When I dreamt, I became someone else. It started two nights ago. The last thing I could remember before it happened was getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth, everything was normal. As I fell into sleep, something changed, not in my bedroom, but in myself. A force had found me, for whatever reason, it reached out and pulled me away. When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my apartment anymore. I was sitting in a stranger’s chair, in a stranger’s apartment. I tried to stand up and found I couldn’t. I tried just turn my head or flick my eyes around the room, but they would not move. As the panic set in I could feel something new lurking in its shadow, the otherness, or rather I was the otherness. A spirit trapped in a stranger’s body; a rare discordant note played by a master pianist. In my dream, although dream does not feel like the right word, the man stood and went to the window and looked out at the starless, black sky. In the window’s soft reflection, I could make out the contours of his face, a weak, unassuming jaw and deep-set eyes made his reflection look like a ghost. Along his left eyebrow, I saw the shadow of a scar that came down around his cheekbone. I wondered who he was and where that scar had come from, but his sudden movement broke my train of thought. There wasn’t much to tell about the apartment, it was dark, it looked like a studio with a single recliner sat in the middle of the room, a shelf of books and movies and an unkempt bed with the box spring on the floor tucked away into one of the corners. It didn’t matter, he was suddenly on the move, stuffing his feet into ratty old converse and searching for his keys. As we walked out the door, he swooped his arm down and nabbed a prepacked duffle bag. When we were outside, I recognized that we were in the city. The man was walking pretty fast, the autumn breeze washed against his face and I realized that I could feel everything he felt, the rhythm of his footsteps on the soles of his feet, the clatter of the duffle bag against his back, the thin layer of sweat over his mustached lip. Dogs barked in the distance, and the me who is not me began to walk a little bit faster. He reached a hand to his face and stroked the tail of the scar there. After a few minutes we arrived at a beat-up old Honda, the man climbed into the car, tossing the bag haphazardly onto the passenger seat and turned the key. As he pulled out into the street I noticed that he was breathing heavily, and I could sense a tightness in his throat, the kind one might get when suffering with intense seasonal allergies or a winter cold. We, the Other and I, drove for a long time, far out of the city. I wondered if I might be able to read his mind to find out just where we were going, but it was as if his thoughts were completely blank and he was driving on instinct alone. We arrived at a ranch style house in the suburbs. The streetlights were sparse, and the man was careful to pull into the shadows between them. In the house a single light shown, the man sat in the car for a while and at it, in hindsight, I can guess that he was waiting for it to turn off. Even then though, I could still feel the peculiarity of the situation. This was wrong, it was too weird. I tried to tell myself that maybe he knew these people, maybe it was a sibling or a friend, maybe they’d not spoken in a long time and he was mustering up his courage. The light went off, the man grabbed the duffle bag and together we stepped out into the shadows of the night. The man moved swiftly through the front yard, somehow it was different from before, more calculated, more elegant, if one could call it that. He’d done this before I was sure of it. I tried to get inside his head again, wondering what it is he was going to do, rob them? Kill them? The only thing I could see when I looked inside his mind was an image of a dog, maybe a husky mix with great snarling teeth. The man muttered something to himself as he tossed the bag over the fence, but I was too distracted to hear it. He took a deep breath and leapt onto the fence. He scaled it the first try, but as he vaulted his rear leg over the fence his pants caught on one of the boards. There was a tearing sound as we dropped. We hit the dirt hard and it rang through our entire body, our ears buzzed and throbbed with the pain. Around the corner of a large hedge, a porch light flicked on and we heard the mechanical turn of a doorknob. The Other, although in pain, scramblee to his feet just in time as the door peeled away from the airtight rubber frame. A man stepped out of the house draped in an old robe. He wass taller than us and looked strong even though the paunch in his belly and the cigarette in his hand begged to differ. He did not suspect us sitting there in the bushes. I wished very badly then that I had control over the body that there was something I could do or say. In the Other’s mind I can see the hammer in the duffle bag, nestled between the lock picking instruments and the rope. *You can’t unzip the bag though*, I thought hoping to deter the Other, if in fact there were a way for him to understand me, *he’ll hear you.* I do not know if it was my thought or the Other’s that led him to tuck the duffel back into the bush, but he did. Then he looked out on the porch and the temporary relief I’d felt waned. There was a rusty old golf club that sat not three feet away from us. The other looked toward the man, taken in by his cigarette and his wandering thoughts. *You can’t!* I thought *He’ll see you! Just wait for him to go inside and then leave!* The other moves slowly, his spindly body narrowly folded through the stray unkempt branches of the bush. In our shared chest I felt the unmistakable pump of our heart, I could not tell then if it belonged to me or the other. The other fished both of his legs out of the bush soundlessly and then we sat on all fours behind the smoking man. The other reached out slowly and gripped the golf club. I felt the weight in my hand, in his hand. The Other pushed himself up on one knee and held the club over his head. Time is peculiar when true violence is involved. It’s difficult to explain, but I felt it on this night. The entire incident wasn’t more than 20 seconds in truth. Every instant piled lazily atop one another like autumn red leaves, but in hindsight, the mind pulls the pieces apart and lays them out in a neat fashionable order. The club came down with a whipping sound, slicing through the atmosphere. The man, who I imagine must have heard the noise turned around just in time to see the face of the nine-iron drive straight into his forehead. He fell to the ground slowly, stupidly, as if he were just pretending, and was waiting for his cue to spring back up. The other drives the club down again and again, the sick thud of the man’s skull is like an untuned primal drum. If I had eyes of my own, I would have wept. The blood spread thick and red across the rough brick tiles of the porch, draining into the guttural grooves between them, and soaking into the newly tainted earth. Don’t think that I’m being callous when I tell you that he was the one who got off easy. He would never have to know what came next. To my surprise the Other halted his bludgeoning. He bent down on one knee and set the golf club gently on the ground beside the body. A rumble welled deep from within our body as the Other removed one glove from his hand and dipped his pale white fingers into the scarlet pool. He pulled his fingers up to his face and the taste of copper rushed into our mouth. I wanted to be sick, right then and there. I prayed for the first time since I was a small boy that I might spit out the blood and be ripped away from this body, greeted by the patterned, familiar silhouettes of my bedroom. It seemed though that my prayers, like many prayers before it would go unanswered as I felt the blood trickle down our throat. The Other dipped his fingers into the pool once more and my mind squealed at the thought of another taste of putrid nectar. Instead of sticking the blood in his mouth again though, he did something strange, stranger than all the moments that had led us here. He traced a strange enigmatic symbol on our forehead. Then he peeled the glove back over his bloody hand and walked towards the back door of the house. The lights were off as we entered the house. The door crept shut gently behind us, guided by the sleeved fingertips of the other. For a moment we stood around in the darkness. As if we were waiting for something. I was still reeling from the strange disconnect of the previous moments, I thought to myself that if the Other were to turn around right now, we might still have seen the portly older man still standing there, smoking his cigarette. I knew however that was a lie. By the pictures, and the decorative touch of the house, I could tell that a woman lived there too. I wondered where she was. Did the Other know her? What did the symbols mean? All these thoughts ran through my brain as we dawdled from one room into the next. The back door opened into the kitchen from there we made our way into the living room, I guessed that this must have been where the light outside had come from. I half expected that the woman would be around the corner as we made our way down the L-shaped hallway towards the office and the master bedroom. She wasn’t the house was still except for a grandfather clock that ticked away in the office. It struck me then, something about the clock, how weird it was to even see a grandfather clock nowadays. You kept time with the phone, or the smart watch, or the stove or the tv or the microwave. It seemed so out of place for this relic of the past to be here. I guessed it might have been an heirloom and that unsettled me further. I was in these people’s home. Their whole life was laid out before my eyes, I felt dirty and awkward. The other stopped in front of the door to the master bedroom, wrapping his gloved palm around the doorknob and putting the slightest bit of pressure so the door just barely peaked open. Inside the shape of the woman lays still in the dark. I wish then that she might stir, that she might feel our presence staring at her, but she doesn’t. The door opens a little wider. As we’ve made our way through the house, I had an odd sensation that I had attributed to my nerves, a feverish sweat. It occurs to me just now that I could not have been sweating, because I’d become so entangled with the sensations of that other’s body, I’d forgotten about the lack of my own. It was only when the heat bloomed in our forehead and sent the other doubled over in front of the strange woman’s bedroom door, that I truly noticed. The pain was immense unlike anything I’ve ever felt before I imagined it was what it was like to be branded like cattle on every inch of your body. It was impressive that the Other was able to endure it silently. It was only when our bones began to elongate and shift around in our body that the woman stirred, even then it was just slightly, and she never fully woke. After a few moments spent writhing on the floor, we emerged again, changed, and accompanied by another. The spirit of the wolf. Its energy was truly petrifying, it felt like something ancient, that predated all of humanity and understood ways of the universe that mortal beings could not fathom. I was it; it was the other; the other was me. We could feel each other, but we could not understand. The creature moved on all fours slinking around the room, as it wrapped one giant hand-paw hybrid on the footboard the nails clicked and scratched against the wood. The woman stirred and the creature paused, but she didn’t awaken. I prayed she would, prayed that she might be faking reaching underneath her pillow for a gun loaded with silver bullets. I wanted this to be a world where at least one person seemed to understand and was prepared to deal with this unholy scenario. We lingered over the woman, a dumb, snarling, drooling beast. Surely, she must have felt the heat of the creature’s breath on her neck, smelling the same stench of foul rotted insides, but through it all the woman did not awaken. The creature hung one knuckled misshapen paw over the body ready to strike. I could bite at the tension in the air, and yet as if to torture me further the creature would not deliver its final blow. *Why won’t the monster strike her and end this?* I think, and then I feel it, a flinch, the slightest flinch in the arm. I can move the arm of the body, but it seems all I can do. In my mind, a mad cackle sounds and I know it is The Other. It had to be me, I realized, although I did not understand the how, I knew that the purpose of bringing me along on this spectral journey had been this moment. I held my paw over the woman, at that point, the only sense of power I had ever known. Could I do it? Would the creature do it anyway if I refused. As I stood in the wolf’s body contemplating over the pale moon face of the woman, the woman’s eyes surprised me by flickering open. I watched the woman’s face transform from serenity to utter horror as she became aware of what loomed over her. She let out a piercing cry and without my thinking the claw drew downwards. As if by a miracle the woman rolled at just the right time to evade the attack. I felt a pinch as the woman flailed and the wolf body was lifted off of the woman by a stray kick. There was a clatter as we rolled off the bed. I felt the creature override my control snarling back into the body. The woman reached for whatever she could and hurled it towards us. Glass shattered along the floor, sounding like the gentle chimes in this woman’s concerto of terror. The woman opened the closet unable to move since the wolf creature had the exit cornered. While her back was turned the creature dove aiming to pin her against the wall, but again the woman was too fast. She rolled herself into the closet and pulled the door shut. The creature roared as it slammed against the wall a smear of ancient blood splattered against the wall. I could sense the fury in the creature now, what ever plans this creature had had for me had fallen to the wayside and all that was left was blind rage. The creature pawed at the door, smashing at it over and over with its mutant man-beast hands. The Other and I watched in anticipating silence knowing that the woman would not be able to hold back much longer. That was when the door peeled open, the wolf lunged blindly and did not see what arose from the darkness there. It merely yelped when the old cavalry sword pierced its chest. Then it slumped and fell sideways, its breath went shallow, and I felt that the creature was beginning to dissipate. The last thing I can remember is the woman standing over us, and through the window a view of the full harvest moon. When I awoke, I felt sick and tired as though I had not slept at all. I had told myself that it had been just a dream, but I could not shake the true nature of the previous night. Sitting with my morning coffee I watched as the news came in about a woman who had survived a horrific home invasion in a neighboring city. The woman refused to comment for the news but seeing the outside of the home was all of the confirmation that I had needed. There’s not been any more deaths that I know of. At least none that sound like this one, but I’m scared. I think about going up to my uncle’s cabin, where I can be alone. I can’t explain why but I have the sensation that whenever I came home that night, I brought something back with me. It’s just a feeling, like looking at the pale face of the moon.


Being identical twins is a little irritating at times since only Mom and Dad can tell us apart, but Zoey and I get to have our fun with it. On test days, we switch places, which works really well since I’m good at math and Zoey is good at English. Today is a two for one special. We both had an English and Calculus test. I take Zoey’s math test during third and mine during fifth. Meanwhile, she gets to do English for us. On top of that, Mom is taking us to school, so we don’t even have to take the bus. All I had to do was show up to first and second period, switch shirts with Zoey before and after third, and bingo! I’m out of English and she’s out of math. “Breakfast,” I heard mom scream from downstairs. The smell of bacon drew me downstairs with ease. “Chloe, is your sister awake?” “Yeah, she’s changing.” I offered as an excuse for why I was still in pajamas. I plopped down into a chair and began reciting the different ways to take a derivative. Then, Zoey came downstairs. She didn’t have her hair and makeup done, just a simple ponytail tied up in back. Her black converse complemented her skinny jeans and gray t-shirt. Thank god. That means I don’t have to do my hair or makeup today. After nodding at Zoey, I went upstairs and got ready while we all waited for Dad to come downstairs. I threw on my black converse, skinny jeans, and a blue t-shirt. I tied my hair in a ponytail, then hurried back to the table. Dad was already sitting down, so they started eating without me. I didn’t mind since I usually eat quickly. I scarfed down the bacon and eggs Mom put on my plate. The drive to school was nice. Whenever we take the bus, kids try to guess “who’s Zoey and who’s Chloe” for the day. Without the mild irritation added to my morning, I was able to enjoy the conversation with Zoey and Mom. Mom was telling us about how she was going to have a special day at work today. She’s a substitute teacher, and apparently the school she’s subbing at today starts later than her regular shifts, so she was able to give us a ride. Mom dropped us off at the parking lot, and Zoey and I headed inside. We sat with our friends until the first bell rang, which wasn’t too long after we arrived. First period was slow, and I spent most of the time staring down at my study guide for Calculus. Second period was the same. My nerves built up in anticipation for the test. During passing period, I met with Zoey. We ran into the restroom and traded shirts. All I had to do was walk in, ace that calculus test, and go back to my normal schedule for the day. We exchanged “good lucks” and headed to class, as usual. I went into Zoey’s class and took a seat. The teacher was gone. He was probably just finishing up printing the tests. Of all the times I’d been in this class, he never printed them in advance. On top of that, he changed versions every period, so I couldn’t even breeze through my own test. While I was looking down at my study guide, I heard a familiar voice in front of me. “Surprise, sweetie!” “Mom?” My heart pounded so hard I was surprised it didn’t pop out of my chest. “I didn’t tell you earlier because I thought it would be fun to surprise you. I didn’t know you had a test today.” “Yup. English and math.” Mom smiled and walked back to the teacher’s desk. I’m wearing Zoey’s shirt, so maybe she won’t notice. The bell rang, and I knew if I made it past the next five minutes, I’d be fine. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Mrs. Styles and I’m going to be subbing for Mr. Hickman today. I’m gonna call roll now, so please tell me if I say your name wrong.” “Michael. Gerardo. Mina. Elizabeth. Brittney. Angel. Coralyn.” As she got closer to my name, I began shaking. I listened as she listed off my classmates’ names. “Zoey?” She cocked her head and looked up at me. “Here,” I responded. She just looked back down at the roster, continuing to read off names. Oh God. Did she hear my voice? I probably sounded nervous. She questioned it. Does she know? It’s Mom. She would definitely say something if she knew. I shook off my nerves and prepared for the test, which was more important at the moment. *** The test wasn’t as bad as I expected. However, I was still as nervous as ever. I ran to the restroom to talk to Zoey. As we exchanged shirts, I explained the situation to her. “Dude, if she knew it was you, she would’ve said something.” Zoey tried to reassure me. “Yeah, but she looked at me.” “Chloe, you’re fine. She didn’t say anything; she probably just felt bad because she thought she mixed us up. We’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna go take your test and I’ll take mine. Problem solved. Worst case scenario, she finds out.” “Yeah, worst case scenario, she beats our asses.” “Oh hush, you’re being over dramatic. We’ll be fine.” I was still shaking, but I finally gave into her argument. By the time lunch came around, I didn’t have an appetite. I mean, I was the one who had to face Mom again. What did Zoey have to worry about? She can’t be responsible for giving anything away if she’s not there. The bell rang and I headed back to Calculus. Act surprised, I told myself as I walked in. I sat down in my normal assigned seat, hoping that Mom would notice the difference. I figured that if I talked to my friends instead of looking at notes, she would know that I’m Chloe now. “Surprise, sweetie!” She interrupted my conversation. “Mom?” Oh shoot, I hope that was convincing enough. “Chloe didn’t tell you?” “No…” I said, acting like I didn’t know what was happening. “That’s odd. You girls tell each other everything. Maybe she wanted you to be surprised too.” Oh phew. She didn’t say anything. I allowed myself to calm down and I took my test. I walked out feeling confident. Both my test and Zoey’s test seemed to go really well. The rest of the day ended relatively quickly. I told Mom I wanted to walk home with my friends, and I pressured Zoey into going with me. I knew any conversation with her could make one of us crack. Mom knows how to find out when we’re lying. We opened the front door, peeking behind it to see if Mom was anywhere in sight. We were safe. Zoey and I walked to our rooms. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but I figured that if I did my homework, Mom wouldn’t bother me. I relished in my solitude for a few hours, until I heard the call for dinner. I didn’t realize Dad got home. I ran downstairs, hoping to eat something since I didn’t eat lunch. “Wait, where’s Dad? I thought dinner was ready.” My mom turned around with her spatula in one hand, and the other on her hip. “You can have dinner after you bring your sister down.” I thought something was wrong, but I didn’t want to point it out in fear that I was just overthinking what she was saying. As I stepped on the first step, I heard Mom’s voice again. “Chloe, hold on. Come back here. I forgot to ask. How were your math tests?” I stopped mid-step and looked back at her. *She knew*. “I asked you how your math tests went.” I didn’t want to respond. “Did you really think you would get away with that?” I knew I’d only make it worse if I didn’t respond, so I said, “I don’t know.” “Honey, I asked if ‘Chloe’ told you. Zoey has third period. The second you said no, I knew it was you. First of all, I know my girls. Second of all, I know when my girls are lying to me.” I stared at the floor, keeping Mom in my peripheral vision. “Go to your room. I’m gonna deal with you and your sister as soon as I finish dinner.” I went to my room and texted Zoey everything. I laid back on my bed, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I fucking knew it. I told Zoey this would happen. I was just waiting for mom to come upstairs, spatula in hand. It felt like eternity had passed, but I finally heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I watched in horror as my doorknob turned. The knot in my stomach tightened as the door swung open. “Wait. Where’s mom? When did you get home?” Dad walked in, closing the door behind him. He was holding his belt in his hand. “Mom told me what you and Zoey did today.” “But she said she would come upstairs and deal with us. She didn’t say anything about you.” “Don’t forget, sweetie. We can switch too.


The old man sat on the bench by the doorway, slowly tying the laces of his boots as he prepared for the trek to the grocery store. “And don’t get the Honey-beam bread, you know it goes stale too fast.” His wife chimed in. “Yes, dear.” “And don’t take too long! You’re always getting distracted by your daydreams. I don’t know what goes through your head that holds you up so long, but I haven’t got the time today. I need the eggs for the cake that has to be done by three. That means…” “Yes, dear.” The old man pulled on his weathered cap and slipped out the front door, being sure to close it tightly behind him to make sure no more of his wife’s words escaped. As he started on the three-block walk to the store he was grateful for the flannel jacket he was wearing. Although it was late November it seemed as though the first hints of fall were just creeping in, the crips of the air, kissing his cheeks and leaving behind rosy splotches. It wasn’t always like this, he thought as he rounded the corner. He could remember when fall made its appearance in September, October, and by November the grips of winter would begin to set in and one wouldn’t opt for walking even the three blocks to the grocery store. He made note not to stumble upon an uneven patch of sidewalk, and when he looked up he spotted a couple walking towards the direction he came from on the opposite side of the street. Although they were not holding hands the old man noticed that they walked close to each other in an enamoured way. He and his wife used to walk through the streets in the same way, before the years hardened their love and left it slowly to crumble. It wasn’t always like this. The old man had met his wife when he was a young man at a retirement party for his then boss. They bonded over their hatred for the meal served, and he asked her to ger a real meal with him the following Tuesday, and then they got married eight months later. The first few years of their marriage were blissful, marked by many moments of love, few worries and fewer fights. Then the worries started – the wife wanted kids but it hadn’t happened yet. With the worries came the mounting fights – how could they have a fulfilled marriage without children? All of her friends were on their second, third kids and she was left childless. On one November day, colder than the one he was wading through currently, he came home to his wife in tears. “We’ve done it! We’re going to have a child!” she looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck. During their six month check-up it was discovered the baby no longer had a heartbeat. The doctor informed them because of the toll the pregnancy took on her body they would never have kids. There, in the cold doctor's office, was the last time the couple truly embraced. The love began to slip away just as their child had. The remaining years of their marriage they had operated as co-pilots. The intimacy and adornment of their youth were gone. Neither of them was particularly happy, but both felt they had invested too much to leave. The old man sighed as he shuffled along, realizing he had once again got lost in a daydream. He threw one last longing glance at the couple, craving the sweetness of youthful love, and hurried on his way. “Why is that old man watching us?” said the young woman as she crammed her hands into her parka. “I don’t know, don’t worry about it. Come on, we have to hurry, we were supposed to be at the divorce lawyer’s office five minutes ago.” The young man hastened his step. The young woman lengthened her strides, trying to savour their last few minutes as a married couple. “You know, it wasn’t always like this.” She murmured.


# Happy Weekend, serialists! Welcome to Serial Saturday… ish! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ***New here?*** If you’re brand new to and thinking about participating in Serial Saturday, welcome! Feel free to dip your toes in by writing for this challenge or any others we have! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ # This week it’s all about Genre Challenges Welcome to the off season, folks! For the next two weeks we’re going to be embracing a bit of a challenge: As an exercise in the name of fun and games shenanigans, we’re writing for an opposite of our usual genres this month. What does that mean for you, especially if you haven't been writing for Ser Sat? No sweat, just choose a genre you don't usually write in *(your choice, just pick something that's new to you).* I am going to assign a simple prompt as an idea to address. You *do not* have to use the exact phrase but as readers it should be clear to us that it’s incorporated in your story in some way. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **YOUR ASSIGNED ELEMENTS:** A genre you don't usually write in *(your choice, just pick something that's new to you),* and **“If looks could kill” /** **/ A timepiece** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you wrote about movers and shakers last season, maybe this time you’re writing about powerless by-standers. If you wrote about spies or subterfuge, maybe this time you’re writing about utopian idealism. If you wrote about magic and battles, maybe it’s time for a by-the-book operation. If it was all about murder investigations for you last time, try out romance or coming of age. If you wrote about internal struggles of the heart last time, consider political drama. If you just finished a serious story, consider a comedy, like a tall tale or satire. There’s a boatload of genres and subgenres of fiction out there to explore and it can be a difficult decision to land on what someone “should” write as an opposite of their last genre, so take some time to go over a and think about what would be a challenge for *you.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **This challenge is open to anyone and everyone, not just those with a current serial. Jump right in, folks, the water is just fine!** **\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*** **You have until \*next\* Saturday, 12/5, to submit and comment on everyone else's stories here. Make sure to check back on this thread periodically to lay some sweet, sweet crit down on those who don't have any yet!** \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* # Top picks from last week’s assignment, New World Order: **Fan favorite with the most votes:** /u/Kammerice, for a perfect wrap-up for the expertly written hardboiled noir we’ve enjoyed this whole season. This week the **Smoking Hot Challenge Sash** goes to an author that nailed the spirit of the assignment: /u/LitCityBlues, with an ending that reinforced the theme with great characterization and tone that addressed the brief with all the right notes. And two honorable mentions: /u/ChineseArtist, with a story we can’t wait to follow in the next season, and not just because we’re all in it. =P And /u/Ryter99, never failing to put a smile on our faces with the antics of the unflappable Sir Jamsen and his trusty assistant. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ **The Rules:** * In the comments below submit a story that is between **500 - 850** words in your own original universe. * Submissions are limited to ***one*** submission from each author per week. * **Each author should comment on at least 2 other stories** during the course of the week. * That comment must include ***at least one*** **detail** about what the author has done well. * Authors who successfully finish a serial lasting longer than 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the sub. * Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule. *Yes, we will check*. * While content rules are more lax here at /r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of "vaguely ***family friendly***" being the rule of thumb for now. 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I just got back up from being unconcious, with every part of my body hurting like never before, and huge blocks of scrap metal and concrete laying everywhere around me, one of them being very sharp and very near my head, I was lucky I survived. Last thing I remember was sightseeing in an old WW2 era german bunker, then it happened, first the extemally loud sound of explosion, then the bright flash of light despite me being underground, then the collapsation of the bunker and me getting unconcious. First I checked for any other surviving people near me, I find nothing but people dead from either getting hit by heavy objects or fried alive from the blast, some of their bodies already rotten, this means I was unconcious for longer than I thought. Survivor's Journal, Day 1. 9:46 AM, No luck with finding any food or useful supplies, thankfully my watch is still working and I managed to craft a simple hatchet with a piece of concrete, a stick, and some random piece of rope lying on the ground. 10:58 AM, There are surprisingly lots of trees growing around, also I managed to notice that my skin appears to have changed it's color, and I'm a lot less thirsty than usual, the mutation might explain how I survived so long that trees managed to re-grow while I was unconcious. 12:34 AM, I'm hungry as I've never been in my entire life, still didn't find any food so far. Only a newspaper saying something about North Korea and nuclear war, I didn't bother reading it because the hunger was so overwhelming. 2:48 PM, I think I might actually die from starvation, so if you find this notebook, It most likely means I'm already dead, please find my body and make me some kind of grave, I don't want my body to rot in the open field. 7:19 PM Yes! I finally found some food! I harvested all the oranges from a bush hidden in tall grass, and ate half of them. I'll be saving the remaining 3 for later, despite still being hungry. 8:30 PM It's really getting dark and cold, I should probably make some sort of campfire. 9:28 PM I managed to make a campfire, I never thought that youtube video I saw 4 years ago would be the cause of me not dying from cold. 11:58 PM I made myself an improvised bed from some hay and leaves I found, but for some reason I don't feel the need to sleep, I begin to think that maybe not taking that newspaper with me was a bad idea, I could have finished reading it now to "kill the boredom" 0:51 AM I heard strange noises nearby, he kind of that I never heard before, they sound really dangerous. 1:36 AM The noises continue. I polished the biggest, sturdiest rock I could find and attached it to a durable piece of wood using the remaining string I had, and prepared to defend myself. 3:28 AM A heavily mutated creature that looks like it once might have been a human jumps out of the trees, I take a defensive stance, however instead of attacking me, the creature sniffs my smell from a discance and proceeds to ignore me. I still watch what's it doing closely while thinking of possible escape routes, but it doesn't do anything dangerous for the next 2 hours. 5:32 AM I hear a distant cry for help. The creature hears it too, roard and starts running in the direction it came from. I try to stay as quiet as possible as I slowly realize it might be attracted to noise. After the creature is gone, I write down everything that happened since 2:48 PM and then begin planning my next day to ensure my survival. Survivor's Journal, Day 2: 6:00 AM I begin to examine a huge rock, I'm a geologist, however, I don't recognise this kind of mineral, it doesn't resemble any known mineral or ore, it must have either come from space or gone through some chemical reaction caused by the heat and radiation from the explosion. 11:41 AM I ate the 3 remaining oranges I had and I gathered some of the strange ore using the tool I made last night, it appears to work very well as a pickaxe. I then smelted the ore using a campfire and some stone moulds. I covered parts of the campfire in the strange metal I case if I want to cook some food or smelt the metal more effectively. 3:42 PM I crafted an improvised backpack from the leather I got from a dead deer. It must have died recently since the meat isn't either rotten or cooked from the blast. I dried it's tendons and used it as strings, saving some for later and using the rest for the backpack. 4:56 PM I cooked the meat from the deer watching each part of it carefully so that none gets burned or undercooked, this is my only remaining food after all. 5:12 PM Finally, I'm actually not hungry anymore, I even managed to save some of the cooked meat for later. I should probably start making some sort of shelter. 9:52 PM I somehow managed to make a door. Out of stone. It took me quite some time to make it, but it works perfectly fine, and it's very durable. I'm really proud of what I just made. 10:28 PM I think I should have made my shelter out of wood instead of stone, it would have taken way less time, and I'm all out of time now. I'm hearing a lot of noises, and they sound hostile. 12:07 PM A man ran out of the bushes, dressed in a suit made out of boar leather and tendons, with a mark of a 9mm bullet splattered on the suit's left arm. He screamed at me in panic in a language I didn't understand, sounded like russian or ukrainian. I spoke calmly in my native language trying to tell him that I'm not a threat, and that I don't understand him, and does he speak English, and that we can work together to survive. He looked at me with a confused look on his face, took something out of his backback and threw it to the ground, and before I could see what it was, he punched me right in the face! I reached for my pickaxe to defend myself, but he didn't bother attacking me again, he took some of the stone bricks and made and began assembling it into walls, maybe he isn't an enemy. 2:28 AM The thing he threw on the ground was a second boar leather suit, visibly more damaged than his, it was covered in splinters of wood and contained loads of bullet markings, and some bite marks that look like they were made by... human teeth? It was still better than the remains of clothes I had on me, so I put the suit on, it was very warm, way warmer than my previous clothes. I then proceeded to spin three times, very fast. I have no idea why I did that, I think I was trying to express my joy and say thank you to the stranger without knowing how to communicate with him. Surprisingly, the stranger seemed to understand, smiled, then proceeded to spin one time. Then we both started to build, I made the bricks, he placed them and sticked them together using some sort of cement that smelled more like polymer glue than cement. 3:48 AM We focused so much on building that we completely forgot about the danger that was surrounding us. I heard loud sniffing noises from behind me, before I could turn around, I was bitten in the back of my head by the very same creature that spared me the other night. The suit protected me enough for the teeth to not rip my skin open, but the bite force was so huge that It felt like getting hit by two hammers simultanously. I tried to get my head out, but the monster kept it's jaws shut and tried to bite a part of my head out. The stranger pulled out his axe and attempted to cut off the monsters head off, but it has nearly no effect. The monster, now with lime green blood dripping out of it's wound, released it's jaws and kicked the stranger in the stomach, knocking him away. The stranger osed the force of the beast's kick to do a half-backflip and get up on his feet. The mutant charged at him, and the stranger dodged it's attack, then hit the "ghoul" in the back with his axe. I didn't make that name, it was the word that followed the long string of russian insults he screamed at the monstrocity that was attacking both of us. The creature charged at my ally and after he dodged it's attack, it changed it's direction and jumped right on him, almost crushing him under it's body that was twice as big as that of a normal-non mutated human. But the person helping me seemed to have underwent slight mutation, just like me. And it seems that it also enchanced his durability, because he didn't seem to get hurt from the crushing weight of the ghoul at all. The stanger, or should I rather call him now, teammate, managed to wrestle his way out of the ghouls's grip before I could help him, then he scared the ghoul away by flexing with some pro moves with his axe and shouting at the ghoul at the same time. The ghoul ran away. We both thought that it was the end of the trouble for today. We both put our weapons down and got back to finishing the shelter. 5:52 AM My teammate and I paused building the walls of our shelter despite being nearly finished with it, we both were way too tired by the fight that happened an hour ago and the constant building. He pointed at himself, saying "я Dimitri, tvoye imya?" While gesturing with his hands to help me understand what he was saying. Before I could answer, the roars around us got unusually loud, now coming from two sides. We grabbed our weapons, preparing ourselves for a fight. Two ghouls charged at us, from both sides, both ignoring me and focusing on Dimitri. Dimitri was fighting well, but he couldn't hold on much longer if he was fighting 1v2. Once I got a chance I threw my hatchet at the seemingly non-injured ghoul, splitting it's right eye open, and drawing it's attention to me. I grabbed my pickaxe and hit the ghoul in the left side on the head as hard as I could, the pickaxe sunk deep in it's head but the ghoul was still alive, or probably undead at this point because I noticed a couple of bulled wounds in it's neck and stomach, they all failed to kill it, and so failed my pickaxe. The ghoul used it's superior weight and strength to move his head rapidly towards me, ripping the pickaxe out of my hands and getting it's teeth dangerously close to the only part of my body not protected by the leather suit I was wearing, my face. Dimitri kicked the ghoul he was fighting away with a strong kick in the chin, then threw his axe, hitting the ghoul I was fighting in the neck, splitting it's spinal cord into two pieces and nearly cutting it's head off. However, that just stunned the ghoul for a short period of time, it was still got up from the ground after a few seconds, but that was enough for me to get my pickaxe back, but not enough to pick up Dimiri's axe. The sight of the ghoul getting up despite sustaining so much injury was enough to make Dimitri and me panic, we both ran away in separate directions. 5:58 AM I think I lost the ghoul that was chasing me. I climbed a tree and started to look around in an attempt to find Dimitri. I can't see him yet, but I hear loud, unusual ghoul sounds that I have never heard before. I proceed to run as quietly as possible in that direction. 5:59 AM The sounds are clearly the worst ones you could hear in the situation I was in, munching. I grab by pickaxe tighter, start running as fast as I can in the direction they're coming from and prepare myself for the worst while still having a tiny bit of hope that Dimirti's still alive. Survivor's Journal, Day 3: 8:21 AM When I got there, the sun has already risen, and Dimitri was already dead, with his body and protective leather suit both damaged beyond repair. The ghoul who killed him appears to have his skin fried for some reason. Right after I finished building my stone wall shelter, I made a grave for Dimitri near the walls of the base, specifically the part he started building. The message on the gravestone I carved read: Dimitri, the suvivor Surname: Unknown Age of death: Unknown He died a valiant hero, sacrificing himself for the good of others and protecting them from the vile creatures known as ghouls. May he rest in peace. 9:10 AM I ate the cooked meat I obtained yesterday, then harvested some juicy oranges and put them in a cold dirt pit so that they won't spoil. 9:40 AM I wanted to cry because of both nearly loosing my life yesterday, Dimitri's death, and the overall shock and pain that I still didn't get over with, but my survival instinct told me to now waste any water on the tears and move on If I want to survive. I obeyed that instinct like a loyal soldier. I'm suspecting the mutation might have also given me enchanced memory since I just finished writing down the events that happened in the last 2 days while being 100% sure of every single event, flawlessly remembering everything I saw and did, even the time it happened on. I suspect it might have also removed or lowered my need for drinking water, since I don't feel the urge to drink any liquids anymore, just like I don't feel the need to sleep. I use this opportunity to salute and drop some tears at Dimitri's grave, then begin carefully planning my next actions.


Little bells clang clang clang above me as I walk into Golds. I shuffle into line. Regulars fill the tight, boxy store, trying to get their different fixes. The scruffy man in front of me is getting vodka. I want cigs. I play with the lighter in the deep pocket of my dad’s oversized Army jacket as the line proggresses. Scruffy man finally buys his vodka and departs. The bells *clang clang clang’s* behind him. I see the pretty blue box I want behind the counter. My feet start shuffling. A tall boy waits for me to ask what I want. I don’t recognize him, so he must have just started working here. “Can I get a pack of blue American Spirits?” I ask. “Can I see I.D.?” the tall boy behind the counter asks. "Sure." I show him my provisional license as proof that I am old enough to slowly kill myself in Pennslyvania. He glances quickly at it and then grins. I know what this is about. "Is your name really--" "Yeah yeah yeah--I know what my name is, can I just get the cigs?" I blush. "Sure," the tall boy laughs and rings me up. “Thanks,” I whisper. “That’ll be seven dollars, Bunny Butler," he says. “Fine,” I shove the money at him and snatch the blue box. I rush out of Golds. My breath materializes in front of me, and my body shivers. I take out the blue box and smoke one of my new cigs. The tension in my shoulders relaxes. I have not gotten around to changing my name yet. But I'm gonna. I'm tired of dealing with it. Annoying people like that boy always tease me about it. I hate it. I smoke my cig and pace in front of Golds. I light another cig and start walking home. I play with my red BIC lighter as I meander the worn-out streets. The flame is pathetic now, and it'll be out of butane soon. I'll head to Golds after work tomorrow. I get home, take a bath, and snuggle into bed. I look over at my clock: **10 p.m.** The apartment is bustling with roommate activity. I wrap myself in my blanket and try to go to sleep. Of course, the tall boy flashes into my mind. His black hair dangling at his shoulders. That stupid grin. He must have been over six feet tall. His face was kinda nice looking. Why am I thinking about him? I bet he thought he was being cute, saying my name like that. *Errrr*, The nerve of that guy! I wake up the next morning and get myself ready for work. Waiting tables sucks. My lighter finally dies at work, so I definitely have to go to Golds to get a new one. My shift ends, I leave the shitty restaurant on fifth-avenue, and I head to Golds. I hug my dad's army jacket as the icy wind beats my body. I push the door open, and the *clang clang clang* sings above me. The tall boy is behind the counter again. I see him notice me walk in, but I try ignoring him and get in line. I finally make it to the front. The boy is grinning like an idiot, again. "What can I do for you this evening," he asks. "A pack of BIC lighters," I say. "Sure thing, Bunny Butler, that'll be five dollars." “Oh great, you remember my name.” “Pretty hard to forget a name like Bunny Butler,” he laughs. "Fuck you," I give him the money and bust out of Golds. I smoke a cig and pace in front of Golds. Why did I get so ticked off? Maybe because he's cute. It's embarrassing to be made fun of for having a stupid name from someone attractive. Also, yeah, I guess I’m admitting that I like him now. Ughhh. Why couldn’t my dad just name me something normal. I wish I hadn't told that boy to fuck off. Maybe I should go in and apologize to him? It isn't his fault my dad named me something stupid. I should just go home. *Clang clang clang*. The tall boy walks out of the store. He looks at me a bit sheepishly and takes out a pack of Newports. "I'm sorry I teased you about your name," he says. "I'm sorry I swore at you," I say. His eyes brighten a bit. We smoke silently for a bit.. "Your name is pretty dumb." "Thanks, jerk." "Your welcome,” he stamps out his cig, “It's dumb, but you're cute, and you kind of pull it off." "I'm gonna change it," I say. “That makes sense.” “You’re not gonna tell me I shouldn't, that my name is unique, that I shouldn't care about what other people think, or some cliche thing?” “Most people don’t get pissed at being called by their name. Do what makes you happy.” “True,” I say. He grins. "Whoever named you Bunny Butler must be a real son-of-a-bitch." "Yeah, my dad is crazy,"I say. “You don’t have daddy issues, do you?” he asks “Probably.” I smile. "Do you wanna go out sometime?" "I'll think about it.


The stranger stood in the open entrance of the market hall, just out of the sunlight, watching as a group of tourists took pictures—pyramids of olives and spices, strings of onions and rabbits. All around him the locals laughed and bargained. Even though he hadn’t been to the old hall since he was a child, it seemed as though nothing had changed. He looked past his new running shoes at the cobblestones, worn so smooth they shone in the light. He heard a boy selling olives and stepped forward to ask the price for a small bag. The boy overcharged, but the man paid without question. The boy was running the stall while his uncle was away and was eager to impress him. The stranger wandered, looking around, eating from the bag of olives. Stalls spilled inward from either side of the tunnel, engulfing everyone in calculated chaos. Fruits and vegetables and meats—one stall sold wine if you knew the right person, but, of course, the stranger didn’t. That wasn’t why he was here. He moved slowly, deeper, noticing the crowd grow thinner and the air colder. The blue-white light bulbs strung along the ceiling were few and far between, allowing the vendors’ candlelight to take command and dance on the walls. He wondered if he should continue—perhaps the docks would better give him what he was after, closer to the open freedom of the sea. But soon the tunnel ended and opened onto a cavernous room with white-painted walls. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and decades of fish, caked into the stone, part of the building itself. Rows of tables crowded the floor, each covered with a bed of slowly-melting ice. It was after noon and the fish market was nearly empty. There were no customers haggling for the day’s catch; there were no tuna, or swordfish heads, or tourists to take pictures of them. The vendors were either preparing to leave or chatting amongst themselves. Most of the sellers were already home, their ice-beds bare. The stranger buttoned his thin wool jacket against the drop in temperature and stepped inside. Immediately his foot plunged into a deep puddle, the frigid water soaking through his shoe and sock in an instant. He let out a shout and all the vendors turned to stare at him, for a moment. Then they all went back to their conversations and their packing––even if there was anything left to sell, they knew he wasn’t here to buy. Face hot, he cursed under his breath and looked down at his shoe, feeling the foul water between his toes. He looked behind him, back into the dark tunnel. The entrance was so far away, past curves and merchandise that blocked out all sunlight. He turned away and continued forward, squelching with every other step. The vendors continued to pay him no mind, except once, when he approached a nearly-sold-out display of crabs, mussels, and shrimp. The seller paused to eye him, just in case, until the stranger turned away. But they were right in their initial judgement and didn’t look his way again. The stranger walked past every table until he reached the edge of the room, where chubby cats ignored him in the semi-darkness. He paused for a moment to look back over the fish market, and then went straight to the only vendor who’d caught his interest. He was scaling and gutting a small pile of fish, moving them from one side of the ice to the other; the only man actively working with the sea in the entire building. He was older, with a greying beard, and he was thin but strong. His skin was dark and tough. He was missing the tip of his left ring finger, and in his right hand he held a wooden-handled knife that seemed to be much older than he was. “I suppose the ice melts quickly,” the stranger remarked, watching his hands move with the fish. The man continued his work. “Did you catch these?” “Yes,” the vendor said. “This morning. Do you want to buy?” The stranger looked closer at the fish, noticing how the artificial light gleamed in their eyes. "Have you always been a fisherman?” The fisherman didn’t respond until he’d finished his cuts and set the fish to the side. “All my life.” The stranger glanced at the fisherman’s face; he wasn’t distracted from his work. His shirt collar was worn, the cloth soiled by many stains. The stranger nudged a small bone lying on the stone floor, to the side with his wet shoe. “Is there much money in fishing?” “That depends.” The fisherman wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of scales on his skin. “Are you here to buy fish?” “No.” The weather-born lines in the fisherman’s face seemed to deepen as he grabbed another fish and began scraping away the scales. “Did you always want to be a fisherman?” “My father was a fisherman. And my grandfather.” “I'd never be a banker like my father,” the stranger said. The fisherman looked up at him, then back down at his work. The stranger stopped smiling. “My great-grandfather was a fisherman as well. And his father.” The stranger looked at the fish in the man’s hands, not taking his eyes away until it was stacked on the ice. “You must feel proud, your family having fished for so many generations.” The fisherman didn’t reply. The stranger reached into his pocket for his wallet. “How much are they?” The fisherman told him. “Which is a good one?” “They are all good.” “Would you choose one for me? I don’t know much about fish.” The fisherman grabbed a fish from the ice and wrapped it in newspaper. The stranger paid, took the bundle under his arm, and left. It was cold and damp; as he walked he felt it seep through his jacket, through his shirt. He kept the bundle where it was. When he stepped back into the sunlight he shivered and looked up and down the street. A few skinny cats mewed and rubbed up against his legs. The stranger turned and walked to a cafe. There, he took a seat, placing the bundle on the table and unbuttoning his jacket. He leaned back in the chair and asked a passing waiter to bring him a coffee. A distracted smile played on the waiter’s lips as he nodded and withdrew. While he sipped his coffee, he gazed out onto the street, at the pedestrians, the cars, and, beyond them all, to the sea. When he stood to leave he left a few coins on the table and did not take the bundle with him.


Their voices rolled on in my head like the recordings of my mom’s voice. I sat on the couch and made myself a glass of wine and watched the reel play. This one was *Summer 1982*. It was Mom holding me over a picnic blanket at some sunny lake. I was cherub-round with wispy blond hair that matched the woman laughing on the screen. “Percy Goldman, you turn away the camera right now,” she said. The camera angle shifted and I saw a spectacled man on the right of the blanket, smiling, his glasses glinting in the light. *Bastard*. The glass in my hand shattered. I looked down, my hand shaking, and grimaced at the red spot that was rapidly growing on the carpet between my socks. The bell chimed and snapped me out of my reverie. I got up, kicked the rug so that it covered the spot, and then hastily looked for a change of pants. Then I changed my mind and took off my skirt, pulling up my underwear so that my ass was more exposed. I ran to the front door and opened it. Grinning was James, and next to him his girlfriend Helen. “So Dollface,” he said. “How can I help ya?” Helen scoffed. “She’s been so waiting for this day. With that mug she’d have to beg or go to Mr. Harrison to get laid.” Mr. Harrison was the old janitor at our school. I forced myself to smile. “Please, come in.” James sauntered into the living room and plopped himself on the sofa. “So, wanna start dancing or what?” he said. “Sure, let me touch up a bit in the bathroom.” Helen rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” I walked into the bathroom and turned the light on. As I started wrapping a piece of cotton around my injured palm, I felt a cold sensation brush across me. She was here. “Are you sure?” she wrote across the mirror. The message vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Yes,” I wrote back, using some of my blood. “I love you honey.” In a second the mirror was clean again. I looked at my face, pale and white, my hair now fully brunette -- those Goldilock years were gone -- and finished bandaging my palm. I took off my shirt and peeked out of the bathroom so my breasts were showing. “Hey, I’m ready,” I said. I tried to sound flirtatious but it sounded weird and robotic. James didn’t seem to mind. He dashed to the bathroom, followed by Helen. I pressed play on the little radio I kept on the counter and some Britney Spears began to play. *Hit me baby one more time*. I started kissing Helen and undressing her. I could see James getting aroused and put out a hand to pull him closer. His weight pushed us backwards, and I was sandwiched between the people who had tortured me every day since I’d come to Washington High. *I must confess, that my loneliness--* “Mom, now,” I said. The lights went off. As they screamed, I could feel blood erupt onto my chest and thighs, and I came. \ More demons at r/ladyandthepen.


Oh, you’re here already.’ ‘You took your time, I’ve been here nearly an hour.’ ‘Sorry Abe, I got distracted playing with the little ones, they are so into fighting with each other that I have to make it a game otherwise it might get nasty.’ ‘Yeah, tell me about it! Anyway, let's just go over the plan, okay?’ ‘Sure, sorry again.’ Chip surveyed the compound. ‘What do you think our chances are tonight?’ Abe was scanning the buildings. ‘Okay so far, I’ve been scrutinising the whole place since I got here and there’s been no activity at all. I’ve a feeling tonight may be our night.’ ‘Gosh I sure hope so, the little ones are only just about surviving as it is, and herself won’t let up “More food, more food” is all I seem to hear these days.’ Chip flicked his eyes up and sighed. ‘The Plan! Chip; The Plan! Focus!’ ‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’ Chip tilted his head and looked at Abe who was concentrating on the buildings inside the compound. ‘Sure does not seem right to get shot for stealing a bit of food to feed your family, does it?’ Chip didn’t expect a reply but Abe was never one to let a question hang about waiting. ‘That’s the way it is now I’m afraid. Ever since the new regime came in it’s zero tolerance with any law breakers. If they don’t catch you in the act, they will try and hunt you down.’ Abe shook his head. ‘Makes for an easy life for those that have, and a tough one for the rest of us.’ Abe paused and looked thoughtfully through the fence. ‘Anyway, time’s getting on, let’s get down to business.’ Abe nodded towards a secreted gap under the fence, ‘I’ll sneak in through there and you stay here and as soon as you see a light, either go on or off, you holler as loud as you can to let me know.’ ‘Sure Abe, I might need to cough to clear my throat, is that okay?’ ‘Don’t you dare. We have to be as quiet as the growing grass until we get clear. You got that?’ ‘Okay, got it. I’ll not take my eyes off the windows and doors and if I see any changes at all, they’ll hear me in the next town over.’ Abe continued, ‘I’ll be using the first three buildings as cover to get to the foodstore, so I should get through without any problems. The foodstore has a grill at the side which has a gap between it and the floor and that’s my way in. Once I get the goods I’m back out the gap and straight to the hole under the fence, no hiding or staying in the shadows. As soon as I’m through the fence, we belt it for home. You got all that Chip?’ ‘Yeah, I got it. Slow and stealthy on the way in and fast and furious on the way back.’ Abe stared into Chip’s eyes, ‘Look, I know you were the lookout for Brad when he copped it but I’m trusting you learned your lesson that night, right Chip?’ Chip looked away and then despondently down at the ground. ‘I couldn’t help it Abe, I was frozen with fear. It seemed the whole place just lit up and next thing there were bullets flying everywhere. I never even got a chance to warn Brad, it was like they were waiting for him.’ He looked droopy eyed at Abe, ‘But I know the drill now Abe; the instant the windows or doors lights change, that's the signal for me to sound the alarm, not a second later. You can trust me Abe, I’ve got your back.’ ‘I don’t blame you for Brad, Chip, it was early days back then and we really didn’t know the consequences of getting things wrong. So let’s just stick to the plan and we can all eat heartily tonight. Okay?’ Chip nodded, ‘I won’t let you down Abe and I appreciate everything you are doing for me and my family, I really do.’ ‘We all have mouths to feed Chip, let’s make sure we can feed them tonight, okay?’ ‘Sure Abe, I’ll be on my toes, no problem’ ‘Okay, wish me luck then.’ ‘Good luck Abe, I’ve got your back.


A wave of energy pulsed and rippled through the darkened front room of the two-story home. It traveled thirty feet and dissipated. Electromagnetic signals grew red and also faded. From the doorway everything could be seen in a hazy x-ray, extending from the living room to the bedroom upstairs. The retrogress scanner was the only light, the condemned house fell quickly back into shadow. Harvester Asylus entered the home and touched the air to highlight the ancient signals, staring through a face shield. He closed the door to prevent his long coat from flapping in the wind. Primitive humans had been so obsessed with consumerism and the house was littered with random objects, the mechanical signals were all over the place. Pictures were lopsided on the walls of a life that was long forgotten. The people who had lived here were smiling but they had probably never known true happiness. In the kitchen he found rudimentary appliances and obsolete utensils. On the counter was a small rectangular device that had once been used as a personal computer, a method to view a distorted reality. Asylus picked it up and noted the strong aura coming from it. How sad that they depended on these small telephonic machines so heavily. Another trinket for his collection. He placed it in his jacket and moved to the area of the home known as the living room. There hadn’t been any real living here of course, not in modern terms. This is where the family would come to lay down and do nothing for hours on end. A faint aura was around the big box facing the couch. The rectangle in his pocket was the antecedent to making the big box superfluous. It was from these small devices that humanity banded together to criticize, uplift, demoralize, and comfort one another. Asylus remembered the history of these people. In secret they were lonely. It was the phones that connected them together, links in a chain, water pouring out in an endless digital river. The TV had been kicked in, plastic shards had decayed into mold and moss. He was glad for it. The phone device he would put on his wall to display the downfall of humanity. It had only led to their separation and division. Coddled and pampered, listening to their own ideals and beliefs being displayed back at them, society had cultivated a series of rules and unspoken, personal laws. Rights and wrongs were individualized. He looked at the family portraits and tore one off the wall, throwing it on the grass covered floor. Birthed from a glass tube and being raised in indoctrination center taught him the importance of being alone. But he couldn’t help but linger on the idea of a family. The past had stolen that sensation from him. The past had robbed all of civilization from something called humor, an expression of lightheartedness long forgotten because several individuals found it to be offensive. Laughter, with all its terrible derision, had become a foreign concept. Asylus supposed that the primitives never understood their own boasting and how important it was to the growth of the Transgressions. The sacred laws had to be upheld and he was proud of being part of its delivery. It was the Transgressions that made him a better person, drove him as a young child to push himself harder and focus more deeply. He activated the retrogress scanner again. The soft blue light echoed like sonar. There were no remains here but the Ultranet had pointed the Harvester to this area. That was when he looked up and saw the biological life essence, shimmering green on the second floor. The stairs were cracked and bent, the landing was nearly completely missing. Somehow a potted plant hung from the window. It had been overgrown but after a few hundred years Asylus didn’t want to disturb it. Pictures were here too, of an existence of clean water and breathable air. A peaceful world. A world of shopping malls, hair salons, fast food, and instant coffee. A world of accommodations, replacements, and comfort. They didn’t know what they had, and now it was his turn to reap, sow, and bring woe. He followed the green light to the master bedroom. A hole in the roof allowed rainwater and sewage seep through. Beams had collapsed onto the bed but that wasn’t where the body was. The skeleton was at his feet, arm outstretched. The man had been old, living alone and died from injuries to his torso. A scan of the man’s skull brought a virtual representation in front of Asylus, which grew with virtual neurons, recreated from the post-transgressor. Data ran across his interface and slowly filled in the personification that stood before him. The gaps were filled in with textures and visuals from ancient pictures. The recreated brain was ready to be activated. Asylus blinked hard to bring the simulation to life. The man, appearing in his seventies, blinked back and staggered, looking around his ruined bedroom. “Wha…what? Where am I?” Jerry Wilson, as his name tag indicated, was naturally shaken and tried to step out of bounds of the digitization but couldn’t. “Who are you?” Asylus put up his hand, “I am a Harvester. Your home, where you’ve been for seven hundred years. You’ve lived an extravagant life, Mr. Wilson.” “Extravagant?” He shouted, eyes darting. “I’ve lived a life I could afford and I think I’ve earned it. Is this the afterlife? What is this?” The simulation was as real as if he were alive and that excited Asylus. Of course, he was just a representation but there was still penance that needed to be paid. “This is not the afterlife, not yet. First you must face sentence. You are in violation of the Transgressions, our code and scripture. Even in death you cannot escape damnation. An eternity of virtual hellfire awaits you.” “Hellfire?! I was always a good Christian and law-abiding citizen. I did everything I could to be good to my neighbors.” “No.” Answered the Harvester. “We, the Surviving Union of the Ostrio Nation, judge you to be condemned. You have committed twelve violations against our culture and society.” “So I’ve been dead…for that long? Haven’t I been pardoned for such crimes? Why should I be accountable for my actions after my death.” Mr. Wilson looked down and seemed to ponder this last word. “You are guilty of such transgressions against your fellow man. You requested the cancelation of many shows and individuals on your social media accounts. This is forbidden. The other transgressions are much more severe. You were a consumer. Current law dictates that consumerism is forbidden. Usage of plants for anything other than photosynthesis is also forbidden. You’ve used 2 tons of toilet paper, 120 condoms, 4 tons of Styrofoam cups, and 4 tons of other paper and plastic products. Your gas emissions were well above the standards and your electrical output has been hazardous to the environment.” “This isn’t fair!” Mr. Wilson threw up his arms and gestured desperately. “You must all be held accountable to today’s standards, regardless of your deceased status. Prepare to be incarcerated into the digital realm of the infernal underworld.” With that Harvester Asylus opened his palm where an orb appeared in the virtual space. Jerry Wilson’s persona was sucked into its void and quickly disappeared, along with the orb itself. Another digital ghost detained. The world was a safer place. He breathed out deeply and smiled, knowing that the toxicity of the past would not taint the future. The relief quickly faded. His scanner chimed with another prehistoric life signal. Accountability was a never-ending job.


As Cycle 1 of Serial Saturday here on comes to a close, it's high time we get some spotlights posted. This spotlight has been a long time coming, but not for lack of enthusiasm or support for this next story. It’s been such a treat to watch people evolve their flash fiction serials with us and bring arcs to a close that for some have been with us for quite a while. For a good handful of writers on Serial Saturday, their stories are continuations of serials started on Theme Thursday weekly threads. One such story comes from /u/Lady_Oh (). Here at /r/ShortStories we thoroughly enjoyed LadyOh's dedication to telling a cozy fairytale style story in such a unique way. But don't take my word for it! Here's a small teaser from LadyOh:  >*The little girl Dot listens to lot of fairy tales from her Granny, but soon enough she finds out that not all of them are true. With her best friend Emma by her side, Dot heads into the forest and as it is with proper magical forests, the two friends get lost in it. On their desperate journey to find back home, they experience a night full of odd creatures, frightening magic, and a pinch of luck...*  For our first run of Serial Saturday at /r/shortstories it was important for us to get author impressions of how their experience went with us, and give readers a peek at the "behind the scenes" of creating a flash fiction serial. Here's LadyOh's take on that:  >I originally started this serial with the intention of writing only one story about giants, which was the theme for TT back then. To my surprise, I got not only a little fanfic for my story in the comments, but also a few people during the campfire session, who ~~demanded~~ asked if Dot would ever become more than just a listener to the tales, which was very motivating for me to send Dot on her own adventure. > >This serial often felt out of control, because I jumped into it without any kind of plan, relying solely on the theme of TT (and later SerSat), inventing the next part of the story on the spot. > >That's why I leaned a lot on the characters' simple but prominent traits, which connected the story parts and helped me in keeping the story grounded. At some point it felt more like the characters acted on their own, facing the challenges based on their personalities, than me writing them. I don't think that without the readers it would have ever become more than a simple story about giants, so I am really grateful to all who pushed me to write more, and left me comments and feedback. > >At first, I didn't have any other goal than finishing the story (which I did with pride and sadness when saying goodbye). However, I picked up a lot of knowledge along the way, found a balance between my own writing voice and the tone of fairytales, and learned to let go of unneeded words, even if they were beautiful. > >All in all, it was a great learning opportunity, that I would like to repeat in the future. Next time, I think I won't wing it as much and create at least a rough outline to follow, to have the story flow a bit better for the readers and make character development easier to write. With the tale of *Dot & Emma* at an end there is only one thing left to do: show off this newly finished story for obligatory bragging rights here on . Let the bragging begin! Lady\_Oh’s personal sub is and I highly recommend checking out her author notes and other stories written for . The *Dot & Emma* story in its entirety is compiled as a collection there, Without further ado, here's Lady's Table of Contents. Get ready for a comfy cozy tale that hits in all the right places! \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ You can check out more of /u/Lady_Oh's work by going to her subreddit, /r/Tattlewhale. Congrats on finishing your serial, Lady\_Oh, and we can’t wait to see what you do next. <3 from the team at r/ShortStories, r/WritingPrompts, and Serial Saturday. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *For more information on the Serial Saturday program feel free to check out our* *.* We have members from all around the world and who have all kinds of schedules, so there’s usually someone awake to talk to. We also have scheduled readings, oration critiques, spur-of-the-moment story time, or even just random hangouts over voice chat.


Ned lives in Dusk Island, Australia. He thought he was a superhero. It ruined his normal life, and turned it around and around, until it became a withered heap of nothing. One boring rainy night Ned ducked under his small splintery wooden framed door. *Today something fun will happen.* He thought. He had just read a book about superheroes. He had liked it so much, that he had wanted to become one. *I’ll be super Ned!* He thought as he skipped across the cool damp lawn. It was lit by a faint tall lamp post that stood by the beaten road. He sloshed across the lawn with his wet leather shoes. He thought leather was cool. Infact, he thought it was so cool, his whole outfit was made of it. He was outside at nighttime, because he had wanted to catch a criminal. He should have known it wouldn’t work. He ran across the wet pavement, his leather shoes thumping on the beaten pavement. He ran all around until he reached a bridge. This bridge stretched across the ocean. It led to Sydney. He could see the tall skyscrapers up in the sky. The Sydney Opera House lit up the dark sky. The moon was covered up by thick wet clouds. He came to the end of the bridge. Then he ducked under the toll booth. He ran through the loud city, looking for crime. He ran all around the city. His lungs felt like they were on fire. He wad hurting all over. His skinny body was not used to such exercise. He sat on a bench next to an old man. He instantly felt better. The old man was leaning on a small tin trash can next to the bench. He looked pretty bad. *Bad as in crime.* Ned thought. Ned sat next to him and waited for the man to do some crime. He sat there. He waited a couple minutes, then he looked at his clanky old watch. It was midnight. Time for crime. Ned’s back was pressed against the cold metal bench. He was waiting still. The old man croaked, “Whatcha doing?” “What??,” said Ned the old man had surprised him. “Oh! Uhhh… Nothing!!” The old man cracked a smile. His yellow teeth were coated with plague. He smelled like cigarettes. Ned ran behind some nearby bushes. His leather shoes were soaked from the cold wet grass. He had to wait for the crime to happen. The old man had to be alone. After about five minutes of waiting, he saw the old man walk into a jewelry store. *Old men don’t go to jewelry stores at night!* Ned thought. The old man walked out. An alarm was sounding. Ned ran over to the man. The old man bashed him across the forehead, and walked home, back to his house. His home he had owned for years. The one with the small splintery wooden doorway. The one with the beaten road beside it.


The sound of a bottle breaking brings the party back into focus. I must have been daydreaming again. But is it even daydreaming if it's at night? God, I’m hopeless. "Sarah, go talk to a boy," my friend says. "What's the point." "So you can fall in loooove!" Cynthia means well, but she’s a romance addict. "I don't want to fall in love, Cynthia," I sigh. "C’mon. You can't fuck a bass, Sarah!" "Sure I can." Cynthia gives me a scary look. "Ughhh, you're hopeless!" she says and storms off into the mess of people crowded in the tight apartment. I giggle and sip my beer. It’s too easy to tick her off. But this party is kinda boring. Ughh, I’m getting tired of hearing 100 gecs. I wanna go home and listen to some Paul Chambers or something. I’ll smoke a spliff first though. I put my beer down on the small table I’m leaning on and make my way through the sea of sweaty animals to smoke out on the fire escape. I crawl through the window and breath in the crisp fall city air. I take out the spliff I rolled at home and light that bitch. It warms me up. I sit down and look at the cars below. “Sup.” A bit startled, I turn to my right. A boy is sitting at the end of the fire escape with his legs dangling off the side, smoking a cig. He’s tapping his left hand rhythmically. “Oh, hey.” Ughhh, curse you, Cynthia! I’m not gonna meet any boy tonight. “What are you smoking?” he asks. “A spliff.” “What’s in it?” “Blue American Spirit tobacco and Gorilla Glue.” “I always seem to end up with Gorilla Glue,” he sighs, “I can’t tell if it’s any good.” “It ain’t bad.” “Hmmm.” He takes a drag from his cig and plays with his long, black hair. His eyes have a bored look to them. “What are you smoking?” I ask. “Camel blues.” “Can I cop one?” “If you let me hit your spliff then sure,” he says. What am I doing right now! I should just go home and practice bass. My upright needs me. But instead, he hands me a camel blue and I trade my spliff. I smoke the camel blue and he starts humming the bass hook at the start of So What. “You like Kind of Blue?” I say. “Yeah,” his smiles, “I know it’s cliche but it’s what got me into jazz. I listened to that album a lot in my cringy middle school days. It’s forever stuck in my brain, ya know.” “Me too. Paul Chambers is so fucking great. That album is what led me to start playing upright.” “Jimmy Cobb is like that for me,” He says. His eyes brighten a little. I can’t help but smile. He’s so fucking cute. *Errrr!* I won’t fall in love. I won’t fall in love… “So, you play drums then I guess?” I ask. “Yeah.” Stop it, Sarah! STOP! “Hey, we should jam sometime!” he says. “Oh, yeah. That… that would be great!” I’m blushing. It’s all over. I’m in love with this boy.