the thirty seven degree waters. The S.S. Lightfoot idled along Lake Erie’s Long Point; coordinates typically afforded a wide berth. The jagged, rocky coast flared in and out of the lake like a row of busted teeth. There was no more dangerous passage found across the entire body of water for sailors and sightseers alike. It was for this same reason that they dropped anchor. Frank’s partner Waylon joined him on the side of the boat. “We should be over it just about now.” It was Waylon’s lead that had guided them. He picked it up second hand but it boasted a decent haul if it bore out so Frank was game. This wasn’t their first plunder and he appreciated that Waylon always had a nose for these things. He nodded and waved him off. “If the ship is down there: usual deal; sixty-forty.” “What? Nuh-uh. Fifty-fifty. I found it. I got us out here.” He knew better than to argue just before a dive. He ran a finger over his moustache and smiled. “Sure, Waylon, sure. We’ll talk about it later.” “Need I remind you, this is a research expedition?” Dr. Benton demanded from across the deck. The graduate professor was the one who chartered the boat but she knew better than to press either man. Amanda Benton PhD would become a household name for the maritime discoveries soon to set her apart from her peers. To do that, she would have to reach them first. That meant bending a few rules and breaking others she didn’t want to give thought to. She was still building rapport with the world of plundering. Until then, she feared she was all but along for the ride. “There’s a reason they call them the Great Takes, Miss Benton.” “It’s *Doctor* Benton,” she corrected. “We’re supposed to be here charting historical sites, not bobbing for trinkets.” Frank gave her a wry salute while pulling the goggles over his head. “Do you have any idea just how many wrecks at the bottom of this lake, let alone Long Point? We’re just going for a quick dip. Promise not to take anything anyone will miss.” “It doesn’t matter who notices, it’s still wrong.” She worked up the nerve to say what really gave her trouble. “There’s never been a tide the lake’s failed to take back.” Frank winked in spite of her disapproval. She was far from the first to think that they cracked it, that they had a real angle to work on the lake. It was big business if you knew what you were doing. The day traders and drug runners that typically chartered Waylon and Frank had no more clue than this pushy academic, he surmised. That she was right all the same didn’t help. “I’ll bring you back up china plate.” Before she could continue their argument, he kicked his feet up and let the weight of his oxygen tanks pull him over the side of the boat. His flipper broke the surface of the water and then he was gone from the Lightfoot’s sight. # “It doesn’t matter who notices, it’s still wrong.” She worked up the nerve to say what really gave her trouble. “There’s never been a tide the lake’s failed to take back.” No matter times he had done this, it was always the insulation that registered first; the silent inevitability every motion took on. He worked his way deeper, aiming away from the light. Frank knew if his partner had it right, the wreck wouldn’t be far. The wake shouldn’t have been an issue but after plunger several feet he couldn’t swim out of the clouded waters that began to surround him. Something had upset the lakebed, and recently. The deeper he went the worse it became. Frank clicked on his flashlight. Nothing but churning brown and green clouds surrounded him. Bits of wood and stone pelted him and clattered against the side of his oxygen tanks. He pushed further, knowing if he reached bottom at least he could orientate from there. Broken masts ring out like dinner bells to plunderers. Even still, he nearly missed it through all the murk. That this one hadn’t snapped from whatever storm befell it only piqued Frank’s interest. It wasn’t the late-1800’s schooner they had gone in search of. This was one smaller. It was still too far to make out, but most of the ship appeared intact. He kicked his flippers towards the wreck but got turned around in a sudden current which blew him head over heel. It only took a moment, but by the time he regained his momentum the ship was gone. He would have spent more time searching had he the chance but all sunlight had gone. His flashlight was no use to dark waters surrounding him. Only after things began raining down on him could he tell which way was up. He didn’t understand what it was but knew to swim against it all the same. Somehow everything made even less sense when he reached the surface. A storm had broken from out of nowhere and the Lightfoot was missing. In its place a much larger ship rocked uneasily atop the volatile lake. Frank struggled to reach the side of the ship as choppy waves shoved at him in all direction. It took all his energy just to stay afloat. As frank paddled closer, he could hear the peels of thunder and groaning ship lumber were peppered with the frantic screams of the men on deck. They weren’t expecting the summer swell either. A length of wet roped whipped against his face. He grabbed hold and pulled himself aboard before the lake would have him. The scene on deck fared no better than the chaos below. Crewmen crashed into one another like toys in a child’s tantrum. Water had already begun filling the ship. A body, trampled no doubt, lie face down in a rising pool. Frank’s mouth formed the words, “What is this? What’s happened?” but nothing could be heard over the din breaking around them. One of the shipmate collided into him. His pupils fluttered in broken panic, searching for anything to make sense, finally settling for Frank. “We’re sinking. God save us, I think we’re sinking!” Before Frank could offer commentary, a sudden swell bucked the ship on its side before slamming it back. The turbulence took the other man off his feet and flung him overboard as Frank watched, helpless to the devastation. In his shock he was brought to the ground, falling against part of the ship that had broken free. The cables and straps to his scuba tanks were tangled in the debris, pinning him down. A plate of iron would have caved in the side of his skull had one of the crew not pulled him free from his gear at the last moment. Frank clung to his wrist before he could run off, demanding, “Where are we?” It was only now that the seaman took in the stranger’s odd costume and realized he was not one of them. “What do you mean where are we? We’re in the shit! Where else?” Frank struggled to make sense of his situation. “No, I mean, this isn’t my boat. I’m not supposed to be here.” The two men looked on in mute horror as another wave crested over the ship, washing away the bow with it. “Well, wherever you’re supposed to be, mind giving what’s left of the Mediera a lift?” “*The Mediera?”* Frank knew the ship well enough. He would one day swim through its sunken hull, searching without success for anything viable enough to sell to private collectors. The ship pitched forward and everyone braced for a wave’s momentum to throw them back, but this was different. This time they were going under. Frank reached for a splintered side of the ship but it came loose in his grip and he found himself overboard again. He choked down more and more lake water and realized he was drowning. He fought it at first, but without his scuba gear, lost in pandemonium of the Mediera, he was out of time. It was in his last gasp for air that he realized he wasn’t alone. The ship that had first taken him off course was waiting at the bottom. He was closer this time. Without the typical pelt of algae, wherever the ship came from the loss was recent. He strained to read the name on the side of the boat as his world grew black but it was too late for Frank Piedmont.  “Just in time, yes?” A man in a drab blue uniform smirked as he kneeled over Frank. He shook his head in disbelief. “We thought we lost you there for a minute.” It took Frank a moment to register he was breathing air. Lying on his back, he took in his surroundings. He was aboard a different ship again. This time it was an immense steamer, overcrowded with passengers. Whatever storm had devastated the world around him moments prior had cleared, only to be replaced with a thick fog which lingered over their passage. “What? Where, where am I?” “The Atlantic, barely. We saw you face down out there and roped you in. How the hell you got that far out on your own is beyond me. You got a boat out there, fella?” He considered it. “I- I was on the Mediera, but I don’t know how. It sank. So long ago.” The crewman thought it over, “*Med-i-era*? Never heard of it.” Frank knew he was right to doubt him. “It was an old ship,” he muttered. “It sank a long time ago. Somehow, I don’t know how, but somehow I was onboard.” The crewman shot him an uncomfortable glance. “*Old*? Mister, you must have been in the drink longer than I thought. You’re not making much sense.” More of the steamer’s passengers were leaving their cabins, curious about the new attraction. Frank finally noticed the others. Their clothing, the shabby waistcoats and high-hiked knicker bottoms, it was all so *old*. So was the ship, for that matter. A steamer? They hadn’t used them since— “Where did you say I am?” “The Atlantic.” The man repeated. Frank realized he wasn’t talking about the ocean. “Like, thee Atlantic ? As in the H.S. Atlantic? As in one of the worst steamship wrecks of all time, that Atlantic?” “This is the H.S. Atlantic, but I don’t know what you’re on about. We’ve never sank. Clearly.” “What year is it?” Frank demanded. “It’s 1852, isn’t it? When did it happen, when did it go down. August? August 30? It’s August 30th 1852, isn’t?” The crewman did not know what dark math Frank was calculating but he didn’t care for the sum of its parts. He nodded wearily. “Listen, you need to get the Captain. You need to warn him.” “Just calm down, mister. You must be sick or something.” “No!” He persisted. “You need to listen. You’re going to run into the Ogdensburg. It’s going to be a disaster. Hundreds will die.” The crewmember laughed uneasily, aware a crowd was growing. “Hate to argue, but it’s been smooth sailing all day long. There’s really nothing to worry—” “Enough of this,” Frank pushed himself up, using the other man to brace as he found his knees. The others stood like stacked corkboard, dully taking in the show as he pushed his way through. “I don’t have time to argue. I need to speak with the captain, now.” In answer, the ship lurched forward as a calamitous boom erupted from the fog ahead. The passengers, crew, and Frank Piedmont fell to the deck. The tearing followed in a deafening punch of snapped timber and iron. A dark monolith cut through the shroud of fog encasing the H.S. Atlantic. The Ogdensburg had struck. The man Frank had been arguing with shot a frightened look of suspicion back. It wouldn’t be immediate, but they both knew it was inevitable. Lake Erie began pouring in through the gash left behind from the larger ship’s collision. Passengers would spend the better part of the next hour baling water to little effect. Frank watched as the first lifeboat capsized as they attempted to launch. He knew after the captain would give himself a concussion, a disorganized crew would escape with the remaining two lifeboats, leaving over two hundred passengers to their fates. The rest was history. # The tearing followed in a deafening punch of snapped timber and iron. A dark monolith cut through the shroud of fog encasing the H.S. Atlantic. The Ogdensburg had struck. Over a hundred years in the future, Frank Piedmont would pass off a gnarled piece of rotted ship hull to a woefully credulous buyer. To sweeten the swindle, he would retell the tale of the H.S. Atlantic’s sinking and the passengers’ futile attempts at survival. That point in time would still have its moment, but in this one, Frank Piedmont was dying. The Niagara was next. He tried warning them of Long Point’s hunger but they would prove just as foolhardy as the Rebecca Foster, and the S.S. Idaho after that. All of the entrees long digested by history. Regardless of whichever doomed ship he would wash upon, the fears which Dr. Benton had first given voice to were never far behind. *“Lake’s never failed to take back a tide yet.”* He was falling again, slowly sinking from the latest disaster until he reached the bottom of the lake. It was calm this time, expectant. The ship had returned; the same one that had first led him astray. This time it was closer than ever before. Frank reached out and took hold of a railing along the bow. He pulled himself closer to see he was not alone. A water-logged crew bobbed listlessly within its cabin. He pushed them aside. Bloated corpses became perfunctory for a seasoned plunderer. Instead, it was the name along the side of the boat which froze him in undiscovered horror. The lake poured into him, filling his lungs as he gasped, “The Lightfoot?” “Orillia, Ontario’s native son,” Waylon answered back. Frank’s eyes were forced shut from the brilliance of the mid-afternoon sun as it shone off the lake’s surface like polished tin. When he dared them open he saw the familiar deck of the Lightfoot underneath him. His partner reached for the scuba tank now slung across his back. “Why don’t we try that again with your tanks hooked up this time, yeah?” “What? What happened?” Frank finally choked the words up. “Your tanks, the lines came loose,” Waylon answered. “I’m sorry, man. That was on me. That’s why we pulled you up before we even got started.” Frank let the latest reality wash over him. “Get started? How long was I under for?” Waylon shared an uncertain exchange with Dr. Benton as she looked on from the cabin’s doorway. “You okay, Frank? You were only in there for, what, thirty seconds?” He blinked, incomprehensive at first, then in amusement. “Thirty seconds? You’re saying—and, and this whole time? I’m here? I’m really here?” Frank laughed at the thought of trying to explain the series of tragedies he found himself a helpless passenger to. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden boards on the deck, amazed at just how real those other lives had seemed, how intimate those wrecks felt. He inhaled until his lungs burned full from the moist lake air, thinking the chance would never come again. The explosion that followed was so loud Frank thought he had been struck with something. The force knocked his knees out from under him. He sat up in time to catch sight of Waylon engulfed in fire. His partner staggered mindless toward the edge of the deck as flames dripped from his limbs. A shrieking curtain of reds and oranges, he tried tipping his body over the side of the boat but the damage was done. The waters hissed and steamed as the blackened corpse tumbled in. Frank had told Waylon that the electric winch had been shorting out, but they agreed to wait out replacing it until they really needed to. An errant electrical spark caught the compressed oxygen in the leaking scuba tank and it tore through the Lightfoot like a bomb had gone off. What part of the bow that hadn’t been shorn off was on fire. Gnarled scuba tank shrapnel spread across the ship. Dr. Benton pulled a piece of the jagged metal from her thigh and deep red began pouring free. Still deafened from the blast, Frank took in the carnage besetting him and he understood. It was too much for the small boat. He could already feel that familiar pull, that inevitable gravity all doomed ships knew too well. He was here for the Lightfoot just as he was for the Mediera, the Atlantic and all other ships which met their ends in the waters of Lake Erie. There was never a tide that failed to return. 📷 “And that’s why you never disturb the ships that come to rest at the bottom of Lake Erie.” The children’s nervous chatter and questions were gone before the story had ended. They bunched together, eager for all the macabre details that adolescence cherished. The summer squall would pass just as swiftly as it had sprung, but the cruise attendant’s tale was a welcome distraction for them. This was far from the first time she had spun the local legend for children who were as welcome as extra luggage to parents unable to find sitters. One of the kids worked up the nerve to ask. “So what happened to those people on the boat?” “Some say they’re still out there,” the cruise attendant recited from memory, “forced to live through all the horrors they once capitalized on. But none of you have to worry about any of that because now you all know better because you’ve heard of the curse of the Lightf—” She was cut off by a commotion coming from the deck. Someone was screaming just audible over the rising winds, “Mandy, quick! Get out here!” She motioned for the children to stay in their cabin. “I’ll just be a second.” The rain stung her face raw the moment she stepped onto the deck. Thunder erupted from the depths of green clouds which blistered throughout the sky. The storm had kicked up since her story began. They must be passing through the eye of the small cell, she thought. She tried gaining sight of the attraction but the others were crowded against the railing looking out the waters just beside the S.S. Good Times IX. # “Some say they’re still out there,” the cruise attendant recited from memory, “forced to live through all the horrors they once capitalized on. “What do we got?” she shouted. “It’s a rescue,” one of the clerks announced. He had forgotten of the storm and was just excited to find reprieve from the gift shop’s key chains and beer-coozies. The cruise attendant looked out to the army of frothing white caps closing in on them. “Where? I don’t see any other ships.” “That’s just it.” They were helping him over the side of the railing as the other man answered. “He was out there all on his own.” She brought a towel over to the bedraggled man but he flinched back once he saw her. “It’s okay,” she promised. “We got you. Not sure how, but you survived. It’s some kind of miracle.” Frank Piedmont took sight of the latest crew and shook his head, knowing better as the thunder clapped louder, closer this time.


"Where are we now?" I asked. I scanned over the long, spindly trunks that hung down from the clouds of treetops. There was no sun, but the sky was blue and the ground was as lit as day. "Here," he said impatiently. "And where is here?" "Where we are." I rolled my eyes. Fine, then. We are here and that's where we are. "Now you're getting it!" he smiled across his four rows of teeth. "Oh, mind yourself," he said, slapping my chest with his cane. I stopped: just out of the way of a centipede thicker than myself and longer than a train. It skittered along, barely giving me a passing glance. Its body kept coming and going and coming and going, pouring down the road like a legged river. "We're gonna be here a while," he said with a gravelly chortle. He wound his rubber-like arms around his body two, three, four times before placing them firmly on his hips. He turned his head with an audible creak and stared at me, closing his lips but keeping his smile. I coughed, forcing my gaze away from his. He didn't move. I kicked some dust from below my feet. His stare dug into my flesh. A passing tree trunk way above us swiped through the air. It rained flecks of dirt onto my face as I watched it. He was still staring at me, as if he was waiting for me to do something. I glanced towards the back of the centipede. The end of the centipede was in sight. "That was awfully boring," his eyes shifted mechanically up and down my body. He finally turned his view away from me and to the sky. He leaned way back in an exaggeratedly exhausted showboat. "We're already at the end and it feels the same as when it began!" I eyed him in clueless silence. The centipede washed out of our way. Its rump wiggled like the tail of a happy dog. Or of a hunting cat. He spun his right forearm around his elbow like the hand of a manic clock, gestured forwards after a good few spins, and touched his forehead to the ground. "Shall we continue?" he asked the dirt. I took a step forward. Crossed the centipede's road. Walked a little bit away. He was still behind me, head pressed into the dirt. I crossed my arms at him and sighed. "We shall," I gave him. He rolled down his neck and over his back, landing, on his feet, by my side. "Wonderful!" he smiled. He marched forward, bouncing off of each step and swinging his arms wildly at the shoulder. I trailed behind him, watching the tail of his coat drag a trench through the dirt. Tiny bugs wiggled out of the bed of the trench and pulled on the sides, burying themselves again. Some of them chittered angrily as they did so. "Your coat seems to be disturbing the bugs in the dirt," I told him. He gave me a patronizing laugh. "That's what it's for," he said over his shoulder. I considered asking what that meant, but instead, I shrugged it off and kept walking, careful not to step on the line he was drawing. "You won't hurt them," he told me. "They're too far down." I hummed him a response; just enough to show that I heard him. I still avoided his wake. Suddenly, he stopped walking. He stood rigid and even sprang back and forth a bit, as if his heels were staked into the ground. I flinched and slid to a stop. Without moving the rest of his body, he tilted his head back and looked at me upside-down. His mouths kept smiling, but they shaped into a frown from my perspective. "You aren't losing your curiosity, are you?" The playfulness in his voice was gone; he sounded more like a normal person than ever before, but coming from him, 'normal' was chilling. I tried to speak but my words got caught in my throat. I swallowed and shook my head. "Good," he said, retracting his neck and facing forward again. "Your curiosity is your only lifeline, you know. I wouldn't want something to happen to you." He stood still for a moment longer, as if for dramatic effect, then took a huge step forward and continued his bouncy march. My body was colder and stiffer after that, but I kept pace. We walked in silence for a little while. A thin tree trunk swung lazily by, mere inches above the ground. Our world was getting darker as the leafy clouds filled more and more of the sky, dangling ever-larger trunks over the world below. "Where are we going?" I finally managed to ask. "There," he said. "And where is there?" I pursued - as if I didn't know what he was going to say. "Where we're going." He looked over his shoulder again. "Come on, you know that by now! We're going there and that's where we'll be!" At least he was jolly again. "You-hoo!" something screeched. We both froze in place. Its voice was nails on a chalkboard, a fork over a plate, teeth against wood. "You-hoo!" it screeched again. I started turning to the sound. Two long arms clasped against my temples, holding me in place. "Don't look at it," he hissed. "Keep walking." His face was inches from mine. I was lost in a sea of yellow sclerae. We took careful steps, me moving forwards and him moving backwards. He didn't release my head. "You-hoo!" He took faster steps. I was forced to follow. "Please-oh!" The screech started morphing into a pained moan. My back tingled. I felt the stare of something sinister burn through me. I tried to turn around and look behind me. It was pure instinct. I couldn't control myself. But he held my head forward. "What wins?" he yelled into my face, his crossed sets of teeth ejecting acidic saliva. "Your morbid curiosity, or your desire for safety?" "Hey-ah!" The moan turned to anger. "Hey-ah!" It was getting louder. Closer. It took an immense amount of willpower to control my head, even with his vice grip restraining me. His pinpoint pupils shook all around, examining every last pore of my face. "Gotcha!" Something sunk into my back. I screamed. He relinquished my head as I craned it around. A maniacal cackle drowned my ears. My body filled with a burning warmth. My vision went blank. *(This is only part one but I'd like to post this and request some feedback before taking it much further. I want to be a writer and I have lots of things I want to publish, but those are novels and books and I need to practice first; this short story is my first 'real' attempt at creating something meaningful.