First of all i made this in 4th grade i'm in 10th now if this gets ten upvotes i'll upload the second part too his story PANDEMIC Made in the 4th-grade chill BY: Lack Hoppmann John Rockwell ran down the sidewalk. Earbuds in his ears, listening to his favorite playlist on Spotify. He is getting ready to play in his part of the Olympic Games. he is an American pole vaulter. It looks exactly like what it sounds like. Why did John want to be an Olympic pole vaulter? How would I know? I’m just the narrator! Well, let’s get back to the story now… John soon decides to head to his apartment room soon with his 4 very annoying yet humorous colleagues. He takes a seat on a bench and reaches for his bag. He leans over to a nearby bench where a man wearing a suit is sitting. “You got knives?,'' John said in his strong Texan accent. The man shrugged his shoulders and walked off. John decided he did not like Rio. It was almost too wet and sticky. Yet it still had a sort of charm to it that old Texas sure didn't have. So John ate his lunch calm and quietly. Then off he went to his apartment. ……………………………. Screaming. All you could hear was screaming. It wasn't happy screaming, angry screaming, or even just the crazy screams of the Brazilian people. It was competitive screaming. Like how your mom would yell at you at your first baseball game. No matter how many people were there it felt like it was Johns moment. His alone. He had many thoughts of what was going to happen. Suddenly his impulses told him to not go into the bottom rows. Though he wanted to see his longtime friend Marco. Marco was the flag holder. aka the most exciting job until it's over and then you're fired. John had chills in his body. He was amazed by what he saw on TV before the bus came to get him and his team. About 2 weeks ago the world was dumbfounded with the discovery of a sort of base in Moscow. Apparently, that was supposedly created just 28 years before now. …………………………... As John was watching the Venezuelan team came out and started to celebrate. Then John let out a gasp, as one of the Olympians started collapsing and coughing up blood. The startlingness of the moment caused John to faint. …………………. As John awoke from the short coma he couldn't feel his body. Even though there was running and shouting he could not hear. It was as if he had been shot with a dart. As he got up and started wobbling like a Russian doll. He could then start to faintly hear what sounded like a siren. When John saw a Brazilian couple holding the emergency door open he darted towards them like a bullet and he got through just in time. When he reached outside it seemed as if the world was ending. Helicopters landing with little to no carefulness when it came to the landing. women and children screaming. John recognized one of his acquaintances, a nice track runner named Alex. He ran over to Alex and was wondering why he had a blanket wrapped around him and it seemed like he was screaming. John ran over to him and was going to ask what was going on but as he was walking over Alex turned to John. John stumbled back and yelled,¨ Woah Woah! Back away!¨ Alex was looking like a zombie. Yellow eyes, bloody mouth, pale skin. It all seemed too real to John. Alex started stumbling toward John and as Alex yelled out, black liquid splashed from his mouth. John faintly heard the giant boom of a bus and started running towards it. Dodging Gooers as he started to call them. When he got on it was chaos. People accusing and aggravated by the situation. As he sat down the bus went into full power as the driver screamed,¨ We are heading to the Airport!!¨ John now felt as if he was safe. He relaxed thinking if he would ever see his family again. ………………………….. The traffic in the streets was horrible as Atlanta. As John looked out the window he saw planes landing and helicopters flying overhead as they stopped at the airport entrance. They soon got out and ran to the nearest station to buy tickets. As we got inside the siren started. It meant pandemic. The airport employees were soon telling us to go into where the men with biohazard suits were. We walked over and we were sprayed with white spray. We were escorted to an airplane and we boarded it. I looked outside as we initiated liftoff and the city looked as if it had just had a parade. People running everywhere and what I could only assume was the Gooers walking around either asking for help or dying from what I could only assume was a deadly disease. Later once I had landed and gotten back to Austin I rested and composed myself. When I got back I was surprised to learn that my wife, Hannah had become pregnant. On the news, it was said that the situation is under control but half of the population of Rio was killed and hopefully it will never happen again. John soon got back into pole jumping as he was so very scared by the moment that he couldn't go outside for 2 weeks. Now the world is in Peace. The End....


This is a story that I haven't told many people yet. In fact, I find as much mystery as I do solace in the story to this day. This is the story of Giselle. My aunt once told me a story about the boutique fashion store she worked at in the 70s. As a stylist, she frequently dressed the store mannequins for the window displays. On a cold summer afternoon, she recalled dressing up Giselle, a mannequin that many customers complemented. Giselle was not like other mannequins. She had a beautifully sculpted face with eyes that peered deep into your soul. Deep, deep into your soul like the vastness of the blue ocean. Apparently, Giselle was a relic of bygone days before the store changed ownership. No one knew of her origins. She had no tags or labels anywhere on her, but everyone who worked there agreed that she was too beautiful to give away and loved seeing her in the store window. Some nights when my aunt closes up the store, she could almost swear that Giselle was a real girl- watching and listening to her amidst the tranquility of the after hours. My aunt had told me more, a lot more. Oh yes. My aunt had told about a soft clicking noise behind the wig one time while cradling Giselle to another display window late in the evening. She said that you would not normally be able to hear this, but it was perfectly quiet with no one around. When she studied the wig further, she discovered a small glass window at the back of her head through which a beautiful mechanical watch movement was in perfect view, with the initials P.v.L. inscribed. Apparently, to her amazement, the watch was still ticking away. One customer was the wife of a passionate watch collector, who gladly asked his husband Vlad about the mechanical movement. The husband was in complete awe and explained that the person she wanted to talk to was James the watchmaker, the son of Pierre. Two weeks later, my aunt got hold of James the watchmaker (son of Pierre) and showed him the photos of the mechanical movement. “I have never known my father. In fact, everything I knew about him was from my older sister Stephanie, with whom he was around until she was 6 years old. My sister vanished one day 2 years ago, and I have never heard from her since.” “The only thing I can tell you is that the watch movement was made by my father. He was a talented watchmaker known within some niche circles of collectors during the 50s and those were his initials – P.v.L.” Legend has it that his watches kept precise time that was accurate to 30 seconds after 25 years. That was his ultimate achievement and there were photos of him with the prominent figures wearing his watches. It was the most accurate wrist-worn timepiece at that time, but many thought it was just a story designed to drive attention. One thing is for sure though -for whatever reason the timepiece was installed in Giselle, it had great significance. Much greater than a simple memento left by a passionate watchmaker. One day, my aunt invited James to the store to take a look at Giselle, and what they discovered changed her world. Nothing was the same after that. \[to be continued.\] Part 2 continues .


After years upon years of being harassed by rapists, pedophiles, and murders. These police officers and their family members, stalked me to Lethbridge, Alberta. A bowl full of uniformed and plain clothes turd members of law enforcement showed up to my work one day. They told me they will stop pursuing me with all of the lies they accuse me of, if I take the job of kitchen manager at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. I told them to take their evidence and press charges, or get the fuck out of my face. As they left I made toilet bowl flushing noises. After about three to six months the turds returned, repeated their offer of allegedly not going to spread evidenceless lies about me. I then repeated my response, press charges or go fuck your self. After about a year or so, I found myself in need of a job. So I searched Indeed and found a job posting for kitchen cook at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. I was interviewed by the current kitchen manager, who hired me later that day. I began working for Compass the next day at Lethbridge Correctional Centre. Law enforcement had nothing to do with my hire and did not know I had taken the job till I was already working there. Once on the job, the RCMP, prison management, and prison guards began the harassment. Accusing me of crimes including but not limited to, rapes, murders, viewing child porn, and some of my personal favourites, stealing bottles and diesel. I would defend my self verbally against groups of four to over ten at a time. I would refuse to do any spying or anything that would jeopardize my safety. I was paid to cook and supervise the inmates not to deal out punishment, and that is all I would do. There were eleven inmates at a time and just two kitchen staff. No guard presence in the kitchen unless something happened and the were called or doing their counts. On two separate occasions an RCMP officer admitted to making 8 attempts to murder me. Including breaking into my home and planting pills inside my glucosamine chondroitin in and attempt to murder me. This was done in front of a group of law enforcement who refused to press charges. So I placed him under a citizens arrest myself. Telling the officer “you are under a citizens arrest for attempted murder, you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law”. Both times the group then walked away like nothing had transpired. On two more occasions, two police bothers confessed to the rape and murder of nurse Sonia Varaschin. I requested charges being pressed against them, but was denied by the group of RCMP and prison guards. So I place them both under a citizens arrest, telling them “you are under a citizens arrest for the rape and murder of nurse Sonia Varaschin, you have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law“. Again, every single turd member of the law enforcement walked away, including the rapist murders. On another occasion one of the D.D.O.’s of Lethbridge Correctional Centre defamed my character, accusing me of being a pedophile, threatened to have me chemically castrated, then gave the inmates my full name and home address. This was done while we were lined up about to plate lunch in full view of several cameras. I request charges but like before police do not police, police. The management of the prison was committing fraud by using non minimum security offenders in the kitchen. We were told upon hire that it would only be minimum offenders, but the kitchen crews were filled with gang members, murders, and sex offenders. After about several months the powers that be decided they no longer wanted me at the prison, so they decided to bring in an incredibly dangerous human being to deal with me. The guy the were bringing had spent a huge portion of his life behind bars as a maximum security offender. Now this guy had made the news recently at that time. While locked up on remand one night, he cling filmed another inmate to a toilet, cut off his ear, then sucked his dick for hours, until the guards showed up in the mourning. Before his arrival, other inmates were warning me that he is coming for me. Now my schedule was three days on three days off. Me and my cook assistant would do our three days, then we would switch out with the other cook and cook assistant. The cooks would be given two units to choose eleven inmates from each. One unit you would get for breakfast and lunch and the other you would get for dinner. As the paid staff would switch every three days, so would the inmates from breakfast lunch to dinner and vice versa. You would write you inmate list for the next day, so my day one would be written by the other cooks day three. My day one I would write my day two, my day two I would write my day three. And if the other cook fucked me with a shitty kitchen crew, on my day three I could get my revenge for his day one. I’m not sure who brought this guy down originally, but he worked good. He knew how to make trays, pour juice, make bricks, wash dishes. It was clear this wasn’t his first kitchen crew. With his presence the other inmates had something to worry about instead of being fixed on fucking with me. Now from what I heard, he was given a time limit to get ride of me. If he is successful, he gets to stay at the all inclusive resort of LCC, if not he goes back to federal prison where he is locked up twenty three hours a day. Now I am not someone who is going to be run off anything I want. This job pays garbage, but it is a nice three on three off. After resisting weeks of pressure this guy is applying, his time is getting close to up. Now I will describe a bit the actual play by play of how a prison kitchen works. We would make three meals per day, weekdays, two on weekends. Now these meals are not hungry man meals thrown in a microwave. They involve prep work, and that work involves knives. The knives would be kept secure in the office. They would have a hole drilled through them with a steel loop. There were kitchen tables that would have a string of steel with loop on it. You connect the loops and put a lock on it, now that knife would be secure to the table. I would still have to get the knives from the office to the table. Now when doing this I would like to walk around first, and see what everyone is doing. I come out of the office one day to do a walk around before I bring the knife out. I look right, and the inmates are making trays. I walk straight ahead and to my left the inmates are making bricks. I keep walking forward and to my right some are in the dish pit washing dishes. Continuing on to my left some of them are making juice, and now I arrive at the table. Now it is a clean shinny stainless steel table with one classic plastic knife out of place. It is the knife the inmates get on every tray. The kind you would find in any cafeteria to spread margarine or peanut butter. Now sometimes I will have people tossing flags at this knife thinking it is nothing to be worried about. You put that knife through someone’s eye, and they are fucking done. I look to the right and hiding behind this post is Williams. I’m not sure how many fights you have been in, in your life, if any. But there is a tension in the air that you can feel, and I felt it. Now to see where this guys heads at I engaged him in conversation. I said something like, “hey”, he replied something in a voice you could hear was filled with tension, coming from a mind that was clearly thinking about what was coming next, as he slowly crept toward the knife. Now a little background about me, I played high school basketball and I was good. Now a major component of basketball is judging distance, you need to know what people are capable of to decided where you are going to be. So as he is creeping toward the knife, so am I. We are just making small chat, as we both inch closer and closer. We both pause, pretty much toe to toe. Now I’m one hundred percent convinced there is going to be a stabbing. Like I said I played high school basketball, I’m competitive. If there is going to be a stabbing, I’m going to want to win that stabbing. We both look at each other, look at the knife, look back at each other, and its like this Hollywood scene where we both just dive for the knife at the same time. I have the longer arms and judged the distance correctly, I came up with the knife. I grab the knife with my right hand and pull it across my body. He is desperately trying to get the knife with both hands. As I get the knife to my right side, I scoop under and raise his arms with my left arm. Now his entire rib cage is exposed. I waste no time at all, and immediately start warming up his ribs. He has on the inmate coveralls designed to take hits from a plastic knife. So no bloody damage is done. I put what I felt was about eight to twelve strikes of justice into his ribs. R.C.M.P. Would later go on to tell me it was actually 17. He broke off and walks away all pissed off. Now he is heading away from me along the length of the table towards the freezer wall. Made a left and headed towards and past fridge two. He kept walking with his head down until he got to fridge one, where he paused. He raised his head almost like he got that little cartoon thought bubble that said “fuck this guy”. He turns around and start coming back. Now the first round of stabbing was just raw animal instinct like a lion taking down a gazelle. But I had a few moments to think this time around. I remember this one Brock Lesnar fight where instead of two guys just sizing each other up in the middle of the ring, he just ran the guy over. So I decide that is going be my move. I picked a spot on the floor, when he gets to it I will strike. I’m going to push him upwards and back to get his weight off his feet. Hopefully he will go flying back into the freezer wall. Before he has his weight back over his feet and his bearings, I will be back in his ribs. He is at fridge two, at the freezer, then makes the right. He is eyeballing the knife on his approach. Right when he is on my spot, with the reflexes of a cat and the speed of a mongoose, I pounce. Everything goes flawless, he flies back and I am like a fat kid on round two at a Chinese buffet. I put what I felt was another four to eight strokes of justice into his ribs. Again R.C.M.P. would later get the actual count of 12. You always here in the news, he was crazy, he stabbed the person an insane amount of times. I'm telling you from first hand experience, once you got momentum and the autopilot kicks in, it's hard to stop. He breaks off shouting “I’m done, I'm done”. As the event begins to cure in my mind.


The real difference between you and me is your incessant inane questions. What is my name? What, really, is it to you, when you often just end up catching the next whim floating in your head and christen me just that? I am whatever you decide to call me. I have been Mindy, Luna, and Talia. I have been that mousy sound you make with your mouth, or that imperious clicking of your fingers. I have been Marbles, Cupcake, and Lipstick. Why ask if you don’t care for my answer? Where do I live? You think because you close the door at night and stay within the confines of your same routine that I should be the same. I live. Could the same be said of you? ...................................................................................... I liked that she didn’t like me right away. We spent the first few weeks staying in the periphery of each other’s existence, but never out of it. We had a mutual interest in something else – the squawky feathery meatballs she was determined to befriend and feed, and that I was determined to feed on. Then, without the uhming and aahing they usually do, she named me. “Marbles, please don’t eat the lorikeets. I really like them.” She was leaving out a small plate of sausages for me while saying that, so an understanding was forged that I wouldn’t try to hunt them where she could see. I watched her often from across the road, and she eyed me from her balcony. I watched her attempts at petting every bird that came her way, and heard her yelp when the cockatoo she named Squawk nipped her finger. She had named everyone by the time I approached her door for the first time. Of course I picked the night she would be home alone. Unlike her, I know every nook and cranny of that house. I have been the only constant in that house while families move in and out in a whirlwind around me. I don’t remember all their faces or all the names they give me. The impasse at the doorway lasted only seconds. She closed the door behind me as soon as I strode in to inspect the place. It smelt different, but it always does with each new family. She apologised for the lack of sausage but offered me water. The beak-shaped scar on her finger offended me as she made no attempts to pet me in any way. I don’t generally like having strangers’ hands all over me, but this was a woman I have watched pet everyone within reach. Her reaction to my purring was one of, oddly, bewilderment. She sat down, cross-legged on the floor as I easily stepped onto her lap. She gingerly patted my back the way you would a crying acquaintance, but the worry in her voice was unmistakable. “Are you okay Marbles? Do you need help? Are you choking on something?” More awkward pats on my back. I buried my face in the warmth of her woolly sweater. She must not be too smart, but I liked the smell of her. The purrs echoed off the walls of her house. She did eventually figure it out, and in stories relayed to visitors to the house later, I found out mine was the first purr she had ever heard. I was, in fact, the first cat in her life. I had accidentally staked a claim on her, and her on me, while I was trying to move back into the house that belonged to me. ................................................................................. These days my name is Callie. I don’t visit that house very often, unless the children are having dinner. The family that came in after her had a cat of their own, so I was happy to let him pretend he owned the place. He couldn’t, not really. Not without smelling my scent in every nook and cranny of the house. I don’t dwell too much on the ones that have come and gone, but sometimes I get a whiff of her scent lingering in that house. Sometimes I wonder if she remembers those lazy Sunday mornings, of me lying on her chest, of her gently smoothing the hairs of my back. I liked being Marbles. ..................................................................................... Author's note : This is fiction, but not quite. This is a tribute to that time in my life Marbles picked me to be hers.


I was just getting home and there was a light on in the top left corner window with two silhouettes in it. One was tall and one was short. The short one I could barely see coming up over the window sill. I thought someone had broken into my house as I was the only one home for the weekend. I opened my front door as quietly as I could, then I stopped and thought, “Wait! It is unlocked.” I then shut the door quietly and picked up my baseball bat from beside the door. I quietly went up to the room with the two shadows in it. When I got to the door, I heard two oddly familiar voices, but one of them gruffer than the other. I slowly turned the knob and I jumped into the room, but neither of the two were surprised. There was a confused kid, sitting on the bed and an old man sitting in the chair. The kid looked to be no more than 7 or 8 years old and the man’s age I wasn’t able to tell. I then pointed the bat at the man and said, “Who do you think you are? How did you get into my house? And who is the kid? Are you some kind of kidnapper?” The old man answered, “I don’t know how to answer your first question. The second question is easy. I got the key out of the flowerbed. Though I can’t explain who the kid is…” The kid interjects, “I am you.” I looked back at the man and he was shaking his head with his hand on his face. I then said to the man, laying the sarcasm on heavily, “Are you serious?” He responded to me with, “Well, yes and no.” I opened my mouth to say something, but then the man jumped back in, “Yes, he is you, but from another time and dimension.” I said to him, “Do you really think that I am going to buy that?” “Yes, you are,” said the man. “Why do you say that?” I questioned sarcastically. “Because I am you, but I also am from another time and dimension,” the old man replied. “So what, did you go and kidnap yourself when you were like seven?” I asked daringly. The little kid pipes up, “He… I didn’t kidnap me. I had thought a wish that I had someone there with me, and he…I appeared, and then he said that he needed to take me somewhere…” “That’s right,” injected the old man. “I needed to come talk to you about something that is going to happen really soon. What happens may change the course of the future if you get it right.” ”Okay, this is all really confusing,” I said shocked. “I am just going to go to bed,” while backing towards the door. I will just pretend that none of this ever happened. The old man flew across the room and I really mean he flew. He caught me by the shoulder of my shirt and said, “You can’t. It will be too late.” Scared, I asked, “Too late for what?” “I can’t tell you just yet, but I went through the same thing you are going through now,” whispered the old man. Then jerking with his head towards the kid, who was now asleep, “he will go through the same thing in seven years from his own time. And seven years from now, you will be doing what I am doing.” I said with a shocked look on my face, “I will look like an old dude….” “I am not that old,” roared the old man. “I am only…” “What? Only 50…” I countered. “No, I am only…” the old man said getting annoyed. “60 tops.” I interjected sarcastically. “No, I am only 21 !!,” he roared. “You can’t be 21, you look at least 50,” I said shocked. “I look this way because of the decision I made. The decision you’re going to have to figure out, but let me show you what happens if you choose wrong,” he said while walking to the closet. I said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” “I am going to take you to where I came from,” he said calmly. “My closet?” I asked mockingly. “No, it is through your closet,” he said while opening the door. Then a bright flash of red light came from my closet followed by the sweet smell of vanilla and oranges. “Wow, that is cool,” I said, “but what about him?” gesturing over my shoulder at the kid sleeping on the bed. “He will be fine,” said the old man. “Now come on,” he said grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the closet. After the initial shock, I looked around me to see everything in fast forward. When we stopped it was in a completely run down area that you could hear the wind rushing down the streets and through the buildings. I turned to the old man and asked, “Where are we?” He replied, “38 South Becker Street.” After sitting there, looking like an opened-mouth fish, I said, “What… that’s my address.” He said, “I know, we are at Mom and Dad’s house just seven years into the future.” “I don’t believe you,” I yelled. “Shhh” he said harshly, “They will hear you.” “Who will hear me? There is no one else around?” I asked gesturing with my arm. “The Others,” said the old man whispering. “The Whose?” I whispered back. “The Others are the ones who took over the world.” He said with a hint of fear in his voice. “Okay,” I said. “When we get back to your time, you are going to get a phone call. You have two choices. One is to answer it. Two you can leave it. I can’t tell you which one I did because then you will choose the other,” he stated pulling me back through the closet. When we appeared back in the room with the kid, the kid was already standing by the closet. The old man grabbed the kid by the hand and said, “Remember what I have told you and showed you. We now have to leave and we will not see you again. Goodbye and I hope you make the right choice.” He waved. “Bye,” said the little kid as he got pulled through the closet.


George was unable to shake the smell. However long he stood staring into the sandstone embedded letters, it remained. Yet the memory of a dear friend persisted. So he remained. George picked up the crumbled piece of stone that laid near the broken gravesite. Rolling it in his hands, he couldn’t make out if it had fallen from old age or was done purposely. Overlooking the grave, he could see the wear and tear of time. The dying blades of green appeared shriveled underneath the weight of the death and decay lingering in the air. His gaze soon fell upon another couple that had come to pay their respects. He watched as they walked hand in hand, garbed in curious attire, towards a smaller site. They sat upon the bench and gently laid a single purple rose alongside a peculiar toy of some fashion. He silently wished them the peace that had escaped him long before. Turning back towards the grave, George placed his hand on the withered headstone and prayed. The hum of industry droned lowly nearby. His breath laboured to pick out clean air as he finished his recitation. George began to walk towards the exit of the graveyard, gait hindered, but he pressed forward. Reaching the stone walkway, he glanced around. Bright, glaring lights littered the streetways. Carriages of iron rushed this way or that, coughing up soot and dark smoke. A familiar scent found him treading towards a smaller shop off the stone path. He approached the door and read the sign above the business, “Java Coffee”. He remembered coffee. George placed his hand on the door handle and pulled. He was met with a heavy scent of coffee rushing out to greet him. Upon the walls of the establishment were portraits of various libations, plants hanging from pots, and a strange, loud box. Upon further glance, he saw that the box contained images of color and peoples speaking of recent happenings all dressed similarly. He found himself a seat with an empty table and stared, transfixed, at the portrait box. A maiden of age came to the table. “What can I get you today, sir?” Before he could think of any response, she quickly glanced at him before exclaiming, “OH! Lucky day for you, ain’t it? We are actually giving all seniors a free coffee of their choice today. Celebrating the re-opening, ya know?” She looked towards the sign above the counter before adding, “Been rough trying to make it lately, what with the bank on my heels and the bigger companies pushing people like me around. Even having to do these free specials just to get traffic. But hey, it’s better than being on the streets, huh?” She gave a half-hearted laugh before turning back towards George. “So, is a coffee good? Will you have anything else, sir?” “That would be lovely, madam. I thank you.” George gave a small bow of his head towards the maiden. A few minutes later she came back with a steaming mug of black coffee. George finally read the lettering upon her apron. “You are a gracious, humble woman. Thank you, Kathy.” “It’s my pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else.”, she said as she began to walk towards the back of the shop. George’s gaze once again fell upon the loud, colorful box. After some time he realized it was speaking of recent events. A living news-letter! He had a sip of his coffee and gasped. Such flavor! Hardly had he tasted such a thing. As the night passed on, he watched all the transpiring of the living news-letter. Such times! Many states had now composed as United, yet each had hardships of measure in which they lacked the capacity to afford aid. George watched in solemnity. A trust in governance broken. A land ravaged by tumultuous weather. A people filled with vitriol hate, divided. Warnings unheeded. Checks and balances breached. Yet the people endure. The hour had reached past dusk and his mug had dried what black was left at the bottom. George reached into his pockets and took three of the silver coins within and placed them upon the table. Each read “Georgius Triumpho”. He walked out of the establishment and towards the cemetery once more. The moon shone brightly and exposed the exquisite craftsmanship of newly placed headstones. A backdrop of crumbled, decrepit graves silently sat, awaiting maintenance and assistance. George soon came upon a stone bench. Fatigue had taken him and his mind raced with worried thoughts of his countrymen. Sitting within the moonlight, he grasped towards his heart and felt a calmness begin in his hands. Spreading from arms to legs, torso to head. A bell could be heard ringing from both near and far. The bench was shown to be barren and filled with moonlight once more. Awaiting the bell to feel warmth once more.


"*It began when they come took me from my home, And put me in Dead Row,* *Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know."* \-Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds "Give me the key to the Chevy, Ant, you aren't driving that thing anywhere. You're toasted." Anthony looked at his old buddy Pete with quiet indignation and relinquished the keys to his truck. Partially because Pete was a straight shooter--always had been, and partially because there were currently two of him. "Sure, you got it. . .*Petes*." Anthony said with a laugh. The twin Petes did not laugh. "Get to steppin' buddy. I'll call Suzy and tell her you're on your way." "That's a terrible idea," Anthony said, throwing his hands up with exaggerated alarm, "I'll catch hell--just give me my house key off that ring and I'll get out of your hair." "I lost my hair because of friends like you years ago, Ant." Pete said, finally relinquishing a smile. Pete had a nasty habit of scaring off potential new customers with his trademark resting-bitch-face or "RBF" as the regulars called it. He was a prematurely bald fellow, but it didn't look wrong on him--6ft and 250lbs of bearded Americana. With his white apron on, he was your stereotypical small-town, working class, bartender. A stereotype he did not mind perpetuating. "Here ya' go anyhow, chief." Pete said, with a sniff, sliding the key across the bar to Anthony. As he scooped his key off the polished oak he looked up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. "Jesus, I sure do look the part." He said, scratching at his chin. Anthony's neat hair had fallen out of it's normal combed back style, and was a bird's nest atop his head. His cheeks were flushed, and his ears were red. A 5 o'clock shadow had developed on his previously clean shaven face. Anthony was handsome enough, dimpled chin and a strong jawline. His college baseball days were behind him, but he was still in shape. His eyes were a unique hazel, more green than brown. But now, his unique eyes were blood shot, and if you put enough booze in Tom Cruise, he'll still look like shit. The thought of explaining his current condition to his wife weighed heavily on his mind. Luckily, the Pair-o-Petes saved the day with sober reason. "Shit yeah you look the part," Pete said, "wash up and get the hell home, Ant." On his way to the men's room, Anthony heard what sounded like someone getting sick. The person inside the john was moaning, it sounded to Anthony like a ghost from a bad campfire story. "Did you eat some of Petes cooking? You *gotta* be new here." Anthony called out, stifling a laugh. No answer, and the moaning continued. Anthony tried the doorknob, finding it locked he realized he had to take a leak. He began to knock. "Hey fella! I'm not shy and I need to make water . . . light a match if you have to, I just want to use the pisser!" Anthony knocked harder still, causing the thin plywood door to shake in its frame. "Honestly pal, I'm gonna piss my pants if this door doesn't get unlocked, I need to go!" The moaning continued, unchanged. "Fucking *hell*! PETE!" Anthony cried. "What do you need, Ant? Too drunk to work the toilet?" Pete answered with a laugh. "Har-de-fuckin-har! You got a stew bum passed out in the commode with the god damn door locked!" Pete didn't respond. "Peter," Anthony called out, "I'm going to take a whiz on your floor if you don't get back here and open this thing!" "Bull*shit* you will! I'll have your ass!" "Too late Peeeete, it's happening!" Anthony called out in a singsong voice. Peter appeared at the end of the hall way, his bald head turning bright red, and made his way quickly to the men's room door. "You don't tip me enough to be your goddamn doorman too, ya know." Pete said with a wink, fumbling through his keys, "Either way, here's the throne room, your majesty." The bathroom door swung in to reveal an empty room, the stall door stood open with no one inside. "What the hell?" Anthony said walking in, already looking for the source of the noise. Peter watched his blitzed friend search under the sink, behind the 3-foot-tall waste basket, and finally, in the toilet bowl. "Pete, I swear to God th-" "Don't, Ant, this joke didn't track, but I'm not mad." Pete began making his way back down the hallway. Watching Peter leave without a word, Anthony made his way to the corner of the restroom where the urinal stood. As he did the deed, he noticed a folded piece of yellow legal paper tucked behind the flusher. He unfolded it and stared at a single letter, scrawled across the scrap. **A** "'A' huh? Well, isn't that neat? Coulda' left me a fiver or something, Mr.Disappearing-man." Without thinking about it, he stuffed the note into his jeans and left, being sure to leave the door open. A round of 'See ya laters' followed Anthony out the door, as he left Pete's bar. He started to walk towards his house, only a few blocks down the street, then remembered he was leaving the truck, and spun on his heels. He made it to the vehicle and checked the driver's side door, finding it locked, he chuckled. *Good,* he thought, *no one will be able to get my precious collection of burned cds and loose change*. He walked around to the passenger side door, checked the handle and discovered a piece of paper tucked inside. "Lemme' guess", he mumbled, "'b'?" 'B' it was not. Written in the same sweeping hand writing as the note in the bathroom, was the word: **WE** Anthony jammed the paper in his pocket and stormed back towards the bar to see if Pete or the guys new anything about the notes. He arrived at the large door and yanked at the handle, flinging it open, dramatically. He let out a frightened squeak. The bar was completely empty; tables wiped clean, chairs stacked, glasses and mugs spotless on their shelves behind the bar. There was no smell of beer or burned burgers. It was like being inside a picture. "Guys?", Anthony said, panic causing his voice to hitch. No one answered. "Who the hell is leaving me these notes?" He called out, any buzz left in him had been scared away. "Why am I getting fucked with?" He continued to ask the empty room. A pained moan was his only reply. His balls jumped into his body, as his feet left the floor. "What the fuck is this!?" Anthony bellowed, trying his best to sound tough, but sounding more like a petulant, little kid. The sound came again, from behind the bar, gritty and grinding, like an old door opening. In an ungraceful leap, Anthony landed prone on top of the bar, landing on an ashtray and winding himself. His legs draped over the stools, he took a sharp breath in, and peaked behind the bar. Nothing was back there, not even a bottle cap on the floor. Seeing this, Anthony got up and sprinted for the door. Once outside he took a breath and pulled out his cell. 'NO SERVICE' flashed at him from the screen. He took off down the street towards his house, pumping his legs as hard as he could. He approached the first of two cross walks he would have to pass before arriving home. He began to slow to makes sure he wouldn't get flattened by a car, when he noticed two things: 1) There were no cars, no traffic at all. It was only ten o'clock but every house was dark. 2) There was a shadow walking towards him from the other side of the road. It looked like the world had a man shaped hole in it; as if some great child had used the earth as its construction paper for a "Flat Stanly" cut-out. It was close in shape to a Ginger Bread Man, but instead of nice, round hands and feet, this shadow had cruel spikes for fingers, and terrible clawed toes. As this thing approached Anthony, it's walk steadied, and it began to take on more definition; and an awful smell. The once shuffling gait had evolved into a smooth pace, and the long arms, and spiked hands had ceased resting at the creature's sides. They were now raised, and the fingers were fidgeting--anxious to find something to grab. The familiar moaning began to project from the living shadow, it moved at him, faster now. Its body made no sounds as it moved, no footfalls, no shuffling of feet or swishing of fabric, only the horrible moaning, the musty smell of warm river water and mud began to coat the back of Anthony's throat. Anthony didn't wait for the monster searching claws, he took off in another dead sprint. His lungs on fire, his legs felt as if they were filled with broken glass, his heart was beating so hard in his throat he was afraid he would gag. As his body burned, his phone began to ring. He snuck a glance behind him; he had lost the shadow. The caller ID showed unavailable. He answered, not caring who it was--the need to hear a human voice vital. "Don't fucking moan, please" Anthony began, badly winded, "Tell me I'm being audited, or that my dog died, just don't fucking moan." First, there was soft static, then a voice which sounded like cicadas singing, worked together to speak. "WEEEEE. AYYYYY." The fear left Anthony for a moment and was replaced by a confused rage. "'We-ay' what?? The fuck does that mean!? Who are you!?" "AYYYYYY. WEEEEEE." The cicadas answered. "Where are all my friends!? What the hell did you do to everyone!?" A young woman's voice answered him this time. "You will be alone, just like us, Anthony. You will understand." Anthony's stomach did a rough flip, and settled itself. Anthony understood, but didn't believe it. It had been fourteen years since his accident. It had been fourteen years since he heard that awful moaning. She was walking towards Anthony's truck off of the shoulder, being sure to keep her face towards on coming traffic, and Anthony was too drunk to notice her. He was driving like an 18-year-old does on an old farm road; fast and free. One second of negligence was all it took. Anthony had reached down to pull another Miller tall boy off the plastic six pack rings, then there was loud thump which shook the vehicle and jerked the wheel. He slammed the brakes hard and got out to see the damage, and the size of the deer he had struck. When his boots hit the gravel, he heard the moaning. He crossed to the passenger side of the truck and the moaning grew louder, and the smell of shit and blood hit his nose. "Help us," she said, choking, "You've got to help us, *please*." She held her stomach gingerly, the all too obvious bump of pregnancy was now misshapen, like a half-deflated football. Her hair, brown and curly, was plastered to the side of her face with blood, her jaw trembled. She couldn't have been more then 25. Her dark skin and full lips were illuminated by Anthony's tail lights. The red glow muting what would have otherwise been an incredibly harsh, red, scene--she was beautiful even then. Her slender frame was warped. The truck had done it's damage. Her legs were twisted and broken, and her hips where so far out of place it made her look as though she were smuggling produce under her jeans. Jeans which darkened as a rapidly growing stain spread from her knees, and up to her groin, and wrapped around her waist. "Fuck no. No-way-no-way-no-way", Anthony mumbled, his eyes wide, but dry. His hands were shaking, so he pulled them in against his chest, and crouched beside her. He began to rock back and forth. "Help us", she choked, her teeth becoming more red with every word, "I'm 6 months. He's healthy. Go get someone." She looked at him, staring, waiting for a reply. "Okay, let me get you into the truck--wait, should I move you? *Shit,* I don't know what to do!" she didn't respond, she just kept staring at him. *Past him*. She was gone. Her body settled, laying perfectly still and silent. The only sounds on the stretch of road were the clunky idling of Anthony's truck, and the singing of the cicadas. They had been everywhere that spring and early summer, loud, noisy and ever present. Strange creatures, showing themselves sporadically, some annually, some taking almost 2 decades to come forth from the ground and scream their unwanted music. Now, they sang their song to this broken woman, no eulogy for her and her unborn son, just the grating cry of the cicadas. Anthony worked quickly, not thinking, panic driving his body. He rolled her off the side of the road and down into the deep irrigation ditch, long out of use. There was a splash, and he watched her body rise to the top, like a fishing bobber. "No, no, *no*!", He scrambled along the shoulder of the road, found a few heavy rocks and ran down the hill, and into the water. He made his way to the woman with one of the rocks in hand, and stuffed it beneath her hooded sweatshirt. He felt her cold, wet skin and the lumpy presence of broken bones beneath it and recoiled, then vomited. The smell of brackish water and thick mud was so overpowering, the smell of recently expelled beer was nearly cancelled out. He continued his work until she sank, and stayed at the bottom. He watched for a moment, and deciding it was good enough, returned to his truck to check the damage. He dug his fingers deep into the earth, pulling himself up the bank, cursing himself for being so stupid, and cursing the woman for walking along the dirt road in the middle of the night. The front end looked nearly perfect, the old steel frames were sturdy and unforgiving. There was a small dent in the chrome bumper, but nothing that anyone would notice. He had thought for certain there would be blood on his truck, but there was none; it was all over the asphalt. He looked down at the dark spot on the road and dry heaved, the metallic smell of blood climbing into his nose and down his throat. After checking the front end out, he got into his truck, and drove faster than he had before. He drove like a man possessed, passing drivers on double yellow streets when he was back in town, and cutting through the church parking lot to get to his parents' house. He parked behind the garage, and walked through the backdoor, into the kitchen. His father sat at the small table doing a crossword, and greeted him without looking up from the paper. "How we doing pal? Didn't think we'd see ya' tonight, heard there was a party out in the McManis's back field. There's leftovers on the sto-" He stopped, mid-sentence and coughed. He thumbed at his now wrinkled nose, he smelled foul pond water, beer and vomit. He looked up to his son and saw the dried mud that covered his hands, and the dark water that dripped from his pants. Before he could say a word, Anthony fell to the linoleum floor sobbing, his jeans began to bleed brown liquid. It spread about like the tendrils of evil, looking for prey. His father moved his socked foot away from one of the dark trails of water, and Anthony told him everything. His father's response was grim, but not unexpected. "No one knows, and no one is gonna know, Anthony," His father said, reaching for his keys, "You aren't throwing your scholarship away on some *colored* girl. Not now. You're leaving for school in a couple weeks. You tell me where she is, and I'll take care of the rest." So, Anthony told him. His father had done what he said he would, and never spoke of that night again. Anthony left for college two weeks after, and made himself forget, and it stayed forgotten. Two state championships, and a whole lot of partying helped. Meeting a girl, getting married, and buying a house sealed the deal. It was all buried deep down, and locked away in a casket in his conscious. Now, for some reason, it was getting dug up, and the memory was kicking and scratching at the lid, desperate to sink its rotten nails and broken teeth into Anthony's soft, vulnerable mind. He *would* remember. The static faded back in, slowly at first, then it was louder than a jet engine. Anthony howled in pain and dropped his phone. Using both hands, he covered his ear and pressed hard, as if to keep his brain from oozing out. He stumbled backwards and fell on his rear. The deafening white noise was pervasive, he felt it in the fillings in his teeth, and in his guts. The phone began to vibrate from the magnitude of the sound, and scoot along the sidewalk. Suddenly, the static stopped, and Pete's voice issued from the phone. "Have." Pete said calmly. "Have, have, have, have," Pete began to scream. "HAVE, HAVE, HAVE, WE, A, HAVE, A, WE" Anthony started to cry and picked up his phone. "Petey? Where are you? What are they doing to you, Pete?" "Ay. Have. We." "Pete, I don't understand, you gotta help me here, I don't fuckin' understand!" His voice was choked with tears, he began to cry harder, "Pete please tell me where you are!" Silence. "Please?" "We have ayyyy. . ." Pete's voice trailed off and there was a click, then silence. *Fuck this*, Anthony thought as he took off running towards his home, *I'm going to go home, get my Remington and go look for Pete and the guys. They have to be somewhere, right? It doesn't make any goddamn sense, none of this makes any goddamn sense, Suzy is going to think I*\- His trail of thought snagged, he stopped dead in the middle of the last crosswalk. "Suzy! Oh Christ, Suzy!" He resumed running. This time he didn't notice any pain in his legs, or his heart, or his lungs. He only thought about Suzy. Suzy grabbed up by the shadow, t*hat fucking moaning thing. That stupid moaning bitch that took Pete and the guys, and left me all those stupid* fucking *notes.* *The notes*! Anthony's mind screamed. *Those notes! Peter was trying to warn me about something, but what?* "We have a what, Pete?" Anthony said as he approached the back door to his home. He tried the door and it was locked. *Thank God for that*, he thought as he pulled the key from his pocket, *thank God for that, Suzy is okay, she's going to think I'm a nut, but she's okay*. He unlocked his door and pushed it open with such force it slammed against the wall of the kitchen. "Suzy! Where are you honey? I need your help!" He waited for a reply for a moment, and began to feel a chill run up his back, the silence was too blanketing. It was everywhere. . . The silence was too loud. Anthony quickly turned and shut the door, locked it, and took off for the bedroom. *Maybe she's asleep*, he thought, his breath was ragged as he walked up the stairs. Fear made Anthony's vision tunnel. He could see light leaking out under the bedroom door. *Her lights on, she must've fallen asleep reading*. He mounted the top of the stairs and walked to the door. He tried to turn the handle, but his palms were so sweaty that it slipped. He wiped his hands on his shirt, grabbed it again, turned, and pushed the door open. The bed was made, but empty. On the middle of the bed was a folded piece of yellow paper. Anthony could hear nothing but the thud of his heart as he approached to pick up his note. As he got closer, he began to recite, in a dry croaky voice he didn't recognize, "We. Have. A. We. Have. A." He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. There was a click in his throat. "What exactly do you fuckers have?" He unfolded the paper and his hands began to shake. His body broke out in goosebumps, the hair on his neck stood on end. Written on the paper was the only word that had mattered. **KEY** Anthony began to scream as the closet door behind him creaked open, and the cicadas began to sing.


It was 2am when Pot presented himself at Owen’s bed. It was a queen-size bed, which is rather a large bed for a 7-year-old boy. However, it did not look out of place in Owen’s considerable bedroom. The bed was decorated with a Harry Potter duvet, which complimented Owen’s Harry Potter pyjamas. Pot is a sprite. He is 2 feet tall with the same anatomy as a human. A constant grin stretched across his sharp facial features. His whole being appeared to be made of an icy translucent white light. It was as though he was being projected. “Wakey wakey,” whispered Pot directly into Owen’s ear. Most children would scream at the sight of a ghostly sprite within face-biting distance, but not Owen. Here is a child that has spent the entirety of his seven years within his own head. A head that contains magic, mythical creatures and all manner of fantasy. This is a child who needs to be called at least three times by his mother before his focus leaves the world of fantasy. A child who received the magic set he had craved for Christmas. As an only child of affluent parents, he got most of the presents he wanted. This wasn’t some high-street rubbish, this was the best magic set that a father, desperate to please, could find after several weeks of searching. He went on to perform the magic. Of course, such a child has no interest in instructions so his parents were required to look away as Owen made the coin ‘magically’ disappear. “Child, I’m looking for a skilled warrior to help me in my quest to uphold the good and vanquish the bad. Do you know of such a warrior?” said Pot. Owen managed to lift an eye lid. “Aye. I could be a warrior. I know kung fu.” The grin across Pot’s face stretched implausibly further. “You’re amazing. I could tell from the moment I saw you that you have the potential to be a great hero.” Owen lifted his head. His cheek was connected to his pillow by a string of saliva. He managed to lift the second eyelid. “Who are you?” “Great question. I am Pot. The Sprite. I fight on the side of goodness but I cannot do it on my own. I need the help of a great hero such as yourself.” Owen managed to get himself completely upright. He started to feel the chill and so stretched for his comfy grey dressing gown. When Owen pulled the hood over his head it made him look like a wizard with long grey locks, which covered his own shaggy tussled blonde hair. Owen started life with blonde hair. If he was like the other men in his family, Owen was around a year away from his hair darkening and settling into mousy maturity. He turned on the light, which illuminated his loft-converted bedroom. It was the largest bedroom in the house. It was situated on the other side of the house to his parents, which was beneficial for his mother and father as they couldn’t hear his yells as he played with his toys, of which there were many in all areas of the room. The walls were decorated with space-themed wallpaper but you couldn’t see much of it as it was covered with movie posters. Owen had a good look at Pot. He stretched out to shake Pot’s hand. Pot moved backwards just as Owen’s hand reached Pot’s fingers. Owen’s fingers passed straight through Pot’s fingertips as if they were a hologram. “Are you magic?” asked Owen. “Another great question, young adventurer. I am indeed magic. I believe you are magic too. In a way. And I believe you have the necessary characteristics required to defeat the agents of evil. There is one such monster present here tonight. Are you brave enough to help me defeat this beast?” Owen straightened himself and tied the belt on his dressing gown before saying, “Let’s do it.” “The creature we must defeat is a grizzly bear. Each monster has a weak point that we must exploit. This monster is particularly fierce…” Pot noticed that Owen was fidgeting and wiping his clammy palms on his dressing gown. “You’re not scared, are you?” “No. I want to fight. It’s my destiny!” “Wow! You’re a natural. I’m very impressed. The grizzly’s weak point is being confronted by his own reflection.” Without hesitation, Owen said, “I know what we can use! There’s a mirror on my wall.” “Fantastic idea, but do you think it will work?” “Yes,” said Owen and without having a clue, “it will absolutely work.” Owen dangerously climbed on top of three toy boxes that he had stacked and gently removed the mirror from the picture hooks that were embedded in the wall. He was doing so well. He reverse stepped down from the boxes but just as he was going to place the mirror against the wall it slipped from his grasp. The frame hit the floor. Cracks spread up the mirror on impact. To stop it from clattering on the floor and waking his parents, Owen dived at the falling mirror and cushioned the fall with his hands. Large shards of mirror fell out of the frame. Owen carefully withdrew his left hand. It was unhurt. He then withdrew his right hand to discover it was spurting out blood. Shock started at his feet and raised like a wave throughout his body. “Let me look at that brave lad,” said Pot. Owen stretched out his arm and pointed his bloody fingers towards Pot. He turned his head away. Tears surfaced in his eyes as he suppressed his wails. Owen felt a sensation like no other he had felt before. His hand felt moist and warm, hot even, but not painfully so. Owen managed to turn his head and face his outstretched arm. In disbelief, he brought his hand close to his face. The blood had gone. “Not so bad after all. Warrior,” said Pot. Owen took his focus away from his formerly injured hand and squinted his eyes in the direction of Pot. He looked different. It was as if he was a whiter white. As if he had gone up on the scale of whites at a fancy paint manufacturer. Farrow and Ball would say he had gone from “strong white” to “Wimborne white”. “Get the mirror ready. Hold it out in front of you,” said Pot as he placed his hands on the bedding. Owen did as he was told. He placed one of his socks over his hand and picked up a shard. He began to feel nerves. “In 3, 2…” Owen noticed that Pot was somehow now able to clutch the material of the bedding. He also began to wonder how a grizzly bear could fit under the bed. “1!” Pot drew back the bedding. Owen winced with his sight partly obscured by the shard of mirror that he held outstretched in front of him as if it were a shield. He glanced with one eye but couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was his Winnie-the-Pooh soft toy, which he hadn’t seen for so long that he had forgotten that he ever had it. Owen looked at Pot to see if this was some sort of joke. For the first time Pot’s face was not adorned with a grin. He looked serious. Scared even. He started to realise that this was some sort of game that Pot had set up. He had a choice: confront Pot and say that this was just an old Winnie-the-Pooh toy; or play along and battle Winnie as if he was a real grizzly. Only one of those choices would lead to fun. “Charge,” whispered Owen as he lunged towards the stuffed toy bear. He wrestled with the bear. Rolling around on the carpet with the toy animal clutched in his arms. He rolled this way and that while trying to keep an eye on the sprite to gauge if he was impressed. “Careful, stay away from his jaws,” advised Pot. Owen wrestled some more before kicking away Winnie. The bear landed in a seated position. Owen brought the shard of broken mirror up to the bear’s eyes. “Shield your eyes,” said Pot. Both Owen and Pot covered their eyes with their arms. They froze in that position for a few seconds and then in unison looked up at the bear. Winnie remained unanimated. Pot’s enormous grin had returned. “That was amazing.” Owen crawled over to Winnie. He carefully lifted the bear’s right arm. He let go. It flopped down by his side. “He’s dead.” “You truly are fulfilling your potential as a great soldier. You did it.” “Is that it? Have we defeated evil?” “Well… we have defeated that one evil monster.” “There’s more?” asked Owen. “You have probably had enough adventures for one evening.” “No. I can battle on. I have stamina.” “Well there is one more monster nearby but we would need to lasso it like a cowboy capturing a wild stallion. And in order to create a lasso we need rope and I just don’t think a 7-year-old boy would have a rope in his bedroom.” Owen scanned the bedroom in the hope of seeing some rope. He couldn’t. “Perhaps we fashion a lasso,” said Pot. Owen looked around. “Could we cut up the curtain and use the fabric?” asked Owen. “Although, it is of course a great idea, we just don’t have the time. We need something that is already a long rope type piece of fabric.” Pot looked towards Owen midriff. “I’ve got it. Let’s use my dressing gown belt.” “Warrior lad, you are a genius. I’m very impressed.” Pot explained to Owen how to make the lasso in great detail. He told Owen how to place into an ‘s’ shape and then pinch and wrap the rope into shape. He pulled it tight as instructed. “Tell me about the monster,” said Owen. “Look over there. He is on top of the wardrobe.” Owen looked over and knew straight away that the sprite was gesturing to the Buckaroo mule. Owen did not have an inkling where the mule’s box was, or indeed any of the other contents of the box such as the saddle or the small plastic lamp that you dangled from the saddle while avoiding the buck. “He is a violent and very powerful beast. Although you have shown great strength, it is going to be very difficult for a boy of your age to out-muscle the monster. I suggest you secure one end of the lasso.” Doing as he was told, Owen placed a chair atop his bed, which he proceeded to climb. He precariously bobbed around on top of the chair as he unscrewed the star-decorated light shade and attached the belt loop, which he had been instructed to make, to the light fitting. He pulled it tight. Pot was clearly pleased with Owen’s effort. “Now, we only have one attempt to capture the awful beast, so you must test the lasso. Put the loop over your head and down around your neck.” Owen obliged. “Pull it tighter… Tighter still… Tighter...” As the boy had been tricked to tie the noose tight enough around his neck, the malevolent sprite mustered all his might to push the chair off the bed, leaving the boy dangling and helpless. As Owen kicked out his legs in all directions, Pot assumed the lotus position beneath the child. Pot began chanting. Owen tried to scream for help but he couldn’t force any sounds out of his mouth. He was confused and couldn’t understand. At the moment of Owen’s demise, the light that filled Pot’s being drifted upwards leaving his small remains in a heap, a bit like the leftovers from a snake when it sheds its skin. The cool white light entered the boy’s deceased body. The boy’s eyes opened. He lifted his arms and grabbed the light fitting. He was able to exert enough strength to lift his body in the air to stop the strangulation. He unscrewed the light fitting and fell backwards onto the bed. The boy mostly had the same appearance as he did before his untimely death. Except he now had a slight ungodly glow about him and a grin that seemed unhealthily large. The boy sat up. He loosened and then took the belt from around his neck. He chuckled as he threw the belt towards the inanimate plastic Buckaroo mule. He stood, took off his dressing gown and straightened his pyjamas. He put on a pair slippers. He bent down and picked up the pointiest bit of broken mirror that he could see. He walked over to the bedroom door and opened it. In a perfect imitation of Owen, he shouted as if in distress.


They lied in the bed motionless, sweaty, and exhausted. Air was the only blanket he couldn’t remove, and even that was weighing him down with a heavy layer of heat. The entire world was an oven that could not be escaped. The fires raged on. She had turned on a miniature metaphorical air conditioning unit on by opening the bedroom window as he had requested. But in the moment, there would be no relief. It was a happy suffering, though, for both parties Theo presumed. The climax of sexual intercourse had subsided, but the aroma of satisfaction had lingered. There was a smell wafting through the room. “It smells like sex in here.” Theo announced, not sure of what to say. “What the fuck else would it smell like.”, retorted Fae, sarcastically as she rose from the mattress and threw on a sweater she grabbed from the floor too short to cover her lower half. Theo noticed the thick layer of snow that weeks worth of dirty clothes had formed on what he understood was a hardwood floor. He didn’t mind, it was a nice change from what he was used to seeing in a lover’s bedroom. Once returning to the bed, she removed the sweater. Theo found the application and subsequent removal of the sweater odd, yet remained silent . She hopped under the covers, seemingly unphased. *How is she not dying,* thought Theo, as he melted into the sheets. Fae was cool, in temperature as well as temperament. This seemed almost normal to her. As if it were any other night. The ever-analysing Theo noticed she wasn’t very cuddly as this moment, which may mean she was sexually satisfied as he had read online previously. Another side of Theo told him that she didn’t want to because she was unattracted to him, as he was heavier-set than the typical young adult. They had cuddled extensively the past three occasions, so he reassured himself that his initial thought must be true. *Who doesn’t love cuddling a fat guy?* Theo thought. For once he thought in his own favour. They sat in silence as their heavy breathing had gradually subsided. “How was that for you?”, Theo inquired as he always does. “It was good”. Fae replied. Theo didn’t know why he would always ask. It was just a given. It was not as though she would say anything unpleasant anyway as post-sex was not the optimal time for confrontation. He dived deep into his mind, realizing he may have an unresolved need for reassurance. It was most likely true. Where it came from though, he did not know. Hopefully he would reflect on that later. For now he was focused on his ‘partner’ beside him. She was the most attractive person he’d ever been with, bar none. She looked similar to Ary in that she was short, a shade over five feet. That was where the comparison ended, though. She had long dirty blond hair that would always get caught between them. He had never checked, but he could’ve sworn it had to have gone down to the lower half of her back, if not the peak of her cheeks. Her cheeks where amazing, the ones on her face as well as those on her posterior. He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more, her smile or her thick ass. Probably her ass. He also acknowledged her breasts. Which were fairly large for her size. Theo knew they were larger than Ary’s had been, definitively. Her most arousing feature, though, were her eyes. They were the brightest possible shade of blue. Lighter than the clearest lake and just as moist. Whenever they would converse, he had to avoid looking into them because he would get lost. He would lose track of what she was talking about. They were dangerous, and he would do anything to feed that addiction. She wore glasses occasionally, which he found attractive even if she despised them. Funnily enough she couldn’t really see. Wearing the glasses was a win-win for both. He couldn’t believe he had managed to de-clothe a woman so attractive, so out of his league, and so soon after his previous relationship. “Want a hit of that?”, she said seemingly out of the blue, staring at the half smoked joint at the side of the bed in a mason jar. Theo stumbled a bit on his words before replying, “Uh, no I think ill be fine”. In his own head he wondered whether she would think it was cool that he decided when he wanted to get high or not, or if he was being a pussy. This is where Theo’s mind went naturally, and typically. He would tell himself ironically that his greatest talent was overthinking. Eventually, when their bodies cooled off, Fae shuffled on closer to Theo and wrapped herself in him, to his satisfaction. His face was pressed in her bosom, while his left leg was intertwined between hers. He thought his leg was probably too close to her slit, so he retracted it ever so slightly unbeknownst to her. He felt relief. It was nice to be cuddled again. It had only been a couple of months, but at one point he thought he would never feel it again. For ten years he had taken cuddling for granted. She ran her hands across his back, back and forth as she was wont to do. It tickled him slightly uncomfortably, but he decided he enjoyed it and let her continue. It was peaceful. It was quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a silence he thought both parties were enjoying. Silence, however, was Theo’s bane. He was always anxious of silence, presuming it was of the awkward fashion. He decided that this moment was of the acceptable kind, so he let it slide just this once. It had been his fourth time at her apartment in two weeks. He had gone there the first two times drunk, and the last two times he went sober. The third time he went sober and they ended up getting drunk. The fourth, he was essentially sober throughout the duration with a couple glasses of wine mixed in. All four times he spent the night. He thought she must’ve enjoyed his company if she keeps letting him stay until the next morning. The first night he left at the break of dawn. Partly because of nerves and anxiety, and partly because of having to attend class. They had been up until roughly 5:30am. To say he was well rested was a flat out lie. The second time he stayed until the next afternoon. That night they had been awake at 6:00am, the last time he had checked his phone. They woke up in the late morning, relaxed, then she drove him home. The third and fourth time Theo had gone during the daytime hours, sober. They would talk, watch Netflix, cook for each other, and fuck until the sun began to sprout. They had yet to sleep before 1:00am. Though the clock would tick less each time they hung out. He wasn’t sure how he did It. But he was essentially staying at her place twice a week. Theo had no intention of being in this position. Hell, less than 2 months ago he had never envisioned sleeping next to someone with blonde hair. He distinctly remembered thinking, before Ary had left, that Fae was incredibly attractive, but a forbidden fruit. He was spoken for. Now, he had free speech. His own free speech. Theo had thought very little of himself and figured it would take years for something like this to happen. One night at the local club they regularly attended, Theo, feeling confident after many drinks, had asked her to dance. That ended up as their first night together. He remembered laughing to himself as his classmate, Ron, picked him up in the morning. Ron had told Theo he was glowing. Theo knew exactly what he was talking about as that was how he felt too. This all was new and exciting to Theo. He had never done anything resembling this in his 25 years of life. Drinking, going back to someone’s house, and sleeping with them. This seemed standard for other humans. He was just excited to be apart of it. What he wasn’t sure was normal were the two sober nights. It seemed odd that they continued this sexual escapade. He figured he must be doing something right. It was the two additional appointments that also confused him. Again, this was new to him, especially this part. Was this the beginning of a new relationship? Was she only interested in the sex? What’s the next move? Theo, as always, was unsure. He was over Ary but was frequently told not to jump into something too quickly. That was not his intention whatsoever. Theo was extremely fond of Fae, this is true, but he wouldn’t admit that he was actively chasing her. He was, however, just trying to live in the moment and not worry about it now. He knew eventually, if this kept up, that they would have to have that conversation. It became apparent to Theo that he was addicted. He was hooked on the uncertainty, the risk. For 10 years he had been complacent when it came to women. He had no need to care what they thought, or even visualize them as sexual partners for anything more than his spank bank. Now though, anything could happen with anyone at anytime, it seemed. It was addicting. When Fae and Theo were apart they would barely communicate. Theo would ride the ups and downs of the wave that was virtual communication. Occasionally, she would initiate conversation. This would always get Theo high. However, a few messages later she would leave him on read, as the kids say. As often as this happened to Theo, he would do the same. It was a cycle. It was stressful for him. The lows were Hades and the highs were Mount Olympus. This new found chase and run was a new feeling, and he liked it. Every time he left her place, he would leave happy, satisfied. As soon as he left he would feel despair and regret for things unsaid and unspoken, then he would feel towards the sense he would never return. Always, in the middle of the week, communication would ramp up and he’d find himself back there. Albeit a small sample size, there was a pattern. At this moment Theo had not noticed. Now they both lie in the bed, finally relaxed and cooled. “If we were quarantined for an indefinite period of time, and we weren’t in school right now, what would you be doing?” Questioned Theo. This was Theo’s favorite part of sex: pillow talk. He enjoyed it especially now because she also seemed to enjoy it. It was nice to have a partner who appreciated long, deep conversations as much as him. “Oh wow, uh…”. She paused momentarily, then snickered, “that question makes me feel like I don’t do anything or have any hobbies.” Theo laughed before replying. “Well if you couldn’t go outside for weeks, you could only watch so many movies, right? Eventually you would get bored. After lounging around and doing fuck all for a few days, what would be the next best thing you would do so you wouldn’t lose your mind? Or like what would be the first thing you would like to catch up on or spend more time doing? “Uhh ok, I know, I would be painting. I love to paint. I like to use acrylic paint mostly. I haven’t been able to do much recently and I’d love to get back into that. If you’ve looked closely you would’ve seen that I painted that fridge magnet. That’s all I have here of examples of my painting.” Theo proceeded to get out of bed, still naked, appendage swinging about. He returned momentarily. “That’s nice, I’d love to see more of your work sometime. I love when people get excited about things they do, no matter how dorky or how much I don’t understand.” He explained. “Ya, maybe sometime. For now, you’ll just have to stare at the mountains and trees on the magnet. Don’t ask for my inspiration, because I didn’t have any. Just drew cute shit.” They both chuckled. He put his head in her bosom again, where he felt comforted and safe. Only for a moment though, as he followed up the question. “Have you ever been to the mountains?’ “Ya, only one time.” She paused. “I haven’t really been away from home or out of the country. Even three years ago the farthest I had been was Edmonton and I have family there so that why. I went to Jasper a couple years ago with my family. It was so beautiful, Theo. I want to go back so bad sometime. I mean I don’t have the time right now, but sometime, maybe this summer I would like to go again, or at least somewhere like it.” She drew a large breath as she often forgot to breathe. Theo thought it was so cute and funny that she would do that. Hearing his name on another woman’s lips was also something Theo appreciated. Theo felt bad for her that she hadn’t been many places. Theo himself had been across the world. Not so much as a student of the world, or an individual trying to find their self, but a respectable amount. He had been to Italy, Greece, Mexico, across Canada, and Cuba to name a few. He knew that it was a bad time to mention that as she had been deprived of it. He also thought about saying that he would take her to the mountains again. Cooler heads prevailed though as he stopped himself in his tracks. *That would’ve been a little presumptuous and goofy,* Theo thought. He smiled and replied, “I really do hope you get to go back someday, and I hope you can travel like you seem to want to.” She smirked in response. This is what Theo loved about pillow talking, how it could start at one place and end in another. In the end, both parties would learn about each other too. He loved getting to know people. After sex with someone is the best opportunity for that as there is no longer the professional or social mask that people wear. During sex you see the ugliest parts of people; their ridiculous O-faces, or their nastiest desires. In the end, there is nothing left to hide as the mask that would conceal all your dark wants and desires is lifted. This leaves a perfect opportunity to get down to the person, Theo would tell himself. After sex, Fae’s nasty wants and desires were apparent. Even during sex they could be seen, too. Some would call her a freak. Theo just thought it was awesome that she knew what she liked. She liked it rough. Occasionally Theo would choke her, slap her ass, and squeeze her nipples. She liked the pain. Theo was always worried that he was being too aggressive. After some contemplation he understood that she would tell him if it was, as she always would tell it as it was. He enjoyed being with someone who was comfortable with their own sexuality, no matter how odd. After being with Ary for years, who wasn’t sure what she liked sexually, let alone masturbated, it was refreshing. They continued on the subject, fucked again, then slowly faded into sleep. It was 01:45 am. Morning came all too quickly. The large, clothe-ridden floor of her apartment bedroom was pierced with rays of early morning sunlight. The room was lit, almost completely it seemed. For the second consecutive time, she had forgotten to lower the shades before fading into sleep. There were two large and slender, 6’ - 0” x 3’- 0” windows. The glazing unit furthest from the bed was the same she had opened for ventilation the night prior. Theo was unsure if the window behind the bed was operable. No matter the operation, the windows were allowing in sunlight to the best of their potential. It appeared the sun’s rays were penetrating on all sides of the apartment complex. Sleeping was no longer an option. Theo did not rest well in the daylight he remembered. When he was younger, he would spend most of his free time at his friend Larry’s place. They were close when they were children now estranged. He would stay the night consistently through Elementary and High School. It was a home away from home. The windows were much larger in his house, however. The window spanned nearly the entire wall. Theo would lie in bed, awake. He would be the only one conscious, left alone to his thoughts. He would wait hours before the house was awoke. In those days he didn’t have a phone accessible within arms reach, so he would never know the time. He now found himself in a similar situation, albeit with a device to check the time. He started at the ceiling momentarily. Processing the night before, smiling, he thought of their conversations, the great sex. She had let him finish inside her. She said she had a device that prevented pregnancy. He didn’t know the complexity or details of the device, but he believed her. She had told him that the second time they fucked, even though the first occasion they didn’t use protection. He could almost hear his mother’s furious tone, instructing him to be safe. He had been safe every other sexual encounter in the past 10 years. *Fuck it,* Theo would think. It felt too good not to, even though he rarely would finish. He perceived that to be unusual as he is usually premature. These were new times, new experiences, and new sex. He continued grinning. He couldn’t believe he was here, so soon. He turned his body to her. Her back turned to him, he couldn’t help but compare. *She’s small, and long haired. She almost looks like her hair is dark in the shade of the suns arms. Those curves are similar, I mean for Christ’s sake they have the same birthmark in their ‘V’.* He reached his arm to her hips, elbow half extended. He laid his arm there. It was soft, yet rough on her scaley portion. He would often ponder that her skin reflected her personality. The typical skin was moist and plump. The odd section of skin would expose her Psoriasis. Said aloud, ‘her skin is soft and rigid’, it presented her body as an oxymoron. The comparison to her personality was that she was rigid, tough, aggressive, and sassy. At the same time, she was extremely soft and empathetic to others and their feelings. She was two things that were opposite to each other. He loved the feeling of her skin, though. Theo could tell she was a little conservative and anxious about her skin and her ailment. He did not care, he enjoyed the poetry it depicted. The rough skin almost felt nice, the way a cat’s tongue feels as it licks. After holding his hand on her hip momentarily, he determined she was not yet awake. Once again he was left alone to his thoughts. Initially, his thought were positive, euphoric in a sense. Over the course of an hour, his mind descended, as it does. It started at thoughts such as, ‘I wonder if she had a good time.’, to, ’She probably didn’t want him here anymore, or at all. She got what she needed. Your just an annoyance.’ He hadn’t thought these thoughts about anyone since Ary, two months ago. It could be assumed that was because there wasn’t another occasion where it could be possibly before today, and after the dumping. He noticed the dark pattern and tried to shake himself out of it. He told himself he had, but unconsciously continued the pattern. She rolled over, caressed his arm, indicating she was awake and melting his anxieties away. Her normally large, moist, lake-blue eyes were dry, squinty, slits. She looked tired and barely awake. “Morning.”, she mumbled out while dipping her head into the crevice between his chest and arm pit. “Morning,” Theo said while giggling at her tiredness, “How was your sleep?”. “I need more”. Theo caressed her momentarily. She reciprocated. He then removed his body from hers, and proceeded to apply undergarments and explained that he had to attend an online class. “Ugh, I should get up to.” She managed while remaining motionless. She was lazy and unmotivated. It was like her and his ex were polar opposites. Once half-clothed in underwear and kahkies, he waddled over to the couch, where he left his laptop. He opened it, attended his class, shirtless, belly exposed. He was thankful the class required no student video or he would have been laughed at extensively. The class lasted 20 minutes in what Theo had perceived to be pointless. He regretted leaving the bed, while closing his laptop. He was fully awake now. He trotted carefully back to her room. “You want breakfast?” “mmmm, yeah I would.” Theo shuffled back to her small kitchen, which still appeared as though a herd of bulls had rammed through from the night before. The night before they cooked shrimp fettucine alfredo, which required a lot of cookware. She also only had one sink, and limited counterspace, hence the mess. Theo grabbed the leftover mushrooms from the fridge along with eggs. He built fried eggs and sautéed mushrooms. He called her out to eat. While Theo had a pep in his step, Fae was sluggish. Tired, she staggered to the couch, where she usually ate. She was a slow eater, he noticed. He didn’t spite that. It was a reminder, though. He didn’t need any reminders right now. Those were negative and detrimental he thought. He ignored the thought, grabbed his food and ate beside her on the couch. They talked for a while, in between online classes. They conversed about the night before. Theo apologized for the undercooked fettucine, while she argued that they were fine. They talked about her classes. They made fun of the teachers. They laughed. It was a good morning. Though, Theo detected an increase of awkward silences as time passed. With it being now close to noon, and the fact that she had to work on a presentation, Theo determined it was time to leave. “I better get going, I have work to do, and I don’t want to bother you with your work. I hope you enjoyed me cooking for you, twice. I like feeding you. Even if my noodles are a bit on the al dante side.” He joked while putting on his coat and edging towards the door. She acknowledged he should leave. He couldn’t tell if that was what she wanted or if she was okay with him leaving. He figured she would have told him to leave if that’s what she wanted. She followed him to the door as he was installing his shoes to his feet. “I have fun when I’m here. You’re really easy to talk to. It’s great. Let’s do this again sometime. “, he said, not sure of what else to say. Then, he wasn’t sure what the next move was. Does he go for a kiss? Does he walk out the door? Hug? He was unsure. “Ya me too, I have a good time with you”. She replied with a smile. In that moment he decided: *A kiss it is.* He leaned in, anxiously smiling. She grabbed his head in closer and tangled their lips, occasionally their tongues. He figured the kiss lasted about 40 seconds. It was 40 seconds of aggressive kissing, groping, and lip biting. She lightly pressed her hand against his chest, indicating wanted separation. “You’d better go.” Fae some how said sternly while maintaining a loose smirk. Theo now regretted his decision to leave, but not the decision to lean in. He said goodbye and walked out the apartment complex down two flights of stairs. He opened the glass door leading to the exterior. He unlocked and opened the driver door of his two-door Volvo, started it and drove away. He made a point of not looking back to her second floor window which was centered over the front entrance of the building. As soon as he was out of viewing range from the apartment, he smiled ear to ear. The silence of the road with cut with a sharp, “WOOOOOOOO!”, emitting from Theo’s throat. He felt alive. Now that they were apart, the roller coaster began. Positivity was in abundance Friday, the day he went home, Saturday and Sunday. With each passing day, doubt crept into his mind. ‘Why hasn’t she texted me yet.’ Theo remembered thinking Monday morning before class. All day during various lectures Theo wondered and received no answer or text. He remembered them lying in bed, with his right leg between her two. It was a great moment, so he thought. ‘Does Fae not feel the same about that? Am I just a means to an end for her?’ Even though they had spent so much time together over the past two weeks, his mind trembled with fear. He told himself he didn’t care about her, that this was just a fling. Deep down though, he knew he could not get hurt again. Ary had done damage to him. After 10 years, 10 years, she had called him to tell him that it was over. No forecast could have predicting the downfall. He received no closure, no reassurance, nothing. She had told him the classic, it’s not you it’s me line that would be seen in 9/10 romantic comedies. Although, prior to saying this she had brought to light some character flaws of his. It was most definitely a mixed message. She left him high and dry. She left him alone. She left him shattered. He was over her, only two months later. Anxiety had taken him. The mind inside Theo had convinced him that he was nothing to her, to both of them. That he was nothing to anybody. Theo descended, self-confidence at an all time low. He spoke to no one unless out of necessity for all of Wednesday. He was shattered again, left thinking of the women who left him. Ary had never liked him, just used him for personal need, he told himself. Now Fae, too. At rock bottom, he was all alone. It was Thursday afternoon that he received a message from Fae. It was a meaningless snapchat. Theo didn’t even look at the words. He just stared at the eyes on the screen. *How could eyes possibly be that fucking moist,* Theo thought, bewildered. He left the picture open for 10 minutes, staring, before he let the picture disintegrate into virtual thin air. He didn’t even reply. He sat on his couch wondering how he got so lucky. Was it right time, right place? He would never know. He knew now that he was in the right place at the present. Now he was on top of the wave. He was euphoric. Despite not answering then, conversation had commenced, as the pattern would typically follow. They had arranged another meeting at her apartment for Saturday afternoon. They planned nothing but to spend time together. Saturday, as he left to her place as to arrive fashionably late, he began to worry. The worries stretched from, ‘what do I say?’ to, ’am I replacing Ary? Am I doing what I was told by so many not to do?’. He didn’t care, he was over her. If that was were the wave was headed, then follow it. He continued, feeling light, feeling free. His phone rang in his right-side pocket. While driving he pulled it out. The smile on his face diffused as the word ‘Aryanne:)’ displayed on the center of the screen with an option in red, and an option in green below. While waiting to decide his path he arrived at the apartment. The Volvo was now parked directly across from the window centered above the entry. Fae stared at him through the window, smiling, as he tapped on the green option on his phone.