"They say that a monster lives here," Pawel said between heavy breaths as we loaded the last bale of hay onto the back of his father's wagon, "Did you know that?" "I've heard the story," I said, peering at him quizzically and wiping the sweat from my face. The sun beat down hard on us that day and both of our shoulders were glowing red, "What about it?" "Do you think it's true?" He hopped up onto the back of the wagon and I joined him. My feet ached. I looked down at the battered boots on my feet, the soles coming apart, and made a mental note to visit the cobbler next time I went into town, if I ever got the chance again. "I don't know," I replied, looking at him and shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand. The wagon began to bounce up the dirt path. "And if it is? What then?" "I don't know," He said, peering off in the general direction of the woods with a small shrug, "If there is a beast, maybe it's been protecting us, you know?" "Protecting us? What do you mean, Pawel?" "I mean," he paused for a second as if processing what he would say, "Have you seen any Nazis around here?" "Plenty of them in to-" I started to say but Pawel cut me off with a hand up. "Not in town, Jakub," He said, "Here. They say that a monster lives here, in Skowronka. Maybe the Nazis are scared, eh?" "I doubt it," I mumbled. The village was just a collection of farms with a small market at its center. The SS was not interested in us. They had bigger fish to fry, so to speak. Pawel and I did not talk about the beast the rest of the ride, focusing instead on our various aches and pains, and how his father, who's farm we both worked on was a drunk and an asshole. We parted ways after unloading the hay in the barn and feeding the horses. As I began my walk home from Pawel's farm, I noticed my big toe poking out through the top of my shoe and decided to take a trip into town the next day. I felt confident enough in my German and had a fake story all lined up in case a patrol stopped me. I would be Herman Franz, the German, instead of Jakub Wilkowitz, the Jew. I would be a loyal German man, just on my way to buy some new shoes, nothing more. The road into town from Skowronka was little more than a narrow dirt track, just wide enough for two horses and a cart. No one in the village owned an automobile. I woke up early that morning, had a hard, dry piece of bread with water for breakfast, and started my trek. I had walked nearly ten kilometers before I saw them. Two men in long, gray coats and wearing bright red arm bands emblazoned with swastikas stood leaning against a shiny black car smoking cigarettes. They laughed and spoke loudly in German to one another. As I approached I made out some of their conversation. "Filthy Jew," this, and "Less than dogs," that. I bit back my anger and gave them as wide of a berth as I dared, without looking suspicious. I went past with my eyes fixed on my tattered boots. I could feel their eyes burrowing into me. "HALT!" One of the Gestapo officers shouted just as I passed and my back was to them. I heard the click of a gun cocking. I stopped dead in my tracks and swallowed the fear that had bunched itself up in my throat like a dry rag. "TURN AROUND!" "What can I do for you gentlemen?" I answered in my cleanest German as I turned and put my hands up in surrender, "Is there something wrong?" "What is your name?" Inquired one of the men. He was a perfect Nazi. Tall and lean, his clean-shaven jaw chiseled and his eyes as blue as the sky. The other, a shorter man with black hair and equally black eyes carried a luger casually in his right hand. "Franz," I said with as much confidence as I could muster, "Herman Franz, sir," I kept my eyes down. The man's shoes were black leather and shined to a pristine mirror finish. "Ah! Good!" The Nazi officer smiled, "a fellow German. Tell me, Mr. Franz, what brings you to a backwater shithole like this, hm?" The shorter man laughed. Rage bubbled up in my gut again but I pushed in back down, hoping that I did not look flushed, "Just trying to spread the glory of the fatherland, sir. We common folk must do our part as well," There was a long, tense silence as the officer mulled over what I had said. Finally he took a step toward me and took my stubbled, dirty chin in his immaculate gloved hand. He lifted my face to his and narrowed his perfect blue eyes as they met my common brown ones. "I can tell a liar by the fear in his eyes," he hissed quietly, "And I can smell a Jew from here to Berlin. You wouldn't… lie to me, would you, Mr. Franz?" "O-of course not, sir," I stammered, "Never," The German squinted and stared for a long moment before letting go of my chin and stepping back. "Good," He grinned a satisfied, toothy grin, "Tell me one more thing then, would you?" "Of course," I eyed the other man, still holding the loaded luger a few steps away, "Anything to aid Deutschland, sir," "They say that a monster lives here," the Gestapo officer said, catching me completely off guard. He gestured with both hands to the woods surrounding the wheat fields around us. "Tell me, is it true? Is there some great and terrible beast in these woods that my men should fear?" "N-no, sir," I managed to say trying to puzzle out whether he had heard Pawel and me talking the day before somehow, "Just silly local legends," His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. His lip curled into a slight frown. A tense silence hung in the air around us. Finally, after an eternity, his chuckle broke it. "Of course not!" He laughed, "Only a stupid Jew whoreson would believe such nonsense! Be on your way Mr. Franz, and keep your eyes open for goblins and fairies, hm?" He laughed again and turned to the other man as he waved me away. Both walked back to their vehicle laughing. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as soon as I felt they were out of earshot and hurried on my way to town. The cobbler was closed when I arrived on the outskirts of town. So was the baker, the tailor, the printer and the barrel maker. The entire town was closed, in fact, and I could see German soldiers marching through the streets even from a distance. People were huddled in the plaza, some holding their families close, others, lined up on their knees. There was no fighting, no rebellion or revolt, only quiet defeat and submission. The fighting was in Warsaw, where some still clung to hope that the Red Army would save them, or that the Royal Air Force would destroy the German occupation forces. They would no doubt be on their knees soon as well though. It was already afternoon when I arrived on the hill overlooking the little town, with the sun beginning to set, but I turned and ran before anyone saw me approach. I ran back to my village as fast as I could, cutting through woods and wheat fields rather than using the road. When I got there, it was already dark, but the light of the fires illuminated the little market at the center of the village of Skowronka. There, in the light of the flames, I saw my friends, my neighbor, Ewa, the butcher Igor and his young son, my best friend Pawel next to his drunken father. They were all on their knees as their homes burned around them, a line of men in gray clutching machine guns at their backs and the same perfect Aryan Gestapo officer pacing in front of them. I just stood there and gaped as tears filled the corners of my eyes. "No…" I whispered, "Please. No…" Before I knew what was happening, there was a gun at my back and I was being shoved into the lineup of villagers. Tears streamed down my face as I was pushed to my knees next to Pawel. His face was bruised and one of his eyes swollen shut. The Gestapo officer was shouting over the flames but I did not hear him. He yelled and gestured and delivered his glorious message as though he were Adolf Hitler himself. But I did not hear it. Instead, my mind went to my mother's voice, recorded in some deep dark recess of my memory. They say that a monster lives here, she had said, placing a gentle hand over my heart, a terrible beast that only you can control. Only you can let it loose. Only you can set it free. And so, I did. I dug down into my self and grabbed a hold of the monster within as I had remembered doing only a few times before in some distant past. I felt the skin fall away from my flesh, replaced with coarse black fur. I felt my limbs grow and elongate. My teeth became fangs. My hands, claws. I could hear further, see clearer, and smell… everything; the sweat and fear of the villagers, the acrid smoke, the shit and piss in the German soldiers' pants. I heard the gunshots, felt the bullets biting into my flesh only to be spat back out and the tiny wounds sealed almost instantly. I felt flesh tear between my claws. I smelled the stench of terror as they ran from me. I felt the Gestapo officer's perfect Aryan neck snap like a twig as I tore his throat out with my own teeth. I smelled the blood. The blood. No Nazi patrol ever visited the village of Skowronka in the Polish countryside ever again. They say that that place is haunted. They say that it is cursed. They say, that a monster lives there...


It was a bright, dry Saturday morning in the town of Conistone. Too hot to fight the burning sun by hiding indoors, so it was only natural that my family decided to visit the nearby beach. So, we hopped in the car and off we went, driving carelessly on the bumpy roads. As we were driving, I began to think about all the things I left behind, I had plenty to do at home, the oven needed to be fixed since it was broken, a part of the wooden fence has shattered and needs replacing, but I still went, ignoring everything and being slightly stressed out. When we got there little Timmy jumped out of the car with joy, undressing as he ran, his mother went after him and told him to wait for us, the slower ones. When I was in the water I tried to relax, but after remembering the 35.000 dollars debt I was in, my heart sank. I thought that if I went into deeper waters I would start to enjoy this trip, so I went ahead, the water went from my torso to my elbows. I waved back at Timmy, he was already building a glorious sandcastle, but when I rotated my body again my feet stumbled and I fell off a rock into the water, so deep, my foot didn't touch the ground for almost two seconds. I don't know how to swim, I never learned even though I live near a beach and had plenty of opportunities, I should have panicked, but I wanted to try something. Because I never swam I also never opened my eyes underwater. So when I touched the ground, I got on my knees. I was thinking about how it will be painful to open my eyes, but after something like ten to twenty seconds I finally mustered up the courage and opened them. They stung, but only for a little bit, and then it felt incredibly natural. When I opened my eyes I saw the most gorgeous, breathtaking shade of sapphire blue I have ever seen. I stood there on my knees, as if I was praying, and just admired it. Then, out of nowhere a violet line stroke my vision, it was almost like the aurora borealis, it looked like too much pain has fallen on the canvas and it is now dripping. Then appeared more colors like a bright yellow, green, and shy stain of red. I realized that after so much time looking I was probably already drowning, I didn't feel any air in my chest and I couldn't breathe, but that didn't seem to bother me so much. I felt a weird sense of peace, I have never seen such a beautiful sight in my existence and the only thing I wanted to do was stare at it. I didn't think about anything, I didn't care about anything above the water. After a while I forgot my name, I forgot who I was. In the following seconds after that I forgot that I was there, I forgot that I was existing, the only things that existed were the colors. It was a blissful state. Then, out of nowhere my world got invaded, destroyed in a couple of seconds. A hand, I don't know whos, jerked me by the arm and pulled me up, back where I was standing before. As I was being pulled up the colors were rapidly eaten by a dark blue void. I felt outraged, angry that someone would destroy such a thing. When my head reached above the water I felt even more outraged as I began to cough water. After a while I heard: "Are you ok?", and then came the question, who am I? At that moment all my life came flooding back to me. I responded, between coughs, with a quiet "yes". After reason came back to me I realized that I may have died right there, if I wasn't saved. I felt really thankful for that. My savior helped me back to shore. After resting a bit I went to help Timmy with the sandcastle. I stopped caring, even if just for a while, of all my problems and started enjoying myself, if it hadn't been for the colors I may have never been able to do such a thing.


I ran away from the country. Failing school while selling drugs probably had something to do with it. Primal instincts told me to run away as far as possible. The farthest option was to join the Korean army, so it was the only option. My last week in the states can be summed up as eventful and predictable. There was one last fling with an ex from highschool, drinks shared at the local wing joint with childhood friends, and many tears shed by my parents and sister. I didn’t deserve their love, but it was probably the first time in my life I truly understood that. There’s something weird about traveling across the hemisphere for the first time as a young adult. Naps taken between the flight are accompanied by the same blue ocean until they’re not. Eventually land is visible beneath the clouds and the agitation from sitting on a plane is washed away by the excitement of reaching the east. When I served as a soldier for the Korean army, I lived on an American military post thirty minutes away from the dividing line between North and South Korea. The 4th floor of the barracks I called home oversaw the on-post playground and pizza shop/casino. Working twelve hour shifts for the military police station, I often slept throughout the day and woke up when the sun was about to drop. Trying to sleep while kids were playing and the sun was up was hard at first, but exhaustion from long graveyard shifts proved to be enough to power through. One day the whole barracks were shaking furiously, bombs were going off, and I woke up knowing we were being nuked. Kim Jong-Un kept threatening us about doing it for weeks, but it kind of surprised me to see him actually press the buttons. There is a weird calmness felt understanding that everybody around me would die, that I was about to open my door to death and destruction. Laughter came out as I realized I couldn’t even tell my parents or sister goodbye. I shifted around my closet to put on war gear, and reached for my cigarettes after strapping my boots up. If I’m going to die, I’m dying with a joe in my mouth while stealing one last look at the sky. The sound of bombs going off outside reminded me of my childhood, when I tried to wonder what it’d be like for the people in the twin towers. Would this be more chaotic if people around me were fearing for their lives, if there was a chance to survive? None of that mattered though. Life is too short, and this cigarette gave my one last moment to look forward to. After packing the cigarettes, I stepped outside. There were explosions seen and heard from every direction. All sorts of colors painted the sky. It was the Fourth of July. I looked to my right to find my coworker with a cigarette looking up. “Did you think we were being nuked too?” “Yup.” I forget who asked and who responded. Doesn’t matter. Sharing smokes in that moment not only felt great, but right. An immediate annoyance of waking up to fireworks followed, not to mention the war gear. Work was in a few hours, this was complete and utter bullshit. “Going back to sleep.” “Yup.” I miss the army, and I fucking hated it.


#Chaper I - Part I: Loretta Jones   *** ***   *Knock. Knock. Knock.* My coffee mug landed in a heap of shattered porcelain on the floor of the beach cottage. Anna would’ve killed me. “Sorry, honey,” I muttered, rolling my eyes at my own lunacy. The front lock jiggled. Through the curtain, I saw a small, weathered woman standing on the porch. Her clothing was dark, but not so dark that it hid the smudges of dirt in various places. “Please. Open the door!” She glanced behind her several times and removed her sunglasses. There was something incredibly familiar about her, and yet, I’d never met her. I opened the door, letting a draft of warm, salty air encompass me. “Jeff. I know you won’t believe this…” I squinted and shook my head. “Do I know you?” “Please, don’t freak out. It’s *me*.” Her gaze met mine and I almost collapsed right there. Those eyes. I knew those eyes. *** “I don’t understand.” I threw my arms in the air as I studied the stranger in my living room. “Honey...look, I know it sounds so crazy. And to be honest, you never were very open-minded.” Her eyebrows lifted and she pursed her lips together. She appeared to be amused by her comment. “Well if ‘open-minded’ means believing in,” my fingers drew circles in the air, “whatever this is, you’re right.” I placed my hands on my head as I paced back and forth “No. NO. My wife is *dead.* Has been for two weeks.” Anger stirred within me, my face like coal in the fire. Nausea hung at the back of my throat. “I was there, god dammit! We had a fucking funeral!” I ran the events over in my mind. The accident. The grief. Even this pathetic trip to our beach house, all alone. The woman sighed and studied me with those familiar blue eyes. “You’re right. I was dead. But then…” “No. I’m not gonna fall for whatever the hell…” I motioned to the strange woman, “this is. I don’t know how you knew my wife. And right now, I don’t really care.” The woman stared in silence, with her mouth parted just slightly. She exhaled, and looked at me the way one might look at a child. “I don’t have a lot of time--” “What kinda person would do this? What’s the goal here, lady? What do you want from me?” “Jeff, I don’t want anything. I just thought you ought to know. And I wanted to say goodbye. Properly.” “Stop acting like you know me! You don’t get to come in here and stomp all over my wife’s memory. You know what?” I stormed over to the front door, and opened it. “Get the hell outta my house.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she placed a hand over her mouth. She shook her head. “Don’t, please. I’m not trying to pull anything. It’s me.” The woman sighed and met me at the door. She pushed it closed. “How can I show you? What do you need me to do to prove to you I am Anna?” She glanced at her watch. “I…” Her words were so familiar. The inflections she used at the end of her sentences. The way she paused, waiting for me to take in their meaning. Anna had always done that. “Do you realize how bizarre this whole thing sounds?” “I do.” I walked down the hall and into the kitchen. I heard her footsteps behind me as she followed. As I reached the bar, I turned and saw her stopped, staring at the photos along the wall. She ran her fingers along their edges, hands trembling. She seemed nervous as she fixed her gaze on the last photo. “Do you remember the day this photo was taken?” she said, a hint of a grin on her face. “Of course I do.” “That place...was so beautiful. My favorite part of the whole day was under the waterfall. You whispered that you’d love me longer than the sun would be yellow, and then you took me right there.” She shook her as she scurried into the kitchen and stopped in front of the window. Only Anna would have known that. But this was all so much. I didn’t know what to make of any of it. “So, assuming I believe all of this, who are you… *now*?” “Well, that’s a little tricky. I’m not even sure I fully understand, myself. I just wanted the chance to say goodbye... sugar bear.” She grinned, extending an arm. “I know everything happened so fast.” A shiver trickled down my spine. Those words didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I shook my head. “This is a lot to take in...” “I gotta admit, this body is quite the upgrade.” A hint of a smirk bloomed. But as if an alarm had sounded, her attention quickly fell to the watch on her wrist. She bit her bottom lip, scraping it with her teeth. Anna had also done that, for as long as I could remember. “I can’t...I don’t… Is that supposed to be a joke?” I blinked a couple times and breathed deeply. “Please, don’t look at me like that. I’m still Anna, in here." She placed a hand on her chest and inched closer. “I’m as much me as I ever was.” I met her gaze. She looked like a stranger, from the chestnut brown hair to the pudge around her waist all the way to the beat-up boots on her feet. But she didn’t feel like one. It was something about those eyes, the way she walked, and the softness in her words. “I prayed, you know, for God to take me instead.” I leaned against the counter, feeling my knees buckle. “But this… this is something different.” She nodded and shuffled to the window, peeking in between the slats. There was something uncomfortable about her impatience. Our silence was broken by sirens wailing in the distance, steadily getting louder and closer. I raised my eyebrows. This wasn’t the kind of place that was home to the sound of sirens. Especially not a group of them. “What the hell is going on? What are you looking for?” She peeked out the window again, cursing under her breath. Anna turned to me. “I spent too much time here. You remember that gun your father gave you? I’m gonna need it.” My eyes widened. “Gun? Why would you need a--” The sound of the sirens was overwhelming. Red and blue lights flashed through the windows. I looked back and forth between her and the window. My lips parted, but no words came out. “Forget it, there’s no time.” She rushed to the back door, one hand on the knob. “Sugar bear, I wish I could stay and explain more. I love you.” “Where are you going?! Why are all these police outside, Anna?” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come back here. I shoulda stayed dead.” “No. I’m...I’m glad. I mean...I’m happy to see you. But what’s with the police?” “They think I’m Loretta Jones. And people around here see everything.” She tapped her foot impatiently. “*The* Loretta Jones?*” A realization washed over me. She bore a striking resemblance to the fugitive. Anna was halfway out the door. I was stunned; how could any of this be real? But there was no time left to ponder. I fetched a large metal box from the side closet. My hands were trembling as panic and adrenaline surged through my body. I knew exactly what I had to do. “Anna, wait!”   *** ***   - Chapter I - Part II coming soon! And yes, I am mostly pantsing this entire thing. (I'm sure I'll grow to regret all my decisions.) - This story originally began on . - Feedback and critiques welcome.


Placing a small headband littered with a few small blue flowers in my hair, I look at myself in the mirror and wish I had chosen a different hair style. This one makes me look too much like the one person I never want to be. I shrug to myself, knowing there is not much time now before I have to leave, so there is no fixing my hair to a different style. Hopefully, dressing myself with a smile is all I need to not be seen as him. Turning to the door, I make my way down to my car and drive over to my Grandma’s house. I have known her as Mawmaw my entire life, but I have to always explain to people what Mawmaw even means, so I always introduce her as Grandma at first. Now that I have everyone on the same page, let’s get back to the story I wanted to share. I am on her doorstep, oh I forget how I got here so quickly. I must have spaced out on that drive thinking about what I need to get done at her house. I glance at my reflection in the rear view mirror, noticing the smile does help. From the car, I hear Mawmaw’s dog yapping. She has the ugliest mini-chihuahua called Betsy. Betsy hates everyone, even Mawmaw honestly, but they are two peas in a pod. I knock slightly, causing Betsy to crank up the yipping. I stare at the fecal brown door wondering if Mawmaw is in the back of the house or basement, so I knock again. I hear some shuffling, it might be a few more moments but I know she heard me now. Betsy calms down a bit so Mawmaw must have also threatened her with her cane. I continue to stare at the door with it’s grumpy looking mat that says ,” STAY AWAY!!!”. At least it doesn’t have anything that reminds me I look like the worst human in the world. Taking my thoughts back to the door and house, I realize the whole front of this house matches Mawmaw perfectly, cantankerous and unwelcoming. Finally reaching the door, Mawmaw throws it open with a humph. She yells back at Betsy to shut up, though I don’t understand why since that dog never bothers to obey. Betsy has come racing, yipping to the door and Mawmaw whips her cane in the teensy terror’s way and she skids back narrowly avoiding the stick of doom. At this point, I think Betsy has seen the error of her ways and yips quietly from a distance while glaring at me with those black, buggy, alien-like eyes. I think she used to be cute, but it must have been fleeting. My attention going back to Mawmaw, I see the same glare. “Well! Are you coming in or letting my heat out!? I am missing my program cause you are here”, she says shortly, already turning back into her hallway and shuffling down to the living room. “Shut that door and lock the locks”, she calls back to me. Slipping off my black ankle boots, I place them in the shoe rest. Betsy eyeing me the entire time. She knows I bring her bribes. I pull some of the kibbles from my pocket and give them to her as I walk past. I follow Mawmaw to her favorite room of the house aside from the basement, where she teases she has buried the bodies of those who annoy her most. The family thinks it is a joke she tells, but I am sometimes not sure that it is a complete lie. She finished marching, as well as an 82 year old woman who walks with a cane can march over to her seat in the living room. I see she has gained a few dozen more magazines and newspapers. Looking at the covers I notice they are her usual fare of absurd and magical stories that aren’t usually true, but she loves them. She sits down, wiggling her rump into the perfect spot on her chair, grabs her aghan, props her cane against the armrest of the chair, and leans back with a satisfied sigh. You would think she has just finished a hard day’s work in the garden, not walked the 20 feet to and from the door. “Clear yourself a seat girl, and don’t you dare move Betsy’s bed”, She says to me sharply while unmuting her program. Standing there for a few seconds more I find a place I can clear off to sit, it is just a wooden chair off to the right of her. Before clearing myself a spot and settling in, I do what I always do when I first arrive. “Mawmaw, do you need anything before I get comfortable? I think a cup of tea sounds delightful, what about you?” I knew this would upset her, for some reason she doesn't like me in the kitchen. “You stay out of my kitchen!” She snaps at me, this time looking away from her TV show to make sure I am thoroughly afraid of her. I am not. “Don’t be sensitive Mawmaw, I was only offering a warm beverage”, I placate. “It isn’t helpful, you go in there and put things away in all the wrong places thinking you know better and…..” Interrupting her, “ That is because your idea of putting stuff away is to leave it all on the counter Mawmaw.” She almost screams to me “That is so I can reach it!” “Ok ok, I forget you are old and short, you don’t need to get short with me about it” winking at her I hope she gets the joke. She is about to say something back at me in return, but lets out a few humphs and sighs instead. She mutters under her breath, shakes her head at me, then looks back to her tv program. I relinquish my fight at this time to make her tea, and make sure she has enough groceries. She is either going along with the ruse or hasn’t picked up on my true motive of annoying her with the dishes. When I am “rummaging and ruining” her kitchen, I’m actually taking down a grocery list for her. Yes, she still goes out shopping for her groceries herself, but I began to notice she didn’t have a lot in her cupboards. Since she isn’t the tidiest of people, I have found her bank statements and noticed she doesn’t have a lot budgeted towards food. To help her, I go out and buy her the more expensive delicacies that she is unable to afford or maybe just won’t spoil herself with. Truthfully, I am not sure if she just forgets that she didn’t buy them or we have a silent agreement to not speak of it. Looking around the room, I realize how messy it is. She hasn’t been in the mood for cleaning it seems. I move the old magazines from the chair, placing them gently on the table that already seems to be holding more than its fair share of books and papers, and is that a banana skin? I will deal with that later. Sitting down, I look over at Mawmaw to see if she noticed me assessing my cleaning priorities, she is still staring at her program. Betsy now comes in, she stayed away to let me be the sole target for the scolding, and sits on her bed. Her bed are the other two cushions on the couch next to Mawmaw. The couch only has three sections and the dog takes up the majority of it. Betsy is 3 pounds. It is ridiculous that Mawmaw lets her, but that dog seems to be the only thing that keeps making Mawmaw happy, if you can call how she is happy. We watch some daytime television, Mawmaw makes rude comments to everyone on the show, but she seems to enjoy this daily ritual of hers. I do my best to come and see her two to three times a week. Most of the family hate Mawmaw because she is quite cantankerous and can come across as uncaring and ungrateful. She is rude, gruff, and can be generally unpleasant but she hasn’t been nasty to me. She has always been the one to fully support me in all my crazy ways. I don’t mind her for her ways either. She is in her own way a good soul. Unlike the person I see in my reflection. I wish I looked a bit more like MawMaw did at my age, then I wouldn’t hate myself so much. She is a much better person than the son she created. Like I previously mentioned, I’ve seen her budget. Maybe she could afford herself some better treats for her meals, but she gives most of her meager pension to orphans and charities. I was surprised to see this, but she has done a lot of research in her charities and really cared about where she was placing her money. She would rather go without her favorite meal, salmon with asparagus and rice pilaf, than not pay towards some kid in Africa to have a decent meal. That’s where I step in and make sure she has her salmon for her rice pilaf. I admire her, she is a strong fighter. She didn’t have to take care of me when I was a kid and my parents were nowhere to be found, but she did the right thing and made me a bedroom and got me into the right schools. She always provided my meals, a good education, and unwavering support. She was, is, and will always be rough around that edges but this is a woman who did the best she could for me. She isn’t a nurturer, but she loved me through her actions. She also never asked me to be anything but me, not many of my friends growing up had that same freedom. Mawmaw is a grump and likes her space. She may appear annoyed or inconvenienced about my visits, but I know she appreciates them. It makes me happy when she tells me about the meals she found in her fridge, or the “Thank you” text I get a few days later after I cleaned some of the parts of her house. I helped her with her garden a lot last year and then the canning. That was a feat I am not looking forward to helping her with again, but it keeps her so happy and healthy that I will have to help. My favorite thing to do is to put her dishes in the wrong spot, just to irritate her. Please don’t tell her that though. After watching about a half hour's worth of the daytime program where the host of the show brings on celebrities to mock them or shock them, I finally get up and start heading to the kitchen. “Just where do you think you are walking off to young lady?” she calls to me without peeling her eyes from the tv. “It is time for tea”, I quip. “Don’t touch those dishes” “I make no promises” I reply as I move her cane away from her “You trickster! If you even dare think of touching those dishes I will bag up all of Betsy’s poop and hide it in your car the next time you come over!” Already in the kitchen, I grin and examine the kitchen. I have to clean it, she hasn’t touched it since earlier this week. Debating my options, I go ahead and start cleaning the kitchen. Next week I will just have to deal with dog poop in the car. I know I will because this won’t be the first time she has done this. She is the person that does not make empty threats. Treating her well makes me feel less like the person I see most prominently in the mirror that reflects the side of me I wish I didn’t have to see. She may have created him, but he clearly didn’t see the love and care she does give. My reflection will eventually not bring me shame or sadness, but that is a story for another day.


It all began on the dirt paths outside of home. Mai had been running for gods-know how long. Her body hadn’t yet started to break down, but it was a matter of time until it began; she was but mortal, with mortal trappings and limitations. The young noble’s skirts swirled and flowed around her legs as she ran at top speed through the forest. Her lungs burned and screamed at her to stop, take a break, just for a drink of water, but Mai couldn’t afford that. A sharp reminder in the form of a thrown knife soared over her shoulder, leaving a gash in her cheek. It buried itself in a tree trunk; as Mai ran past, she snatched the hilt with a snort of disdain. *Sloppy. They were getting sloppy…and tired. Couldn’t they have just hired a decent catspaw and get this over with?* Finally, her heart couldn’t take it. It stole the breath from her lungs, forcing the young void genasi to a stop. She sat a moment, chest heaving. Water had never tasted so sweet, and Mai drank from her waterskin with the fervor of a desert traveler on the road for weeks. And that’s when she saw him. A human boy, the same age as her. Maybe her age, maybe a bit older; it was hard to tell with humans, sometimes. A little rough around the edges; dark hair scruffy from days on the road, dirt soaked into his clothes. Though the longsword at his hilt gave her pause - it was *nice*, the kind that could be found in the armory at home, it was far more likely the child of a smith than another child of nobility. Why would nobility wear dirt so proudly, smile so brazenly? There was something about that face, though. It needled the back of her brain, fuzzy with TV static. Perhaps she had run across him in Chūkū no mura during her last excursion in town, or during one of her father’s many court parties. There was just something so familiar about him… A pair of curious green eyes met her gaze, which had lingered just a tad too long for common courtesy. The void genasi immediately broke it off, getting to her feet and turning away. Before she could speak, a second dagger identical to the one in her hand in her hand pinned her to the tree by her forearm, just outside the boy’s view. Mai bit her tongue. No way was she giving them the satisfaction of a cry of pain. She would go down like a lady. The boy melted away into the shadows. Good. He’d left. She would hate to involve a stranger in her family business. With her company gone, the catspaw revealed himself: some other human in black garb, face hidden beneath a swath of cloth. At his hilt was an array of daggers like the ones in her hand and arm. Even though his face was hidden, Mai could swear she saw the catspaw smirk. “So, do I at least get the pleasure of knowing which of my wonderful siblings sent you?” No response. The catspaw simply drew nearer. Despite her better efforts, Mai felt her breath grow shallower. Was this what fear felt like? Anyone normal would be scared, with their death drawing ever closer. But she wasn’t just anyone. As they came to a stop not but five feet away, Mai turned her head up, violet eyes narrowed to slits. “No? Did they take your tongue as well as your agency when they adopted you into whatever Fates-forsaken place you work for? You speak when spoken to!” Silence. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’m sure my father will find the information some other way.” Those words gave the catspaw visible pause. The Daimyo of Death. Though there was plenty of time for the inheritance to settle, it was well known that Mai was a favorite for the spot despite her…wilder inclinations. It was also well known what exactly would come to pass to those who would harm even a hair upon her head, should the word reach the Daimyo’s ears. “Perhaps we could work something out. What did they pay you? I have gold, platinum, jewels. We could go separate ways, you with a heavier purse, and me to vanish and never be heard from again. And this little scene? Never happened.” He seemed to truly think it over. Mai felt her heart flutter, hope warming her soul. Perhaps…? Reality hit in the form the cold steel of a second dagger in her other arm. For a moment, all Mai could see was the blade embedded in her flesh. Then the pain hit, and she couldn’t hold back a yelp as she was forced flush against the trunk of the tree. Again, beneath that mask, Mai could swear the catspaw was smirking. “I’ve heard tales about this dress. Handmade, just for you. Some worthless concubine’s daughter, in clothes this nice.” He tilted his head. “That silk’s worth a pretty penny, you know. Maybe if you let take it off you, I’ll have a bit of mercy.” Terror surged through the young genasi as the catspaw stepped forward, but she kept her face neutral. She was going to die here. No, not just die…but she couldn’t think about that now. Blood rushed to her head, heartbeat thudding in her ears. She had to find a way out of this. She *had* to. Mai spit at his feet. “Go to the Hells, you piece of-“ And that’s when the boy reappeared. Longsword now drawn, he descended from a nearby tree and cleaved a hand clean off her sibling’s hiree. Letting out his own roar of pain, the man stumbled back as the human boy from before positioned himself in front of Mai. For all of a moment, Mai could see him grown up, clad in plate and a knight’s helmet. Her protector. Then she blinked the dust from her eyes, and once again a young boy remained. For just the briefest of moments, Mai let that hope work its way back into her chest. “Who are you? What do you want with her?” The boy stood his ground. He’d obviously been trained. For a moment, Mai forgot her circumstances and admired his form from her position against the tree. Perhaps she might be fine after all. “Just to bring her back to her father. This one’s a runaway. Surely you wouldn’t get between a father and his daughter?” “And would her father approve of the daggers in her arms? Or the removing of her skirts?” The catspaw’s eyes went wide. He looked from the boy to Mai and back to the boy. A tense silence ensued; again, Mai could hear her heart thundering in her ears. Then the hiree shook his head, grabbed his hand from where it rested on the ground, and walked off into the woods without another word. After a couple minutes, the crunch of leaves beneath his boots faded into the forest’s natural ambience. When the boy turned back around, Mai did her best to fight back tears and wear a smile. It wasn’t long before her composure cracked; she broke down, tears streaming down her purple cheeks. The boy seemed to panic a bit at the sudden change in demeanor, but quickly got to work removing the daggers from her arms. Almost immediately Mai’s legs gave out, the stranger catching her in a quick embrace before she could hit the ground. “It’s alright, miss. I’ve got you.” Mai let herself be comforted for a moment. Not two miles from here, the person who would typically do this job would be growing cold soon. Surely her father would have come across the body, found her missing. More than any catspaw, Mai feared her father’s wrath once he discovered that she had fled the scene, though the dead body of the second catspaw alongside her mother’s might alleviate her punishment a bit. “…do you have a name I could use, perchance?” Mai blinked, quickly becoming aware of the muscled chest she was nestled against. Immediately she shoved the boy away, face burning a more reddish purple than usual. With a quick wave of her hand, the void genasi cleaned up her clothes and recomposed herself. “My name is none of your business. Now, I know a favor when a favor is due; if you could come with me, I think I know something which might suit your tastes.” Chūkū no mura wasn’t too far off; she could probably get there within the hour, if she hurried. The young noble began to walk through the forest again, with purpose. The boy followed behind after a moment. Now that they were standing side by side, Mai could see he easily had a couple inches on her; she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His dirt-soaked clothes were as well made as the longsword, which now rested at his hip once more. Who in the world was this kid? “I’m Wolfgang, by the way.” The name hit that same wall in the back of her head, rested on the tip of her tongue. Familiar, so very familiar. But from where? “You can call me Hu-san.” “Husan? Alright.” “No, Hu-san. Like with the honorific.” “Ho-no-rific? That’s a big word, Husan. Big words for kids like you and me.” Mai was about to rip into him when she heard the rumblings of laughter from within Wolfgang. He was just fucking with her. With a roll of her eyes, Mai returned her attention to the road ahead. “So…where are you taking me, Hu-san?” “To the best ramen shop I know. My father knows the person who runs it. I might be able to get a message home from there.” “And what’s a ramen?” Horrified, Mai whirled around. “Do you even know what a dumpling is?” “Like spaetzle?” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.” “Like spaetzle. Got it.” ——— The Underwater Blossom was just as delicious as Mai remembered. Though he enjoyed the ramen as she did, Wolfgang took a special shine to the gyoza, quickly collecting a small pile of side dishes beside him. It was almost impressive how many he managed to eat at once, though his use of chopsticks could stand to be a little better. When she had a moment, Mai excused herself to “the bathroom” and disappeared into the back room. It was a place she’d spent many hours of her life, waiting as her father and the establishment owner talked business. Dai Akibara was a lovely man of many talents: cooking, running a business, but most of all: networking. Mai had no idea how much blood was shed to make sure this restaurant was still standing, and she didn’t really want to know. “Little Hu, as I live and breathe. I can’t help but notice you come accompanied by an unfamiliar face. Does your father know you’re here?” “I need you to take a message for me.” Akibara didn’t question it, simply grabbing a piece of parchment from his desk. When a Hu made an order, he listened. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.” “I’m fine and well. I just wandered into the woods. Stopped to smell the blossoms. I will be home soon, don’t worry too much. You can reach me the usual way if you need something.” Akibara scribbled each word down on the parchment in his neat Hokutan script. “And will that be all, little Hu?” She hesitated. “…tell him I’m sorry about Mom.” Akibara’s face contorted with confusion, but he wrote it down in his typical chicken scratch. “Anything else?” “That should be good. Another order of the gyoza, for the road. My companion did me a great service and I wish to repay him for his efforts.” “Does that have anything to do with those slashes in your sleeves?” She waved a hand over her sleeves, the silk suddenly continuous once more. “What slashes?” Akibara let out a sigh. “Amai.” Mai stiffened at the use of her given name. “Be careful. You’re always welcome here.” So it wasn’t a lecture. The muscles Mai hadn’t even realized had tensed up relaxed. “I will be, Uncle Aki. Just make sure Papa gets that note, okay?” “Alright, Little Hu. Now head out there. The gyoza should be there by the time you take your seat again.” With a brief hug, he sent her off. True to his word, Wolfgang was surrounded by a dozen extra plates when she sat down, piled high with dumplings of all kinds. Claiming a couple for herself, Mai began to pack her remaining dumplings into her mess kit for later. After performing the dance of payment - Mai offering her gold, Akibara refusing, and Mai insisting - Mai headed outside and back to the mouth of the forest. Wolfgang followed. “So, I suppose this is where we split ways. I can give you some of the dumplings if you’d like.” “Thank you, Hu-san. They were delicious, truly.” Wolfgang paused a moment. “Do you need to be home right this minute?” Mai thought about it for a moment. “Not really.” She blinked, almost surprised by her immediate response. “You want to see what’s on the other side of that mountain?” The young boy pointed off into the distance, where the crest of Hana no yama peeked through the trees. Tales told of a dragon who lived at the mountain’s peak and would grant a wish to any brave enough to ascend to his lair. They exchanged a glance. Then Mai shrugged. “You know what? Sure. And it’s Mai, by the way.” “Alright, Mai. Let’s get going, then.” And so they did.


Toro gazed upon the icy lake that lay before him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its waves appeared from seemingly nowhere, each rising and crashing down without any semblance of order. It stretched out far beyond any sensical measure of space, reaching out to touch the surrounding forest and weave through the ancient stones of the valley. Toro understood that this was not a lake, and yet, that is exactly how the elders had described it to him. To him he saw an enigma of a supernatural element, something that defied rationality. This marked Toro with an unmistakable sense of discomfort and a burning desire to return back through the forest and up the mountain to where he could find familiarity and the reality he knew. But despite the permanence of this feeling, he repressed it and hardened his exterior with metaphorical armour, however transparent. Toro was a boy of instinct. He never understood why this made him so different to the other children, he only knew this made him stronger. A guiding light existed within him, something that lit a path ahead that he could only dare to follow. Since when he could remember he allowed this light to take control and make his decisions. He found comfort in listening to its assertiveness. It was right. It was true. The unnerving task that Toro had been set by his elders was clear; to strip himself of his clothes, follow an abandoned stone pathway through a heavily wooded forest before finally coming to a lake some three kilometres in. The commands seemed strange to a young boy, but considering his surreal circumstances, Toro thought it best to heed the elders’ advice diligently - for otherwise he feared putting his training in peril. He especially did not understand how his clothes had any bearing on the task, but his internal thoughts deemed them unfit for further questioning. Observing the lake, Toro’s brain struggled to compute and properly receive what his eyes met, this almost induced a state of psychosis. The lake that lay before him could not possibly be real. Could it? Through the extreme cold and sheer immensity of such a body of water, Toro’s senses cried out in pain at the warning signs elicited by the water. He could only stand there in disorder. As crisis management, he looked internally. He searched for the light within but instead found a void, empty of purpose or answers. Toro - through some surge of pain - knew he needed to compel a certain aspect of his body to edge closer to the bank alongside the water. A chilling wind bit away at his exposed body, heightening his sense of vulnerability, but it was this feeling he thought better than to dwell upon. It was his training now he knew needed to prove itself. At this moment, he took a few steps forward. Careful not to physically contact the lake, Toro’s feet were now firmly planted right on the edge of the water. Chilling daggers swirled in the water, making it obvious what was now required from this point. His life felt in grave danger, yet the stars above aligned themselves in perfect formation. He closed his eyes and tried to picture strength, but instead his mind reflected images bearing fear and uncertainty. What was taking place? Where was the eternal light he usually found within? He realised this could not possibly matter now. None of it could. He was here at this moment. Something about this seemed likely destiny. With no further deliberation - Toro spread his arms like an eagle and plunged into the deep abyss. Vanquished from this earth, he began to soar. A dark ice summoned his Being and Toro finally observed the guiding light he had always followed. He thought about its meaning and about his past and future. Did the light belong to him? Or did he belong to the light? Whatever the case, it did not matter now. The two were separate Beings, but yet they had never been more at One. This was his abstraction, Toro thought. This could only be his destiny.


"Anna, I know you consider me a friend, but there's no time like the present, so here it goes. I've loved you since I first saw you; you're beautiful, funny, and one of the smartest demons I've ever met. Do you think we could be more than just friends?" Aiden, the demon said as he was sucked away from his conversation and transported to the summoning bureau. "Are you serious?" Aiden was enraged. A summoning bureau demon clerk has a case file for Aiden to review. "It appears that we have three teens who were curious by something they read on the internet and were successful in summoning a demon. You were chosen for summoning duties in a random lottery," said the demon clerk. "They encourage you to vote, and then you start getting summoned all the time," Aiden says angrily to the clerk. "I'm sorry, that's how it works," the clerk said as she pressed a button, sending Aiden to the human realm. He enters the bedroom, surrounded by candles and pentagrams, with three emo teenage girls. The summoning of a demon is extremely unpleasant for the demon, and Aiden howls in agony. The three emo teenagers screamed and left the room in terror. Once a demon enters the human realm, they have to stay there for 24 hours, meaning that Aiden will not get an answer to his question until the end of that time. Demons have regular lives, just as humans; they have relationships, go to the laundromat, and even attend school. The school curriculum consists primarily of horror films and other propaganda depicting humans negatively; there is little doubt that history, tradition, and experience contribute to demons' negative views against humans, and vice versa. Aiden quickly becomes invisible, as he has been taught in school. This is his third summons in two months, and he's fed up and ready to take it out on some humans. To make matters worse, Aiden glances around the room and notices a bottle of holy water, a crucifix, and a Bible. "Wonderful, an exorcism," Aiden thought to himself. An exorcism is one of the worst summonses a demon can receive; it's torment. Aiden sees the emo teen's younger sister and instantly takes control of her body. He employs some of the school-taught tactics, such as rotating her head 360 degrees, gushing puke, and, of course, turning crucifixes upside down. He's been on enough summonings to know what's going to happen next: the family will freak out, they'll call the priest, and then they'll make with the holy water, the Latin, the power of Christ compels you, blah, blah, blah. Aiden liked frightening this family, but his thoughts are with Anna; he loves her. As Aiden predicted, the priest arrived a few hours later, and the exorcism began, over 18 hours of suffering for a demon. His time ran out, and he was forced to return to the demon realm. As soon as he got back, he dashed to Anna to hear her response. Anna was surprised to see him when he arrives. "Has it really been 24 hours, Aiden?" she asked. "Yes, my love, I couldn't wait to see you again," Aiden said. "Oh, that's nice," Anna said, playing it nonchalantly. "So, do you have nothing to say about my admission?" Aiden asked. "About that," Anna continued, "we're such good friends; I wouldn't want to mess things up with a romance," Aiden was devastated. The love of his life has friend-zoned him. Aiden plunged into profound despair after being rejected by Anna; he didn't care about anything. Aiden was surrounded by pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, and the stench of his own filth a few weeks later. He was abruptly summoned back to the summoning bureau, where the same clerk was sitting behind the desk. "Okay, we have a religious zealot who believes a demon will aid him in smiting people who have wronged him. I guess he's in for a surprise," the clerk said, trying to make light of the situation. Aiden aggressively ignores her. "Whatever, just push the button." Despite the agony, Aiden couldn't muster enough strength to roar, only a wince. He didn't care, and he was going to make it known that he didn't care. "Finally, I will no longer be overlooked, not with the might of a demon on my side," the religious zealot declares, surrounded by torches and pentagrams. Aiden calmly walks right past the zealot and out the door. "Hey, where are you going? Aren't you going to assist me in exacting vengeance on those who have treated me unfairly?" The zealot said, perplexed. Aiden keeps walking, so depressed and enraged that he doesn't care if he's visible. He wanders the human realm's streets, alone and dejected. This summoning occurs in New York City; therefore, a demon that was visible to humans was no big deal; just another eccentric on the subway. In fact, Aiden sat next to a human on the L train, and it didn't phase them in the slightest. "How's it going, buddy?" The human asked. Aiden chose to ignore him. "Hey, I get it, but I told my shrink I would talk to 10 new people this week, and I've already started with you, so what do you say? My name's Arthur." "Aiden," he said. "So, tell me, what's bugging you?" Arthur asked. "I don't want to talk about it," an enraged Aiden said. "Look, no matter what happened, things get better. For example, take me, my wife cheated on me, left me, took my children, and now I pay HER alimony. If you only take one piece of advice from me, it's this: don't skimp on the lawyer," Arthur stated. "Yeah, I've had no luck with love either; it's not worth it," Aiden said. "Oh, a fresh wound, you sound exactly like me six months ago. Let me guess: you're depressed, you don't want to do your job, and you're always angry," Arthur said. "You get it; there's no point in putting yourself out there; all you get in the end is hurt," Aiden said. "I'm not sure about that. People will tell you that there are other fish in the sea, but that's nonsense. However, the only way to get out of your funk is to have some fun. If the right one comes along, the right one comes along; there's no pressure; you simply have to let it happen," Arthur said. Aiden commented, "You sound like a damn fortune cookie." "Heck, I got tonight off; why don't you be my wingman? We'll meet some people, drink some cocktails, and forget about our exes," Arthur said. "I don't think so; all I want is to be alone," Aiden responded. "Come on, what else you got going on? Chicks like the bulked-up bad-boy type, I need you, man," Arthur stated. "All right," Aiden said, "I'll have one drink." That night, Arthur and Aiden went to a bar and met some delightful people; they sang karaoke, played bar trivia, and Aiden even got so drunk that he did a coyote ugly dance on the bar; much to the horror and fright of most of the patrons. The bottom line is that Arthur helped him forget about Anna while also demonstrating to him that not all humans are as evil as demons are taught in school. Aiden's summons had expired by the morning, and he was returned to the summoning bureau, where the same clerk sat behind the counter. Aiden remembered how he had treated her the previous two times he had been there. "Hey, it's you. I apologize for the past couple of summons; I was in a bad mood at the time, and it wasn't ideal timing. I should not have taken my frustrations out on you," Aiden said. "No problem, I get that all the time; no one enjoys summoning duty; at least you apologized," the clerk said. "My name is Aiden. You're always pleasant in this difficult job; I just wanted to express my appreciation," Aiden said. "My name is Jackie. I get off in a half-hour; maybe you could tell me more about how you appreciate me while you buy me a drink." Aiden smiles.


#Note for SerSunners: *Note: We have several new writers that have recently joined us. That’s so exciting! Please make sure you are reading the entire post each week, and following all rules and requirements. **You are required to leave two feedback comments on the thread (on a total of two stories, not two on one) by 12pm, est, the following Sunday.*** #Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   *** #This week's theme is Dissonance! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘dissonance’. Examples of this are found everywhere. It can be something as small as a disruptive sound or contrasting notes in music. Dissonance can be a disagreement or inconsistency between people, places, or things. This could be external, laid bare for the world to see, or something more internal, within your characters. This is an excellent time to build some real conflict within your world. What does that look like? How does that affect their plans and motivations? Will this cause a rift between the other characters? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   *** #Feedback on the Serial Sunday feature Please take a moment this week to fill out about SerSun. Let me know what you like, what you don’t, and what you think could be improved. There may be some bonus points in it for the writers (be sure to list your username in the form). Thank you in advance!   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * July 18 - Dissonance (this week) * July 25 - Expectations * August 1 - Balance   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story.** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on 2 different stories) to quality for rankings every week.** The comment **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments**, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * **Saturdays I will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see breakdown at the bottom of this post). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings What a full week! We had a total of 21 stories submitted. New stories began, others progressed, and they were all so good! Thanks to everyone who participated this week, and those who joined in the Campfire, helped read them all, and provide feedback for those who were present. - - u/Xacktar   - - u/nobodysgeese   - - u/stickfist   - - u/Ahoroar   - - u/chunksisthedog   - - u/Sonic_Guy97   - - u/habituallyqueer   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Here’s the breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 6 points - Second place - 5 points - Third place - 4 points - Fourth place - 3 points - Fifth place - 2 points - Sixth place - 1 point **Feedback:** In order to be eligible for feedback points, you have to complete your 2 required feedback comments. - Written feedback (on the thread) - 1 point each, up to 3 points (5 crits total on the thread) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. * *Note: Completing the max for both is equivalent to a first place vote. Keep in mind that you should not be using the same feedback to receive both written and verbal feedback points on the same story. Your feedback should be actionable and list at least one thing the author has done well.* **Nominations:** Making nominations for your favorite stories will now earn you extra points! - 3 points for sending your favorite stories to me, via DM, by 12 pm Sunday, EST. You may send a max of **six** nominations. (The 3 points are the total.)   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! *Please be sure to read the entire post. There are a couple new additions.* Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **** **Bonus Points: Use of a circular narrative (ending the same way it begins).** This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.). The bonus points constraint is *not* required. Good words to all!   *** #Feedback on the Micro Monday feature Please take a moment this week and fill out . Let me know what you like, what you don’t, and what could be improved. Bonus points this week for those writers who fill it out! (You must include your reddit username to receive points.) Thanks in advance!   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and spotlights. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write to submit nominations!   *** #Spotlights The stories were all so very good this week! I loved the variety this week, so many interpretations on the mysteriously appearing door. We’re going to try something a little different. There will be three spots, one category. (Use of the constraint, upvotes, feedback, and nominations all count for points. And occasionally bonus points!) - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - - Submitted by u/jimiflan - - Submitted by u/rudexvirus - - Submitted by u/Cody_Fox23   *** ###Subreddit News - We’ve recently updated our subreddit rules. Please take a moment to or take a look at our sidebar. - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Two hundred and eighty-six feet above the forest floor, Tavaaris dangled from a rope. The leather of his harness creaked gently as it held him, and the Old Steel used to fashion the hardpoints had never been known to fail. All that being said, Tavaaris hated heights. He continued to mutter prayers to his forebears as he tried to muster the resolve to continue up the corpse he was scaling, anxiously rubbing one of the many charms between thumb and forefinger he had tied to himself. Tavaaris’ world was a new one. His people had come forth from ancient crypts, facing a sky ablaze and frozen lakes, corpse-strewn forests and shattered mountains. The wisewomen had claimed that as Tavaaris’ people had been born, so too had the planet, though the world’s birth was a difficult one, wreathed in flame and death. His people hid below while the heavens wailed and gnashed. Very few survived this period, or so he was told. But that was long ago. The world now enjoyed skies of purest white, and the air smelled sweet, although no sound made it this far up - save the furious beat of his heart in his chest, as he tried to calm his frayed nerves. He inhaled, focused on the silence, and closed his eyes a moment, letting go of the charm and steeling himself. Staying here wasted valuable time, so he gripped the rope and resumed his ascent. His village regularly sent out explorers and treasure-seekers to map the world and bring back valuable objects - Like the Old Steel of his harness - which is how he found himself this far up in the air in the first place. It’s known that many objects of interest can be found in places strange and common, but the truly spectacular finds always came from the world-corpse; ancient, rotting remains of a man the size of a mountain, wrought entirely from Old Steel, and located in the center of some of the most treacherous terrain the world offered, among mountains torn in half and boiling lakes of poison. It was not a journey for the faint of heart, and this was Tavaaris’ second time here; not enough to shake the feeling of anxiety that came with every few feet he ascended. The world-corpse was a functional mountain edifice; sheer cliffs going up hundreds of feet, ecosystems and floral biomes occurring within and without of the steel. Trees blossomed on the exterior, vines crept along limbs larger than can be imagined. It was unclear to Tavaaris if the creature had ever lived, or if it was a monument of some kind. He did know that nothing lived near here aside from plants - not a single creature called the miles surrounding the world-corpse its home. The approach to the corpse was both near-fatal from the hazards, and funereal in silence. Up and up his ascent took him. The entrance to the world-corpses’ innards took place through a shattered glass plate about 500 feet off the ground. The hole itself was three times again Tavaaris’ height, and the opening was practically a needle-hole, relative to the scale of the world-corpse itself. His people had tried to create easier entrances on some of their expeditions here over the many years of journeys, but the Old Steel had never acquiesced to the insistence of their cutting or bashing tools. As he ascended, Tavaaris ruminated on his extreme fortune; He had never been particularly good with contributing to his tribe in the capacity of a community leader or organizer, and he had little interest in family. All told, the fact he could grow his people’s prosperity via clever use of bow, his eyes, and courage beat exile any day of the week. He pulled himself into the cavernous hall atop the world-corpse. Even after hundreds of years, nature still did not dare to intrude. The smallest of lichens and thinnest vines had crept up the colossal body and could be seen tiptoeing - or the plantlife equivalent - into the interior. Shattered glass, torn steel, and the endless colored thin serpentine shapes bursting from the walls in repose defined the room. Old Steel made plants flee at its presence. There are few things darker - and more terrifying - than the inky black of the inside of a cavern, and the world-corpses’ innards were no different. He squatted down in the hall, removing his pack, and retrieving the components of a torch; wooden handle, expendable cloth, jar of oil, and flintstone. Seconds later, the room blossomed into a comforting orange light. The features of the room hidden in shadow crept into view; jagged columns of Old Steel, short and square. The remains of a few camps that had once been set up here, now rotted into uselessness. The ceiling remained out of view, being about 5 times taller than Tavaaris was, he recalled from his previous trip. His anxiety ratcheting down, the perception of scent came to him slowly; the specific smell of the world-corpse could not be mistaken: Dust, earth, petrichor, oil and metal, and something else. Not blood, not food, not someone from his tribe, but something acrid and sweet and poisonous. It was here the last time he ascended the world-corpse, and it didn’t bring him harm then. He let it fade into the background of his perception. The inside of the world-corpse existed outside of time, outside of the necessary rhythmic cycle of Ta rise and Ta fall, of sleep and shared meals and working. Minutes could be hours, hours could be seconds, and he found it critical to make time to assess the needs of his body in the moments of quiet between ascent and descent down the corpse’s spine, or pulling unfamiliar artifacts from its blackened bowels, rooms the size of a generation house in his village. He started to make camp. The throat of the corpse laid at the back of the vast hall he was in, a vast vertical tunnel that he had never seen the bottom of, about seven times his height in diameter by his estimation. It was from this central shaft he had previously accessed the manifold rooms on his previous excursion, and it was down this column he intended to descend once more to pull more valuable finds for his people; useful shards of Old Steel or other exotic materials for weapons or to protect the village from storms. Sometimes he would find whole tools, such as the fire-blade he discovered last time, with a short, narrow blue flame out of a tin neck that was hotter that any fire he had made or had heard of. Slabs or bricks of Old Steel enchanted to repulse metal from it were everywhere in the World Corpse, but due to their weight, he could only bring back one or two per excursion. He was offered a tidy sum for each, though. He settled into the small camp he had built, lit by a now-sputtering torch, and prepared to rest in preparation for his journey into the poisonous, stygian innards of the world-corpse. Tired from his trip up, sleep quickly approached. His last thought before drifting off occurred too late to keep him awake with its implications; exhaustion muting the question under a blanket of sleep.


Her jet-black hair blows gracefully in the wind as she turns around to look back at me, giving me a wink and a peace sign with her fingers. Her high-school uniform fits so perfectly on her, just the right length for her skirt that I can see her beautiful long legs but not too much that it’s too revealing. Her blouse perfectly buttoned, not too high that I can’t see her cleavage, but just low enough to leave things to my imagination. Her hair, medium length, of course I will say how just right it is. What can I say, she’s perfect for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better senior year, with her by my side. I’m planning to enter the same university as her in just a few months after summer’s end. I need to follow her wherever she goes because she is that magical. We are those eighteen-year-old high school sweethearts. *Could* I *marry* her *one day?* I only wish we can keep things going the way they are, because I never want our story to take a turn for the-- “--Haruka!” She let out a laugh of contentment, “Kanako!” She shouted my name with her hands cupping around her smile. “I love you!” I run towards her in panic as she stands upon the rooftop edge about to take her next and final step to death. *ONE MONTH EARLIER* She sat at the piano playing a tune she told me her grandmother used to sing to her when she was a little girl. I sat beside her at the piano and listened. It was peaceful until she said, “Kanako...Want to wake up with me?” “What do you mean?” I asked as her fingers faltered on the keys. “You know, I’m so happy with you. This must be a dream,” she said; “Wouldn’t you want to wake up with me? If we were dreaming, I’d want to wake up next to you.” *I shouldn’t take her seriously*, I thought*.* She was probably like this with all the girls at Kodachi High. After all, she was popular with the ladies. “Haruka, stop playing games,” I said but she hushed me with her lips. They were as soft as I expected. I pulled back. “I’m not--” Before I could say anything she leaned in again, this time not only kissing me. I felt her small hand caress my breast. Tingles ran through my stomach and my hands went cold. I was nervous and she must have read my mind. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered between tender kisses on my lips. Her other hand creeped slowly up my leg and under my skirt. She was about to touch my valuables, when she just stopped. She leaned back and sighed, and looked disinterested. My heart was racing, I couldn’t comprehend what just happened, let alone why she stopped when I was getting so hot for something I didn’t even know I would like. Then she said to me, “You know, I’m not a lesbian.” She looked me dead in the eyes with the uttermost seriousness before breaking out into a laughter, “I just like to mess around, have a little fun. I never go the whole way…” Her right index finger caressed the keys on the piano in a shy manner. The third period bell sounded and we could hear the others filling up the hallways. I grabbed her right hand with my left. “Let’s get to class.” There was one other time that I should have noticed… “I’m actually in love with you,” I confessed my love to her at the firefly festival. The sky was lit with only stars and the lanterns illuminated the pathway in the garden behind our school. It was just me and her sitting on a bench enjoying the scenery. She got up to try to catch a firefly. “Are you even listening to me?” I was getting a little irritated that she wasn’t taking me seriously. She had changed me in so many ways; she was my best friend that turned into someone I love. I needed her approval to make us official. Haruka finally captured the firefly, then crushed it in her hands. My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe she would do that. “My hands were like life,” she turned to me as she rose from her crouched position. “You and me--the firefly. Given the right condition,” she wiped her hands on her skirt, “ life can destroy us into the bliss we never knew we needed.” “What does that even mean?” I was confessing my love and she was spouting randomness, so I dismissed it and asked, “Do you even love me back?” “Yes,” She said. “You will be the only one I ever love.” I was relieved. She was mine and I was hers. So when she tells me to come to the rooftop today, our graduation day, I’m eager to see her, but this is not what I expect to see. I run toward her, everything makes sense now, I can’t let her go through this alone, I have to be with her. She soon steps off the ledge, I grab her as we plummet and we hold each other hard. Life’s grasp is enclosing, and these are our last nine seconds. “Why?” I ask her. “Because, I want to wake up next to you,” are her last words.


Here, take it. It’s yours, I made it for you. Do you like it? It’s no big deal, really. Just a little something I threw together. I thought you’d like it, so I decided to make it for you. It wasn’t easy getting it just right, it actually took me a few tries, but I’m really proud of how it came out. There’s a part of me in it, so every time you look at it you’ll that I’m thinking of you. Maybe it’ll remind you of how much you mean to me, or how hard I worked to make you smile. You did smile, did you? To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give you this. Of course I want you to have it! But what if it doesn’t work for you? What if you don’t like it? I’d hate for all of my hard work to go to waste. What if it becomes a burden for you, something that you don’t want but you can’t get rid of because it’s a gift? What if you can’t help seeing me when you look at it, and you start to think that it’s me you don’t want? I worked so hard to make this. You hate it, don’t you? STOP. I’m so sorry. Of course you don’t hate it. I saw how you smiled when I gave it to you. You have such a beautiful smile. No one can smile like that and not mean it. I guess you did like it, then. Maybe you even loved it! Maybe it’s the best gift you have ever received, and you will cherish it forever. I doubt it, though. Like I said, it’s no big deal. It’s a big deal for me, though. I don’t usually make things like this for people. I don’t usually make anything for anyone, actually. I never saw myself as the kind of person that creates beautiful things out of nothing. I don’t even know what came over me when I decided to make this. I was thinking of you and it just…. happened. I guess a part of me thought that if I made you this you’d see me in a different way. Maybe now you can see me the way I see you. You did like it, didn’t you? Please say something. It’s been too long, and starting to panic. I’ll say it was a joke, that I didn’t really make you this, and that I just wanted to see the look on your face. At least that last part is true, isn’t it? Maybe I’m the joke for thinking this would change anything. There’s no way you liked it, you would have said something by now... Fuck, what do I do? I can’t take it back, it’s awkward enough as it is without me about-faceing my sorry ass out of this shitshow. What’s wrong with me? Why am I like this? Why do I get myself into these stupid situations? Why did I ever think this would work? Is there something so wrong with my head that I’ll obsess about a terrible idea for the longest time only to realize it’s a terrible idea just when it’s too late? I have to do something. ANYTHING. Why can’t I move? I have to get out of here! Oh wait, you’re saying something, what was it again? Oh... Well, I’m glad you liked it! No, don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s no big deal. I just thought you’d like it.


“What does this do,” Luci asked me, holding up a dandelion. “What does it do?” I echoed, puzzled. “Well, yeah. Don’t they have magic powers or something?” I grinned, “Oh. Yes, as a matter of fact. You close your eyes,” she acquiesced, “and make a wish. Then blow, sending the wispy bits off into the air!” Her nose crinkled as she thought about what she wanted. She then opened her eyes. “I’ll do it later, daddy. Let’s keep walking.” “Alright,” I chuckled. “Lead the way.” She took my hand as we continued through a picturesque meadow. The grass was long, though not overgrown, and rife with flowers. The sun shone on us from directly overhead, its heat overbearing were it not for the gentle breeze that caressed our every move. All the while, songbirds graced us with their lyrics, emanating from the surrounding maples and pines, among others. I was living in a postcard. “Do you think mommy could come here?” “I don’t see why not.” “Let’s bring her next time. If she isn’t too busy,” she thoughtfully considered. Though she isn’t that old, it seems as though a lifetime has passed since she we first met Luci. Aside from growing taller, not much has changed, however. Dimples still compliment her smile. Her eyes yet hold an innocence I feel will never fade, regardless of when she loses her childlike naivety. As for personality: loving, curious, and rather adventurous, with just enough spunk to see her through. When you’re young, the world around you seems a large and assuredly magical place. Having kids can alter your perspective, causing you to retain this sense, one that would certainly fade otherwise. For this, I’m truly blessed. “Fishies! Daddy, let’s go pet the fishies!” She hastily made her way towards a pond that was just up ahead. “How about we just watch them?” “Nooo! I want to love them like our kitty, Kireina!” “They need water, honey. To breathe.” “Can’t they hold their nose when they come up to the air like I do when I swim?” While bemused at her logic, I paused to discern in my head whether fishes even had noses. She gasped, “Look how many!” As with the flowers, there was an abundance of aquatic life. Carps, pikes, mahi-mahi, even the near-microscopic candiru of the south, they all tangoed before us. I peered over at Luci whose mouth was agape. “Just like the aquarium, huh?” I asked. Silence. Too busy trawling over the ballet taking place before her. “Y’know, I had a goldfish once.” “You did,” she inquired, dryly, her focus unwavering. “That’s boring. I want one of those!” “Ah, Oscar.” “That his name?!” “That’s their species. They actually— “No, that one! Look at its pretty colors! Way more than just gold,” she snorted. “I’m not sure what that one’s called.” “Think we ‘scovered it?” “Maybe. What should we name it?” “Hmm. Let’s name them Xi-fish. After mommy! She always looks so pretty!” “You look just like her, you know.” I smiled, rubbing the top of her head. “Hey! Don’t mess up my hair,” she protested, walking away from the pond. “Sorry.” “I bet I can climb one of those trees! Wanna watch me, daddy?” She sprinted towards the far end of the field. I sighed, admiring her tenacity. Am I really that old? “Go on, sweetie. Let’s see what you got!” We spent what felt like hours in and around the trees, howling like monkeys, frightening the birds, playing tag and hide and seek. Soon, though, we were sitting on a thick branch on the crest of a boisterous cedar. “Think I could fly?” She took a few steps forward before I wrapped my arm around her, yanking her backwards. “I think,” I grunted, positioning her in front of me, “we should leave that to the professionals.” She giggled. Then, for the first time that day, both of us sat in silence, looking out over our little slice of paradise. The sun was far to the West, the day ending as quickly as it began. Luci turned her head to look up at me. “I’m ready, now.” “Ready to go home? You must be tired.” “No, silly. To make my wish.” She reached into the pocket in her jean shorts and pulled out the dandelion. “Oh ok. Well. What do you want to wish for?” She closed her eyes once more before blowing the wisps into the watercolor sky. “Actually, you’re supposed to keep it a secret or it won’t come true.” I playfully mimicked shushing though she remained stoic. “I wished you would wake up. Mommy needs you. Tell her to come. Tell her everything’s okay.” “Honey…” “I love you, Daddy,” she said before turning around and hugging me. Soon the forestry and the fauna gave way to the four walls of my bedroom. My ceiling fan was slowly rotating. My heart sunk as reality set in. I reached over to Xi only to find she was out of bed. I sat up, wiped my eyes, and headed for the hallway. The water was running in the bathroom with her toothbrush sitting on the sink, the paste still fresh, yet resting atop the dry bristles. I turned it off, giving way to the sound of sobbing coming from Luci’s room. The door was cracked. Upon sliding inside, I noticed Xi in the middle of the floor, on her knees, clutching what used to be our daughter’s favorite stuffed bear. She looked up at me and extended an arm. I rushed over and wrapped myself around her. “You found Mr. Fluffy, huh?” “I can’t do it, babe.” Her voice broke before giving way to more tears. “She was just here. She was.” “I know, I know. But I think she’s happy now. Don’t you?” She sniffed, “She did always have the biggest smile on her face.” “I have a feeling… wherever she is… it’s beautiful. She’d love for you to see it.” Xi nodded, placing her hand on my arm.


She woke up too late, like usual. Not even the construction across the street could wake her before ten, giving her less time than she wanted to get ready. Whatever, she thought, I just need to look presentable, not as if I'm trying to impress anyone. It was a first date, which she agreed to more out of a sense of obligation than enthusiasm. It had been several months since she'd gone out with anyone. Thankfully her mother hadn't bothered her for a while about the whole grandkids bullshit, but seeing Elise with her new boyfriend/friend-with-benefits/whatever got her feeling surprisingly a bit jealous. She knows that the guy has to give good head or *something* for her to be with a guy like that. He's always wearing those stupid hats and checking the price on Bitcoin, like he's expecting to be a millionaire any second now. Not that she could judge, as she too was willing to put up with a mild amount of douchery to be able to get off and feel the warmth of someone else next to her, rather than just the glow of a fanfic-filled laptop screen and the fear that she was loud enough this time that her roommate *definitely* heard her. Oh and I guess falling in love or something would be cool too. The guy seemed nice enough from his messages, she thought as she washed her hair and got ready. Then again the bar for that is just above "hey sexi" and "whats ur snap". And even if he can hold a conversation like an adult there was no guarantee he wouldn't start some unhinged rant about how his ex was a bitch or how the homeless should all get shipped off to Mars or whatever. He had a cat, which at least probably shows he can take care of a living thing, and there were no dead fish or shirtless mirror selfies in his profile. So hey, how bad can he be. He lived out in Jamaica Plain, so he suggested they meet in the public garden for a picnic. It sounded so sweet and old-fashioned she was honestly a bit excited about it. She threw on a sundress and a big floppy hat and started her way toward the train station, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and using the other to brace her hat against the wind blowing down Comm Ave. I may freeze my tits off, she thought, but at least I'll look cute. Elise told her all men go nuts for sundresses for some reason. She waited idly on the bridge over the pond, watching a tourist family riding in one of the swan boats pass under her. The sound of a violin player drifted over from the other side of the bridge. He showed up a couple minutes late, carrying a large picnic basket. He looked just as unremarkable as his pictures, wearing a North Face and jeans. He gestured toward one end of the pond past the weeping willows, saying he had a spot picked out. His voice was deeper than she imagined, and he slowed to toss a dollar in the violin player's case as they passed. Probably just to impress me, she thought. But she couldn't help but mentally give him a point in the "maybe not an asshole" column. He spread out the red and white blanket as squirrels scurried around, and for a moment she felt like a Victorian maiden being courted by a young gentleman. He immediately brought her back to Earth by asking if she saw Black Widow yet. She did mention liking Marvel on her profile so it's her own fault, but he probably just watched it for ScarJo's ass. She did think she already caught him sneaking a look at her own, not that she was particularly surprised. Sweet, dorky men are still men after all. He unpacked the sandwiches and drinks he brought, and casually mentioned he brought a thermos with homemade cocktails and a tiny box of moscato in case she wants any. Damn, she thought, this guy is good. The conversation was nothing special though, mostly chatting about school and hobbies. He likes the typical guy stuff like videogames and craft beer, but he also knows how to sail which is cool. They were laying down next to each other at this point after finishing their sandwiches, the sun filtering through the wind-blown leaves of the tree above them. She was daydreaming about them slowly gliding up the Charles River in a small sailboat when she looked over at him. He's more handsome than his pictures, she thought. His lips looked so soft she found herself wanting to kiss him right there, and it probably wasn't just the wine talking. He deftly avoided any red-flag conversations, and other than talking about IPA's for a bit too long she had no complaints. They gathered up the picnic supplies before walking around the common and talking for a little while. A long while actually; she realized with a start that it had somehow been five hours since they met up. Well, she thought, I guess that's a pretty good sign. They said their goodbyes by the entrance to the green line, the air getting chillier now that the sun had passed behind the buildings across the common. He went for a hug instead of a kiss, which she wasn't sure to take as lacking confidence or just being polite and cautious. Either way, she found herself smiling on the train ride back thinking about the way he looked at her when he complimented her dress. She awoke to a text he sent late at night after she went to bed. "Hey I had a great time! Down to do something again next weekend, maybe dinner? If not, no worries." There's that lack of confidence again with that last part, she thought. Men with self-esteem issues are so much work to date, she may as well leave him hanging for a bit longer to make sure he doesn't instantly accuse her of ghosting and call her a dumb bitch or something. She threw her phone on the bed and got up to make breakfast, before rolling her eyes at herself and picking it back up. "Yeah, dinner sounds great.