#Welcome to the Spooky Micro Monday Challenge! 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, song, theme word, 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: **Prompt: When a shrill cry echoed in the mist, I knew I wasn’t alone.** *Bonus Constraint (worth extra points): The genre is ghost story and/or includes a ghost.* As we continue on into our fourth week of the Spooktober Challenge, I encourage each of you to step out of your comfort zones! Try something new. And for those who live and breathe horror, or want to give it a shot, this is your chance! Keep in mind you are not bound to write horror. If the prompt inspires you to write something different, go for it! This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. The sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). You may interpret the prompt any way you like (including changing the tense), as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. *The bonus constraint is not required.*   *** #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 rankings. - **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 actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **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. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - 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 (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/Lynx_Elia   - - Submitted by u/rainbow--penguin   - - Submitted by u/CuratorOfThorns   - - Submitted by u/c-wendt   *** ###Subreddit News - 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.


The school principal sat at his desk impatiently tapping his pen. He looked at his watch before furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “Sir, Mr. Warford is here to see you,” his secretary said through the speaker phone. “Thank you, Ealith, please send him in,” the principal replied. Mr. Warford walked into the principal’s office. “You wanted to see me sir?” “Warford, take a seat please,” the principal said, skipping all the usual pleasantries. Mr. Warford sat down and crossed his legs. The principal sighed. “Warford, you know why you’re here don’t you?” Mr. Warford shifted in his chair but didn’t reply to the obviously rhetorical question. “We’ve had several complaints now,” the principal continued, “Parents are upset. I’m receiving calls and letters, I got yelled at yesterday. Now, we’ve discussed this several times, but I don’t want you teaching these kids about the Lord of the Rings!” “But, sir,” Mr. Warford replied, “I’m an ethics teacher here. These kids are asking me about ethics and history and I am simply answering their questions.” “You have been accused of *indoctrinating* these kids,” the principal said as he reached over his desk to grab a letter. “Look at this one, it says here that one of the kids came home asking about Frodo Baggins.” “And here’s another one,” the principal continued as he grabbed another letter, “This is from a mother who says her daughter wanted to be like Galadriel the elf.” Mr. Warford smirked. “This isn’t funny Warford!” the principal said sternly, leaning onto his desk. “This has got to stop! You’re an ethics teacher, these kids are 10 years old. Teach them about right and wrong, don’t do bad things, that sort of thing. Stop talking about silly myths and legends!” “But, sir,” Mr. Warford replied sternly, seemingly affronted. “With all due respect, these are not silly myths and legends. Millions of people around the world believe this and base their ethical beliefs on the teachings of the book.” “Warford,” the principal said leaning back in his chair, an exasperated smile on his face, “I really don’t understand you. An educated man, a teacher for goodness’ sake, believing in children’s stories about hobbits and elves and Sauron. Yes I know we were all taught this at one point, but you have to know, this is all nonsense.” “I don’t think it’s nonsense, sir,” Mr. Warford said seriously. “I believe it to be true. And all I am doing is presenting the children with an alternative view on our world.” “Warford, that’s enough!” the principal snapped, “This is the last time I am going to tell you. Stop teaching students about the Lord of the Rings or you will be fired. No more warnings. I will *not* have another parent complain to me about what you are teaching their children.


The room is silent. Velma looks at Charlotte who is sitting on a chair occasionally standing to check their vitals. Tim is staring at the purple liquid counting the bubbles forming and dissipating. Stephen is engaged in a staring contest with the guard. "So when do you think it will be safe to go out?" Velma asks. "I don't know. There are enough emergency supplies stored here to last for several days," Charlotte replies. "And you expect us to lie here the whole time?" "Of course not, after a while, your muscles will atrophy. You will get time to stand and walk soon," Charlotte says. "Just great," Tim says, "I lost my count of the bubbles." Velma and Charlotte glare at him. Tim shrugs and goes back to counting the bubbles. "Do you have any idea what is going on outside?" Velma asks. "See that speaker," Charlotte points at a speaker above the door, "When it is safe to go outside, they will tells us through there. Until then, speculating is just going to cause stress." "You really just expect us to lie here?" Stephen asks not breaking eye contact with the guard. "Listen," Charlotte stands, "You all were not born when the Mierans attacked the first time. I was an adult fighting in that war. I learned quickly that you need to focus on what is right before you. Speculating about what is going outside the door only causes more trouble. Now, I understand that this can be rather boring so I do know a few word games that we can play." Stephen breaks eye contact and furrows his brow at her. "I'll pass." "Same," Velma nods. "I'll play," Tim shrugs. The other two look at him, "What I'm bored." Soldiers line in waves with their guns pointed at the hole created by the animals. The Mieran-humans will be armed, but their training accounts for armed combat. A bird flies through the hole startling a soldier into shooting it. It falls easily. The soldier avoids being reprimanded as his supervisors are too focused on the hole. The wall on the other side explodes. The ground shakes throwing the soldiers off balance. A few are able to turn to run to the other side. The others stand in confusion. A small number cars and trucks run through the crevice created by the explosion. The passengers fire their guns into the air and at random. Their movements further divide the soldiers into smaller units. A lieutenant fires a shot at a truck driver's head. The truck crashes into a barracks. The rest of the passengers fan out firing their guns. A bullet scratches his back. The lieutenant looks up. Mieran-humans are in the towers fighting the snipers. One Mieran-human wins and uses the rifle to kill the other snipers with ease. The Mieran-humans provide cover fire. Sergeants Gil and Nilsen are standing back to back fighting the Mieran-humans when General Ben Meltz rings into them. "I need you at the command center now," he says. "Sir, we are overwhelmed. I don't know if we can make it," Sergeant Gil says. "We need to move the subjects out of the base. We are going to lose. I need you to help me move right now," he yells. The sergeants sigh. "On our way sir," Sergeant Nilsen says, and they move. "Excellent," General Meltz says as he walks out of the command center. He closes the door on his victims.


“Finally!” John K took a deep breath and raised his chin high, as he looked over the vast desert. A sense of satisfaction flooded his emotions. The desert floor looked desolate from the mountain overlook. “Nothing for miles. An ocean of dirt,” he thought. After a few moments, John's eyes began to dilate. He could not hide the thought of how alone he was up there. A dull chill crept up his spine. He proceeded to pull his phone out of his pocket and check if any of his friends had posted something new since the morning. He sipped water from his canteen and felt the cold liquid slide down his throat. It had been too long since he drank any water. John sat on a rock streaming through Instagram for ten minutes. After his break, he stood up and walked over to the ledge to take some pictures. “Why even hiking up the mountain if you can’t prove it,” he said to himself. After twenty photo’s of the same view but at different angles, and with different facial expressions, he looked at the time. 11 O’clock. “Good,” he thought, “the sun will be high enough to warm the air. I ‘ll be able to get some good cardio in on the walk back.” More important than the cardio, John checked the clock to make sure he wasn’t spending too much time up there. Seven-hundred feet back down the mountain. If he left now, he would still be able to get home in enough time to go out that night. The walk down was always harder. Whenever he was climbing up a trail, the rocks had a way of morphing into steps. But going down, the rocks stayed rocks. Nothing was shaped for him on the way down. Every step had to be a conscious maneuver on John’s part. Copperhead trail was 4.65 miles long. The first mile was flat through the dessert which lead to the base of the mountain. The next 3 miles was a steady zipper pattern up its side. The last 0.65 miles was by far the toughest. Four hundred feet of incline straight up. The trail essentially vanished and became a dance with boulders. A spot turn here, a chassé there as one finds their way through the pass. John was halfway way done with his descending waltz when he decided to take a quick break. It was taking him longer than he imagined it was going to take. Not that it was scary or tough, it was just not made for his skills as a hiker. “Nothing to be worried about,” he thought as he drank some water. John pulled out his phone and looked at the time. “12:30!” John grew panicked. He thought he would be back at the car by 2pm. “I only have another hour and a half to get down the whole mountain and I’m only half way down the steep upper part.” John closed his eyes and took deep breathes to regain his composure. He redid the math in his head. “I have to be at the car by two, so I can be home by six. Eat, shower and be out of the house by 7.” His math was sound. The idea of being late to the party scared John more than the boulders ever could. “I have to pick up the pace,” he thought to himself as he placed the canteen back in his backpack. The added time pressure made the boulder dance extra difficult. John would skip a rock here or there if he thought it would save some time. Getting to the car was all he could think about. The dance slowly become more chaotic as more steps were missed. While standing on a solid boulder, John looked below to assess where to jump next. Five feet below laid another flat rock. John leaped. His arm spread wide like bird wings to guide him through the air. Instantaneously, he knew something was wrong. The additional weight loosened the rock from its teetering position and sent it, along with John, over the edge of the mountain. As he fell, John felt the full force of the mountain. The first impact hit his shoulder. The rock flipped him in the air. When he collided with the mountain a second time, it was his right femur that took the brunt of the impact. The third hit was the most painful for it was a direct hit to his back. Pain went coursing through his body. It was only then that John began to believe that he was actually hurtling down the side of the mountain. There was no way to catch himself while falling. He couldn’t grasp what way was up. The rest of the way down was a daze. Six hundred feet, and thirty-two seconds later, John landed. Blood instantaneously began to pool around his lifeless body. The wounds were numerous (a few that illustrate the severity included a broken right femur, a lung contusion, multiple broken ribs, a lumbar spine injury that affected his L3, L4, and L5 vertebrae, as well as numerous skin tissue contusions to his head and extremities). Three minutes and twelve seconds of silence later, John’s lungs opened up as they gasped for salvation. He struggled for every breathe. He never had to do that before. When John regained consciousness, his first thought was to blow it off. “I’m still alive, act cool, don’t start getting crazy.” That was his go to response whenever he felt nervous, but unbeknownst to him, he had never been in a situation so severe as this. He attempted to straighten out his limbs. Pain enveloped his entire body. “Brush it off. It’s nothing. Just stay calm… just stay calm.” After a minute or two, John was able to wince off the pain. He had no idea what to do for he had never been in a situation like this. “I need to get my phone,” he thought. In complete agony, John reached for the phone in his pants pocket. Over and over, fighting through the pain John felt around for his phone but it was nowhere in sight. Seconds after he began to fall, the phone flew from his pocket never to be seen again. John grew dark with panic as the seriousness of the situation began to set in. What was he to do. He was severed from the outside word. Alone… Only one thing was left for John to do. He picked himself off the blood soaked sand and began to drag himself towards where he thought he had to go. He had know idea where he was going. For all he knew he could be walking further away from his car. A blood drops became trail markers that tracked back to where he landed. Looking back, he determined with great anger that he had only walked 100 yards. It was the most painful 100 yards he had ever walked. As John turned his head back around, a black object appeared near the base of the mountain. “What was that?” John looked back but nothing was there. He looked harder, and shouted, “help, please, I need help… please.” No one answered his pleas. His eyes filled with tears. Loneliness settled into his thoughts. He turned back around, wiped his eyes. There it was again. The same black object was now standing directly in front of him. “No, no, no.” John recoiled, covered his mouth and slowly backed away. When he gained the strength to look again, the black object had disappeared. John had to get help soon. The pain grew as he walked on, and felt despair after seeing the black object. He sensed he wasn’t alone anymore, but who was there was not help. Something was following him. He looked around but couldn’t catch who was there. The desert was laughing at him. Thirty feet later, Johns body gave out. It could not carry him any further. He was too drown in this ocean of dirt. Out of breathe, John laid in the sand. A cool tinge crept down his spine. He looked up and the black object was coming closer. Through the haze coming off the desert, a massive black wolf was walking up to John. John could do nothing but look on as it got closer. He starred into its white beady eyes. They were calm, transcending this brief moment in time. The wolf stopped only a few feet from John. After a short moment of silence, the wolf began to speak.“Well, did you think this is how it was all going to end. In the middle of an empty desert. It seems pretty fitting doesn’t it?” The wolf tried to hide his slight grin. John’s weak body collapse completely. His head slumped and would have landed in the sand if wasn’t still attached to his body. “Wha… what? Who are you?” “That doesn’t matter right now. Soon you will be dead.” The wolf took another step closer. “You should accept it. It makes this easier and you might actually learn something.” John wasn’t ready to accept anything. He knew the accident was dire and he would have to rely on people to help him day and night (which he dreaded most of all) but he was not ready to accept that everything was going to come to an end. Death was not on John’s mind. What was, was the wolf. “How can you talk?” The wolf smirked. He knew John was going to say something stupid. “I just told you you are going to loss your life and you’re worried about understanding how a wolf can talk.” The wolf became vexed. “Man… There was a time when I would talk to humans daily, and you’re… all of you are the same now a days. So worried about the wrong thing. So worried about everything making sense.” John looked away. He’s wasn’t ready to get a lecture from a talking wolf. He debated in his head about whether he was hallucinating. He had to have been. But how could he fully except that answer if he knew he was hallucinating. He thought if he knew he was hallucinating, then he would have to stop hallucinating, because his mind could no longer play games on him.“Maybe it’s real,” he thought to himself. The wolf collected himself and returned to a calm tone. “I’ve been following for a long time.” “I thought I might have seen you from the top of the mountain.” The wolf studied John silently for a moment before answering, “I’ve been following you much longer than that. I’ve been following you your whole life. I was born when you were born. At the same time. I’ve grown along with you, and have been watching you the entire time.” John was still stuck debating whether this was actually happening or not, but what the wolf said angered him. “What are you talking about? What game are you playing? I’m lying here dying, according to you, and you are playing these games.” This was the first time John mentioned the nearness of his own death. Tears swelled and defeat overtook the proud face John was desperately trying to hold onto. “I think I would have seen a wolf following me my whole life.” “Well you did mention how you saw me at the top of the mountain.” “Only today!” John quickly snapped back, releasing some of the anger he had over his near death. The wolf saw John getting emotional and began to changed his approach. He began to sympathize with John. The wolf calmly stated, “You’ve always looked right through me. You decided not to see me. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you, but I was there the whole time.” The wolf had Johns full attention. John didn’t understand what the wolf was saying but something struck him as true. As though it was really important for him to listen. The wolf continued, “Remember when your dad left? The only way you could keep him and your mom out of your mind was to run long distances. You ran that entire summer. Remember that run right after the divorce. You ran through that park by your house. You clearly saw me standing there in the woods but you shook it off. Like there was no way there was an actual wolf in the woods. You thought that just couldn’t be real. Altercations with wolves happened to the weirdos you hear about on the news, not normal people. It couldn’t happen you. So you shook me off and I disappeared.” “What do you mean you disappeared? Why’d you leave?” “I had no choice, you didn’t want to see me.” “What do you mean?” John was putting all the energy he had left into what the wolf was saying but it was still undecipherable. John shrugged his shoulders and choked on his emotions as he spoke, “I really don’t know what you mean.” The wolf took a deep breathe. “Because I am you. And only now in the last few gasped of air are you willing to talk.” “What… what?" John was too confused and weak to form a coherent question. The wolf talked tranquilly to John. “You have been so afraid your entire life. Why is it you need to act so tough for people? Why are you so afraid of them that you have to pretend. You went your whole life avoiding me, but as far as your life is concerned, those people… your friends, families, coworkers, might as well have been wolves because you never had a serious conversation with any of them. You were too afraid to be yourself. To show emotion. Too caught up in your own thoughts to let them in. Every time you thought you were being ‘manly’, or 'tough’ by not confronting something that upset you, you were adding another layer to your defense. Building a wall and bordering yourself even farther from who you were. You were building a wall distancing yourself from me. From the world.” The wolf paused to see how John reacted, then continued, “So… how are we the same if we are different?” The wolf crouched down closer to John as he answered his own question. “I am everything you had to hide from in order to continue acting as if you were fine. I am the grief, the sorrow, the fears that you felt. You pretended they weren’t there so nothing in you had to change. Because that cardboard personality you erected to keep you safe from any real feelings would blow over and you were afraid of what would happen next. How people would react. When you fell down the side of that mountain, it wasn’t just your bones that broke. That border finally fell. I just wish it didn’t have to happen like this.” The desert winds picked up. The sand lifted into the air and danced around John. John’s lips trembled, as his face turned pail. He thought about his mom. All the things he said to her. All the thinks he didn’t say to her. All the things he wish he said. He thought about his brothers. “We were so close when we were younger, why do we not talk anymore.” “Why was I so afraid to tell them how afraid of life I was? How sad I was. How I wish we could have been closer.” John was sad for his incredulity, but was comforted by the conversation. A weight was lifted. “I’m sorry. I wanted to…” “I know. I’m sorry too. I waited in the shadows but you needed to initiate the conversation.” “I don’t want to die. Can you help me?” “I wish I could. But when you die I die too. What I can do is lie besides you, and be your friend in our last moments.“ The wolf fell from the pain onto his side facing John. In these last moments, while so close to dying, John never felt as alive. The desert wrapped both of them in warmth. Lying there, John imagined his family. He wish he could say goodbye and that he loved them. That everything was okay.


Wrote this few years back. This is my first time posting. Feed backs are welcome. Prolouge Countless. That's how we describe the time that we have spent in this reality. Eons. Millennia. Centuries. We have been here for a while,looking for our purpose. We call our kind Nemos. which will be later known as Latin word for null or nothingness. Observer. Judge. Ruler. In search for a purpose, we decided to give ourselves something to do. Some became rulers of empires. Some adjudicators. I was the only one who resorted to becoming an observer. Nothing takes my interest. Except for this one soul. This is the story on how a young man made me interfere with human life. Chapter 1 His name is Q. He is the second host to notice my presence. We see what our host sees. We experience everything that happens to them. But make no mistake. We feel no pain nor emotion related to their stimulus. Its like.. I am another conciousness at the back of his mind. When a host die, we simply find another host in the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth is a place where all things are connected. Its like an infinite pathway for all things. Nemos are free to pick their host with only one restriction. We agreed not to pick a soul of a person who experienced death and then came back to life. The reason behind that is when the I picked a resuscitated patient, the poor soul saw what the I saw in all of my existence. Yes he came back alive but almost went insane. Q is seeing a familiar scene. He has seen this event may times. This is the same dream that keeps on showing from time to time. There are 2 images of Q. one lying on the floor and the other one sitting on the former's chest. The latter holding a broken shard of glass and continuously slitting the throat of the first one. The sheer amount of blood dripping doesnt bother him anymore. He has been trying to understand what could be the meaning of his recurring dream.. or nightmare. even I, an entity who lived countless lives cannot explain what is happening to his mind. We Nemos cannot forget. We remember everything perfectly as if things happened seconds ago. I am sure as hell that this is the first time that I saw a dream like that. Summer. Q is an interesting kid. He likes the idea of helping others but hates people. He tries his best to avoid direct human contact. There was this time that A kid was lost in his work place. I was waiting on what he will do when he suddenly uttered this words on his mind. "I know you're watching. After i settle matters with this kid show yourself in my dream." I have never been this excited before. Thrill sets in. A soul recognized me? It has been 67 years since a soul recognized my presence. Will this kid be able to handle the price? Knowing our presence is a death sentence for them. Nemos agree that Once the host knows about us, they will be given a "gift". That night I gave him the perfect gift for him. A curse of seeing other people's dream. He will be an observer in a way. But theres a catch. Everytime the host uses it, they lose their conciousness. This enables us to take over the body for a certain period of time. The first time Q used it was disastrous. He used it to a dying friend of his. He was overwhelmed on how vivid the scene was. As if he was the one experiencing the dream. He ended up all exhausted and then passed out. Of course I didn't waste any time. This was my chance to take over. Labyrinth. I found him. I had to search for the first soul to recognize Nemos. Hes a unique individual if i may say. He didn't flipped after he saw everything. Coming back to life was a bad thing for him. He got a lot of debt to pay, illness stricken children, and a lot more unfortunate circumstances. "I cannot imagine the agony of existing for so long. No friends. No family. No emotion. I am lucky in a way that i am not you." "You are me. And i am you." "I am an observer of things. I do not interfere. But as you have seen, being an observer is a curse. Just the mere fact of existing for all those time is a curse already. We normally give souls a piece of our gift. You didn't snapped after seeing all those things. But instead of giving you something, i will take away a piece of you." "I am taking away your ability to forget. You shall be given the curse of memory. Use it as you please." That was our first conversation. He was my first friend. I call him Z. Cafe. "You shall be given the curse of memory." Those were the words that came out of Q's mouth. The old chinese guy sitting across the table took a sharp look at him. "Old friend?". Z's voice is trembling. "Zhiqiang. Your name translates to Strong willed. It fits you perfectly." "It has been 40 years since our last meeting. I never thought that i will see you again." "40 years.. its nothing. I am here to ask for a small favor. " "Anything for you old friend.


Rhythmic, metallic thuds echoed throughout the chamber, resounding throughout my head over and over until it reached a loud, ceaseless buzz. A sting brought my hand to the back of my head. I brought back a palm covered in blood, leading my stomach to a churn. Before me stood the source of the unbearable noise, looking down at me as if a predator spying on its prey. His cold visage in the corner of my eye filled my chest with anxiety, unwilling to even look in his direction. He must have taken this as an insult, as he bent down, grabbing me by the chin and forcing me to look straight at him. An unsettling spectacle graced his face, as an impenetrable void breached his once-filled sockets. He spoke in an amalgamation of thousands of whispers, scratching at my eardrums, though the charismatic charm that everyone knew him for was still present, haunting me. “Son…” The bitter taste of sorrow left his tongue, as he paused to look down at my frail body, “I know this is a lot to ask, but you mustn’t be afraid. Don’t fear us. Don’t fear me.” He looked back into my eyes, “You know this is the path to salvation.” “Don’t call me that…” I felt disgusted hearing his voice, “How dare you use Gerius’ words against me. He is gone, you’re but an abomination.” I spat at him, pushing myself away from him. Hitting the wall behind me, I reeled back in pain. A distorted laugh followed by a monstrous sigh resonated across the chamber we stood in. The buzzing carried on in my head as my mind went numb. The possessed husk stood up and looked across the deck to the window that peered into the endless abyss of space. “It calls.” He spoke softly, but strange whispers resounded his words over and over until the message was clear. He looked down at me with a cold expression, causing chills to run down my spine. “Here. Let me help you.” He reached for my collar and lifted my limp body effortlessly. He held me far above him with monstrous strength. I had but one last attempt at escape with my teeth sinking into his wrist. Blood seeped down his arm, but he gave no reaction. Immediately after, I felt the cold and harsh surface hit my body. The incessant buzzing became louder. I wanted to scream, but my words were too feeble. I managed to open an eye and spied around at my surroundings. Bodies upon bodies littered the corners of the room. Anger grew in my heart as I saw the viciously murdered comrades of my past, but none of it could come out. My body was failing me, but in a last moment of despair, words were spoken. “You were our captain… Gerius.” I barely managed to whisper, “How could you.” My mind was wrought with pain as thoughts coursed through it. “Your captain was weak. We are stronger.” The many whispers nearly brought my mind to madness, only interrupted by more words, “It calls. Observe.” At that moment, I felt compelled to seek answers in the dark abyss. I stared deep into the endless void but all that I gained were more questions. Anxiety made my heart race as my eyes focused on the spectacle. The buzzing became louder and my chest became heavier. It finally dawned on me. We weren’t alone. We were being watched. I stared into the abyss and it stared back, thousands of times over. I wanted to scream my heart out at the terror the endless eyes brought me, but I choked on the little air that remained during my rapid breathing. A tear slowly rolled down my cheek. My limbs had lost all of their strength, leaving me powerless. Falling further to the floor, my mind had lost the last of its senses, crumbling to a catatonic state. I could still feel and think, but a reaction was beyond my strength. Once more I heard metallic thudding, only making the buzzing in my mind louder. I felt my body lifted once again. Whispers entered my ears and resonated over and over. “It’s time.” As the words finally registered in my mind, I felt my body flailing across empty space. Nothing but darkness speckled with spots of empty hope were to be seen for eternities on end. I tried calling for help but to no avail as my breath left me almost immediately. It was at that moment that I felt it. The warm and comforting touch of a mother. It caressed my skin softly and filled me with newfound hope. My once cold body had now been reinvigorated as my mind accepted this gift. I opened my arms to the abyss. My heart was then reclaimed by the cold. The void groped at my body and ripped it of all that was left. In my final moment before meeting my demise to the abyss, I did not feel grief. Solace filled my weak mind as I realized that this would not be the end, but a new beginning. The abyss was giving me a second chance. A chance to join them. Join them and become one with the universe. A chance to carry on, forever. A chance to carry on as something much greater than I.


5. Air Inhale, exhale, repeat for as long as your brain functions, but what is it you’re breathing in? Typical air is a mixture of 78% Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen, and less than 1% of a mixture of other gasses and environmental particulate. Air’s malicious nature is that it doesn’t want to end you, it wants to prolong your suffering for as long as possible. There are those rare cases that air isn’t plentiful enough to allow it to continue your suffering, which brings our story to Tyler Mcible. Alone on an Alaskan peak, Tyler berated himself for not taking into account elevation sickness on his current exploration. His career as an influencer had become stagnant and he was running out of exotic locations to post. His follower count was dipping and he needed new content quickly, which was why he didn’t wait the few days to acclimate to this altitude. It was late spring in Alaska so air was maintaining its temperature in the high forties to mid fifties to help prevent Tyler from freezing. Air was enjoying his suffering. It studied Tyler as a mad doctor would study a rat being subjected to unethical experiments. Air had seen so many other cocky explores subject to the same conditions that air could almost predict every next move Tyler would make. Laying prone, Tyler gasped exhausted, his extremities tingled from oxygen deprivation. Air chuckled to itself, why would living things choose to utilize a component that was only a fifth of air’s composition? Animated objects had since their development had thrown that offense at air. Tyler looked toward the bottom of the slope, a valley filled with Nagoonberry plants about sixteen hundred feet down was the only hope he had to escape his oppressive lack of air. Air was skeptical of Tyler making it. Tyler grasped the snow cover, pulling himself inch by excruciating inch. Even with gravity’s aid he could only manage a few yards a minute. He considered even putting us body perpendicular to the slope and rolling, but thought an uncontrolled descent would be too dangerous. He’d just have to crawl for the better part of a day. This feat, air would enjoy spectating. Air was even so benevolent as to supply more of itself as a reward for the progress Tyler made. Tyler took this kindness for granted and went so far as to continue to curse air for its lack of presence. The journey took seven hours, but finally Tyler had made it to the bottom of the valley. The snowpack had given way to cold mud as Tyler crawled the remaining few feet to the lowest point he could reach. A cool breeze swept through the Nagoonberries carrying with it the fragrance of their flowers. Tyler, though exhausted and knowing he would have to sleep there for the night, allowed himself a deep breath of celebration at having not succumbed to Air’s demented experimentation. The scent, which Tyler had yet to experience being as it was his first time to Alaska was one of the most calming smells he noted. Calming, right to the point the tingle of the first sneeze sprang from his chest. Please remember that air is not only composed of gasses, it carries all the particles small enough to go aloft. Anaphylactic shock set in quickly for Tyler. There was no way he could have known that the fragrant plants he was among would have produced such a sever reaction. Air smiled, as much a smile as an inanimate thing could, in deep satisfaction. The gasps were sweet music to it.


#Hello r/Shortstories! Today we’re going to give a to /u/chunksisthedog! He’s been around the subreddit for quite awhile and has been a participant in both features here. His serial, *The Stone Wielder*, written on has recently concluded with 21 chapters! And wouldn’t you know it, they’ve already begun a new one. So let’s take a few minutes to chat with them and read a bit about their experience.   ***   #The Stone Wielder - Written by u/chunksisthedog **A brief synopsis from Chunks:** A group of people called Wielders use Stones to channel energy. They call them techniques. Different techniques produce different elemental results. All Wielders are trained at The Academy in the capital city. Jeson is a just graduated Wielder that finds a fugitive Wielder. His ideas are challenged about what The Academy is and does. He journeys to a far away place and meets others that share his ideas and some violently disagree with them. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |   ***   #A Chat with u/Chunksisthedog about Serial Writing ##**What have you learned throughout the serial writing process?** I learned that I need a sort of outline. This is the first time I have ever attempted a serial and really the first time I put anything out on reddit. The first couple of posts I did not read the story before I posted it. The ones that I read to my wife before posting allowed me to hear the mistakes. ##**What did you enjoy most about writing this?** What I enjoyed the most was the feedback. I do not fancy myself a writer, so hearing what I did well along with things that I needed to improve on was awesome. That really kept me writing. ##**What was the biggest challenge you faced and how did you overcome it?** The biggest challenge I faced was starting it. I have read stories on here and everyone seemed so much better than me. The wondering if I was going to get laughed out of the sub. My wife pushed me to post, so finally I did. ##**What advice would you give to writers who are thinking about writing a serial for the first time?** My advice would be to lay your serial out first. I decided to not outline and "just stay with my vision." I got sidetracked somewhere that I didn't want to go and felt like I wrote myself into a corner. I kept digging my way out of it but felt like I lost some control of my story towards the end.   ***   Thank you so much for your time. It’s been such a pleasure to read your words and watch your writing grow over the last several months. I’m already enjoying your new project and I wish you the best of luck on your writing journey. Be sure to leave Chunks a comment and some love below! Feel free to ask him questions about his serial and/or his experience.   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - 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 - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Bustling was the village under the moonlight. Children giggled as they chased each other past the *Shōji* walls of *Minka* houses towards the *Sakura* forest where velvet blossoms flow with the wind. Under the vibrant blue sky, unaware of the giant mechanical Sparrow flying above them, the farmers continue their meager task in their garden pavilion harvesting sweet-smelling glow-fruits that only bloom at night. Though several golden lamps illuminate the village, the villagers were too busy chatting with each other to notice the several shadows jumping from one *Kirizuma-Zukuri* roof to another, making their way to the *Harashi* Palace at the edge of the valley. The chirping of crickets fills the chilling air as the leader of the shadows sneak past several *Samurai* patrolling the courtyard before leaping several stories onto the palace roof. With a few hand gestures from the Shadow Leader, the mechanical Sparrow circled the sky while the other shadows retreated into the darkness, awaiting further instructions. Using a *Kunai* from his pocket, the Shadow Leader pokes a hole in the palace’s slanted roof and peeked inside. The light of several lamps pierced through the white *Shōji* paper walls. The shadow could see a family of three in the wide living room. There’s Yan, a young girl with a robotic dog, watching her sister, Lin, and her father, Harashi Saito, training in *Kenjutsu*. As the shadow continues his observation, he notices that their stances are different from the other *Sonjen* clans. Normally, only a single Bokken is used in sword-fighting. However, Lin and Saito are armed with two wooden swords in both hands. Even before the Nuclear War, dual-wielding was rarely practiced by the ancestors of the *Sonjenese* swordsmen. So seeing a clan practice such a technique is very rare. Nevertheless, the Shadow Leader needs the Harashi Clan dead. By eliminating Harashi Saito and his entire extended family, only **one** political super-power will remain. The shadow locked his eyes on Lin, a beautiful girl with pale skin and a petite frame. She’s the eldest daughter and has just begun her training in *Kenjutsu.* Lin starts with two side strikes only for her father to parry both her ‘blades’ and knock her down on the *tatami* flooring with a short flurry of strikes. Lin gets up, feeling a bit dazed but she returns to a combat stance. Yan’s robotic dog wagged its metal wire tail and barked playfully. This time, Lin charges in. She parries Harashi’s *Bokken* with a heavy slice then transitions to an overhead slash. Harashi blocks the attack, pushing Lin back with both weapons, knocking her down again. This time, Lin gets up, gripping her ‘swords’ even tighter. She proceeds to strike overhead, quickly transitioning to a combination of several slashes from every direction. With a swift movement of his weapon, Harashi delivers a heavy upward strike. Lin blocks the attack but her incorrect footing causes her to slip and fall down on the floor. Harashi goes back to a formal stance as Lin lifts herself back up. Knowing the training is over, she bows down as a sign of respect, prompting Harashi to do the same. After that, Lin hugs her dad and gives him a sweet smile. The three proceeded to eat dinner. Yan is munching on *tempura* while Lin is chewing on *sushi*. Lin turns to look at her younger sister. She sees that her plate is arranged in a smiley face with two *Maki Rolls* serving as the ‘eyes’ with single *tempura* serving as the ‘smiley mouth’. Yan laughs jokingly, only for Lin to stuff her mouth with a large sushi roll which Yan cutely chewed. Harashi continues sipping hot soup as his two daughters enjoy their meal. Meanwhile, the Shadow Leader gestures the mechanical Sparrow to create a loud robotic screech. In an instant, all the shadows stepped out of the darkness, revealing themselves to be demonic ninjas. One by one, they killed the villagers with their blades, alerting the *Samurai*. Only for the *Samurai* themselves to get dragged into the darkness and stabbed to death. Those who survived grouped up at the palace entrance and readied their *naginata* for battle. Harashi senses the commotion. He stops eating and tells his daughters to hide. He takes a katana from his armor rack and-- The Shadow Leader bursts from the roof and lands in front of Harashi. The giant mechanical Sparrow crashes into the room and blocks Lin and Yan’s only escape. The Shadow Leader unsheathes a katana with a glowing red blade. The blade’s light reveals the Shadow Leader’s face as the Red Swordsman. Harashi and The Red Swordsman quickly collided blades. Slashing and parrying each other. Meanwhile, Lin fights off the Sparrow with her *Bokken*. The machine bird quickly destroys the wooden sword. While the palace falls into utter chaos. The Gutrot Witch emerged from the darkness and burns the whole village with green fire. Some villagers tried to flee, only for ninjas to emerge from the forest and eviscerate them. As the witch approaches the palace, the surviving Samurai charge towards the witch, only for her to release death beams from her hands and slice the soldiers into pieces. The witch blasts her way into the living room. Harashi kicks The Red Swordsman down and turns to slash the Sparrow’s mechanical face off. The Witch charges her death beams, only for Harashi to slice her fingers off. The Witch shrieks in pain. Her scream echoes into the night. Left with no choice, Harashi and his daughters run away towards the riverbank away from the village. Yan and Lin jumped on a boat docked at a small pier. Harashi cuts the rope, sending the boat moving with the river’s current. Then he turns around to see The Red Swordsman standing behind him. Yan and Lin’s boat move further and further away as the current carries them. The more distance they gain, the thicker the fog gets. And when the fog fully blocks their view, the last thing they saw was The Red Swordsman’s blade about to slice Harashi.


I got to know her through her writing. From second trimester to five months old, I read the months of her texts that were sent between them while the baby grew and plans were made for him to give his rights to the man she found to settle for. Her never without a reason to reach out in enthusiastic bursts behind the fiancés back for mundane, loosely related reasons with an underlying energy usually only reserved for high school girls driving by a crushes house too many times. Him always responding right away behind my back in a measured, upbeat cadence with one too many uncharacteristic exclamation points that only someone who knew him could tell had all the fear and emotional exhaustion of strained facial muscles held for too long in a clenched teeth-fake smile. After the resulting confrontation that quietly started with me waking him to shakingly whisper “you have a son?” and ended with the last time I ever saw him, I read the print screens of texts between them a mutual friend was sent by him to show me to help them both make sure I stayed away for good. The point was for me to read him telling her I was a good person, but absolutely someone he was no longer interested in. I knew that by this point. However, I got to know her through her need for reassurance of both points when she knew me by name the entire pregnancy and often took joy in the power of having a secret with another man from his partner. When I moved on to other things and people, the adoption was final, and he was no longer the father of his son or partner to me, she grew bored sitting in her home alone with the child whose conception she had carefully contrived. The drama it entailed, layers of deceptions she got to navigate, careful handling by all around her, and the resulting year of attention it generated was more than she had ever anticipated that fateful night before he was my boyfriend. That night she knew she was ovulating and planned the lie for when she invited him, just another guy she couldn’t get to date her but she could get to sleep with her once or twice, home. After 38 years of never being asked to the dance, being passed over for the good jobs, sitting alone on Valentine’s Day, and missing out on the Friday night invites: it was all about her. She thought it might feel like this, but she had no idea. She loved telling friends and family, but swearing each to secrecy with the assurance they were the only one who knew. She found that the more people she made feel special with the secret the more people she had to treat her special. She carefully watched his social media and imagined the day he would be posting photos of her holding her belly, but she had to wait for the fourth month before she knew it was safe to tell him and not have any other conversations than their future together. She had not anticipated him meeting me in the interim and it was a hard week or two when she had to change plans, but the fiancé she found to replace him was low hanging fruit. For the blissful months after she got double the attention and intrigue she desired. It was never really about wanting my boyfriend or the fiancé anyway. It was about them wanting her and this made it so both of them had to stay around. Friends let her be the object of celebration. Family clamored to assist her situation. The pregnancy was amazing. But, now the baby was growing older by the month and it was slipping away. There were less and less likes on the parade of new grainy, selfies she posted of herself with the baby. She only had one angle she could use that obstructed the view of her body and double chin while still holding the infant. So, aside from outfit changes on the baby’s part, it difficult for her to generate content that stayed about her under the guise of being about him. No one stopped by with meals anymore. The parties were over. Presents open. Cards used to come in the mail. Some even had checks. Now it was just bills and reminders. The fiancé picked up a construction job. When he was home, he held the baby and watched tv. At night, he slept in the living room. He said it was for staying rested during their night feedings, but it reminded her of how lonely she felt not being able to attract the kind of man she felt she warranted all her life. The kind of man like my boyfriend. Sometimes, when she needed it, she would pick a fight to refocus the home on her. They fought. They made up by distracting themselves with the baby and even less with each other. He wouldn’t set a date. She didn’t push it. A wedding is just for a day. The pregnancy gave her so many months more than that. She wanted the last year back. So, with my now ex boyfriend gone from both of our lives, she would send me run on texts behind everyone’s back that were peppered with smiley faces and offers to talk about my feelings regarding her having a baby with my then boyfriend. They held the obvious desperation of someone looking for emotional entertainment. I won’t oblige, but I got to know her more through her writing. What do I know about her? There are the details of her last year as the mother of the son she made then took back for the man she settled for and the same gold glitter cat eye glasses she wears in her selfies. But, those are just facts. The kind of stats that can go on the back of a baseball card. I know parts of her she reveals when she thinks no one is looking. When she is getting what she wants. When she needs more of what she wants. I know it by who she writes and when for what she needs. Her personality is banal, annoying, and obtuse. Like the persona embodiment of a cut out Cathy cartoon taped to a refrigerator mixed with a chubby receptionist that forces an insecure laugh after every sentence and brings in the day old blueberry bagels no one enjoys to foster unenthusiastic, fake office friendships. The emotional equivalent of person who writes three star Amazon reviews for kitchen floor mats, uses words like “hubs” or “preggers”, and thinks they are quippy and original because they are obsessed with fall themed candles and Christmas pajamas. I know she is someone that has manipulated and managed other peoples lives to get what she has wanted in her own when her character could not command those things based on its merit alone. I know she thinks she is a good person. She might actually be. It doesn’t change how she uses control and manipulation cheats in instead of challenging herself to develop what she desires. It hasn’t always worked, but adding the baby put the reins in her hands. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? She would have had more years to chase this high again. Keeping people separated to protect different lies needed to prop up herself is the most tired, known trope of a controlling person, but she cannot see that every time she deploys it with efficiency. To my boyfriend, he was told the fiancé doesn’t want him involved or around the child being raised as his. To the fiancé, he was told my boyfriend is uninterested, hard to reach, and difficult to even find most of the time. A bad person too for safe measure. Both must only coordinate the child’s well-being through her and never met each other to compare stories. Is it because new father will find out the lie that was told to trick the birth father into thinking there is some kind of infertility diagnosis that was miraculously overpowered and suspended during one ovulation cycle of a near 40 year old woman? It might make him see the sides of her she hides from him. From everyone. Including her. Is it because the birth father will find out that the father has been told some unpleasant false truths about being forced, alcohol, and consent surrounding this conception to nurture pity and buy in? It might make him think less of her. She needs everyone to think her selfless and wonderful. Most of all, in all of this, none can see how she has enjoyed exploiting the role of “mother just trying to do the right thing in a surprise situation” that she secretly, originally, and intentionally contrived and managed. This has to be protected. What would happen if the father and birth father know her like I do? What if the former reads what she wrote to the latter like I did and sees how she enjoyed having both men on the hook while forcing relationships neither would have elected to choose with her had she not created the baby? In the malaise of the quiet house next to the growing, sleeping child, there is a moment of mild discomfort when considering the rippling human collateral damage in her wake. Maybe for me, but it really only tickles her mind because her vanity is uncomfortable not knowing how much I know about her. Things she hardly understands, but also doesn’t stop. She would never afford even an ounce of that consideration and regret to the birth father when it comes to the psychological impact during the pregnancy and after the rights are transferred to the man she settled for. He is quietly ruined from the best year of her life. The birth father won’t have his own children someday. He won’t have healthy relationships ever again. He won’t have his own family. This will feel okay to him for a while, but he will realize the loss too late when his mother passes in 12 years and there are no more warm homes with real love to be invited to. When friends move on and evolve in life, he will be suspended in this broken, compartmentalized state. He is trapped. The next 20 years will be him alone as the old guy at the bar growing more and more bitter because the girls he likes don’t like him back like they used to. The quality ones don’t look at him anymore. But, hey, at least he will always be in the same place when she is bored. Under the false flag of the child he can’t have, she can make up reasons to come to his store or text for a rush of forced, fearful, inauthentic attention he feels obligated to give. She could have googled a sperm bank that summer when she came up with the plan. But, even if so, she was too cheap to spend $900 on a vile and if lives don’t have a price for taking when making one, she doesn’t feel a debt. What started this all, the baby, grows up with some of his birth fathers nature. Just a small sliver fights through and she resents it. When she sees parts of the nurture from the man she settled for in him, she resents that too. She actually resents him more and more the further away from the pregnancy life takes her. He might have a real chance at what his birth father refused to give himself after knowing her: a meaningful and good life with the best opportunity to thrive.


“I thought you said this island was uninhabited!?” “It is,” Alessia squawked back at me. “Then what the fuck was that?” Alessia let a beat pass. “By the looks of it a bunch of murderous naked people that we don’t want to be heard by.” I paused. Taking a moment to breathe and lower my volume. “Okay. But… shit.” I could feel myself shaking, my heart punching against the bottom of my throat. My eyes were both drawn towards and disgusted by the red stains on the beach. “You okay?” Alessia asked. “No.” Alessia flinched slightly at the venom in my voice, and I took another few seconds to compose myself. “But I will be. How are you?” “Honestly? A little relieved I didn’t have to do it.” She looked down at the detonator by her feet. “I would’ve but… didn’t want to.” I nodded, looking around at the island. To my right a straight plunge down to the ocean and a series of ragged rocks. To the left, nothing but dense forest. I stepped up to the ledge, looking down the cliff. “We can probably get down again.” “Even if we get down right now, the tide’s not coming back for hours. We’d be sitting on the beach hoping those bastards didn’t come exploring. And if they see us clambering down…” I sucked air between my teeth, imagining being halfway down the cliff face with those baying bodies beneath me. “So what do we do instead?” Alessia eyed the path along the top of the cliff leading into the forest. “It’s not too bad through there. Wait till nightfall, go through the forest, get down to the beach that way. Meanwhile, find some shelter at the edge of the trees.” We detached the wires from the detonator and let them fall down the side of the cliff, before carefully dropping the plunger into a bush so we could get through the forest unencumbered. I followed Alessia’s lead and we walked down the gentle sloping path towards the forest, camping out by resting against the first row of trees. I watched the day wane slowly in the west, the sky turning from blue to orange as the sun dipped across the horizon. When the protection of darkness arrived, we ventured into the woods. As soon as we passed through the first few layers of trees, it quickly became a near pitch black. Above me, I could see occasional glimpses of stars, but the canopy was thick, and little light penetrated. I could see movement; make out Alessia shifting against the background in front of me, but all else remained a mystery. We moved in silence, trying to avoid detection. Still, we couldn’t help the noise of our steps crushing twigs, or errant arms brushing against branches. Every few paces we stopped, listening to the forest around us. Each time there was silence. Though after a while the darkness began to play tricks on us. The branch snapping beneath my feet became a shout from across the forest, the shifting soil, the growl of a would-be attacker. Then I heard what sounded like a distant whistle. It was faint. I shook my head, dismissing it, telling my ears to focus and not lose myself in fantasy. The sound came again, this time a decibel louder. I could feel a slight hesitation in Alessia’s step. But she kept walking. Then a howl. A loud, high-pitched, trill sung out into the night air. We both stopped on the spot. Another howl called back. A message sent across the forest. The noise was like no other I had heard. It was a high key but it resonated deeply, the sound forced out across the dense woodland. I tried to imagine my own body making the noise, stretching my throat in some way to create such a shriek. It wasn’t possible. All I knew is that whatever made that noise, wasn’t human. “What was that?” I whispered as loudly as I dare. “I… have… no idea.” I had never heard such unsteadiness in Alessia’s voice before. I could hear her swallow, as she dared to move a pace forward. “It sounded far away. Let’s hope it stays like that.” Step by step we regained the confidence to move, wearily putting one foot in front of the other as the hill began to level out. Another couple of minutes and gaps began to appear between the trees as the soil became looser and dryer, unable to support the packed foliage. Moonlight could be seen hitting the ground, a faint grey tint illuminating what was previously void of light. Ahead of us, the trees continued like this for another hundred metres or so, before the treeline stopped. The edge of the forest. The start of the beach. Our pace increased, the promise of freedom drawing us towards it. Our heavy footsteps grew louder as we pushed towards the sanctuary of Alessia’s boat. And it was too late when the dreadful realization hit me that the noise of feet against the ground was too loud to just be our own. “Stop!” Everything beneath my neck turned to ice. My head merely slumped against my chest. We were caught. We would have to fight, and maybe die. “Who you?” I turned slowly to find five men and women staring at me. However, they weren’t naked like the attackers on the beach. They wore simple furs around their waists and torsos. Some were clearly deer, others were a shaggier fur, a pale color indistinguishable in the limited light. “Who you?” the one at the front repeated. “We’re leaving,” I said slowly. One of the other members of the group stepped forward, patting the front one with the side of a long, pointed stick. “Look. Klader,” he said, pinching his furs and pointing to us. The first man, the leader of the group, nodded. “We’re no one. You can let us go,” I said slowly. “You are trouble. Corruption.” The leader readied the wooden spear in his hand. “You vapen?” I looked at the man confused. “Vapen!?” he barked. Realizing we didn’t understand, he reached over and tapped the end of his stick. Making a small thrusting motion. “Weapon.” I muttered. Alessia nodded, reaching into her belt and pulling out her knife. The man pointed to the ground and Alessia dropped it by her feet. “What do?” one of the other islanders asked. “Kill them,” a second replied. The leader shook his head. “Leviathans find out, then we dead too. Think we skadad.” “Befri?” “Leviathans likely know. They alltid know. We befri, we guilty. We take them to the river,” the leader said, his eyes still locked onto mine. “Then Leviathians definite know.” “Our best hope. Give avsta. Show fortrond. Leviathans forgive.” “Admit tech to Leviathans?” One of the group said, walking in front of the leader. “Yes.” “And if Leviathans kill us anyway?” “Why would? We show commitment to nature. Offered avsta.” Silence returned to the group. Happy there were no further protestations, the leader turned to us. “Okay. You with us.” He pointed to the forest. I looked over to Alessia, wondering if we should run. She gave the smallest shake of her head and walked in the direction we were told to go. The man looked up to the sky. “Too dangerous at night. Varg. Ovan. Wait by the water for morning.” At a small stream the leader walked over to a tree and pointed to it with the spear. I walked slowly, delaying putting myself between the pointed end and the trunk. I shuffled up slowly against the tree as Alessia leaned against the other side. The man nodded downwards. I interpreted the gesture and began sliding down the tree, staring at the man’s face as I inched down the trunk in case I had not understood the gesture. As I reached the floor, I could feel the cold forest earth press against my thighs, the moisture of a night’s dew seeping through the trousers. The man walked over, standing mere inches from us, looking straight down. I craned my neck up to look at the giant looming over me, wide pupils framed by an unruly beard. “You move. You die.” I nodded. The man walked over to the others and muttered something. After they were done a woman walked over and sat down at right angles to us both, ready to keep watch. I felt a rustling as Alessia shimmied against the trunk behind me. I turned my head to the right, whispering away from our watcher. “You got another knife or something?” “Nope,” Alessia said. “What then?” “Getting comfy. Might as well try and sleep.” “What?” The words came a bit too loudly, and I could sense the eyes of our watcher narrow. I faced forward, allowing the suspicion to dwindle. Only once it felt safe to do so, did I turn back. “Sleep?” “We ain’t escaping. Not now. If we get a chance to make a move, it’ll be tomorrow and we’ll need energy.” “So you’re going to sleep while they could kill us any second.” “If you’re quiet I will.” I took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to argue. Instead I joined Alessia in her plan, slouching against the tree, getting as comfy as possible. Sleep came in small spurts - a brief thirty-minute cycle here and there before the discomfort or the realisation of my jeopardy hit me. Between the moments of shuteye, I watched the stars through the gaps in the trees as the celestial bodies made their journey across the earth. The final sleep was interrupted by a loud cry of “Wake” from the man leading the group. My eyes opened slowly to the dawn. I peeled my back away from the trunk, the vertebrae burning as they were ripped from the bark and curled back into their regular position. “Wake. Time to move,” the man shouted once more. I nodded that I understood. However, he was uninterested in giving me time, moving the spear to his front. “Move,” he barked, teeth bared. I jolted myself forward, letting out a small groan as my body clicked into place. I pulled myself to my feet and brushed off the remnants of the forest floor from my clothes as Alessia appeared from the other side of the tree. “How’d you sleep?” “I’ve had better,” Alessia said, crooking her neck. “Quiet,” the man said. “You front.” The man pointed to his left with the spear. We walked a few metres in front of the men and women, the spears pointed at our back. I kept looking over my shoulder, wondering if they were likely to charge and end us at any given second. I began to feel my spine twitch, small points on my back becoming warm with the anticipation of being pierced by the sharp pieces of wood. There were no true paths here. Navigation came from finding the largest gap between the trees and listening to the instructions given by our captors. After a few hours of trudging, we were completely disorientated. The low spring sun couldn’t be seen through the tall pines around us, and the constant shifting from left to right meant I had no idea which direction we were heading, or where the beach would even be were we to escape. However, as the trek continued, our captors seemed less immediately concerned with us. And I took the opportunity to take half a step closer to Alessia, now narrow enough for a whisper to carry. “Where are they taking us?” “No idea.” I let out a small huff and looked over my shoulder. A brief thought flashed across my face, and Alessia seemed to catch it. “Don’t…” she said, rolling her eyes. “What?” “You’re going to try and talk your way out of this aren’t you?” I refused to respond. Instead I paused, counted to five, and turned to face our captors. “Where are you taking us?” I saw Alessia’s head fall backwards, her gaze pointed to the heavens. “Leviathans.” “Who?” “Leviathans watch over the island. Keep connection with nature. You ruin that.” “We’re not here to ruin anything-” “Your klader. Your knowledge. Your hair. Your words. All corruption from nature. If we not give you to Leviathans we at risk. Keep walking.” The man jolted his spear an inch forward, just enough for me to turn and scurry a few steps. “What would they even do? These… *Leviathans*… if they knew you spoke to us and let us go.” “Kill us.” “What?” I said, spitting out the words. “You cannot return to nature once it is corrupted. Only solution? Clear earth and let something else grow.” The man’s words were plain and unemotive. “What are these Leviathans like? Who are they?” “Don’t know. No one does. Leviathans only appear if nature is broken.” “But how do they know if you have?” “Leviathans alltid know” the man huffed. “Leviathans are spirits,” said a woman from the group. “Fly above us. Watching over us.” I caught Alessia’s side-eyeing me as we walked between the trunks. “Sorry?” I asked. The woman continued. “Two years past. Group was cleansed by Leviathans for building homes. One woman survived. Said Leviathans floated above ground. Coloured pure white. And can kill by looking and pointing at you. Leviathans gudars. Spirits.” I saw Alessia wince, trying to keep her mouth shut. “So if you break from nature, spirits of the forest come for you?” I turned to ask, facing my captors once more. “Shut,” the leader barked. “I’m only asking-” “Shut.” The man halted. The others did too, their spears readied. I looked at them, waiting for more information. My heart began picking up pace, preparing itself for whatever was about to unfold. The steady beat became a kick against the inside of my ribs. Then I heard it. The rustling from the forest to my right. Another beat. Another second of silence. Then they came. Four of the attackers we’d seen earlier on the beach ran at us, nude flesh charging towards us with stones raised, jagged ends pointed down. They hit one of our captors first. Rolling with them onto the ground. With the man subdued, they raised the stone high in the air. However, before hell could be unleashed, a wooden spear was thrust into their side, piercing the abdomen. The stone dropped to the floor in reflexive agony. The woman withdrew her lance and its blood tipped end. She turned to face the man on the ground as another of the naked attackers approached from behind. She dodged the first swipe, but the jagged stone glanced off her hip and thigh, tearing deep into the flesh. The woman screamed, holding her left hand to her leg, and reaching wildly with the spear in her right. She got lucky, piercing her attacker by the collar bone. The javelin cut through the shoulder, breaking the skin on exit. The wooden tip protruding into a small dome, as blood pooled around the space. The assailant jolted, and the spear snapped, the wood still embedded in them. They swiped with the stone. The rock caught the same leg. Another bit of flesh torn out. Seeing the danger another spear carrier stepped in, this time dealing a more decisive thrust to the neck. A desperate gurgle escaped the attacker’s mouth as he fell to the ground, liquid life pouring from his lips. I turned to my left as the other attackers were dealt with. Spears snapped against rib cages. So our captors took to using their attackers' weapons against them. Stones rammed into skulls until there was no resistance left. With one final grunt, the last of the attackers was dispatched. The screams ended. Silence returned save for labored breathing. “How you?” the leader called out, turning and examining the group. The others nodded a confirmation they were okay. “All ovan dead?” he asked. Once more, confirmatory nods. “We go, before the varg smell it.” “The varg?” I asked. The man ignored me. “Leave broken spears. More at camp.” Everyone turned to walk. Everyone except the woman with the gash to her leg. She was knelt on her right knee, her left leg bent. However, as she tried to push up to stand, her left leg buckled. She pushed again, this time nearly fully upright, before a yelp left her mouth and she fell to the floor, her outstretched arms cushioning her fall. I looked at her hand, streaks of ruby leaking between the knuckles. I took a step to my right so that I could see her thigh. It looked like it had been ripped away, the muscles and tissues replaced by nothing but blood oozing from shredded arteries. “Can’t walk can you?” the leader asked. “I can try,” the woman muttered, looking up to meet his eyes. The man walked over to her side, looking closer at the wound. He shook his head. “Can’t keep up, can’t come.” He stood up and turned to the others. “Go.” “What?” Alessia blurted out. “We can carry her, easily.” The man’s face tensed as he walked over to Alessia., standing mere centimeters away. “The wound is bleeding. Either bleed out or die from infection.” “That wound is healable. It needs to be cleaned and cauterized-” “Shut!” the man screamed. He threw a fist, hitting Alexia in the abdomen with one sharp movement. She keeled over, the wind knocked out of her. But she didn’t whimper. “Do not speak. Your knowledge damn us all. We leave. We leave now. Move.” I walked over to Alessia and placed an arm around her shoulder, picking her up. “You okay?” She nodded, but with a small wince that she tried to hide. Somehow our situation seemed graver than ever. Never before had I seen Alessia be anything but the most sure person in the room. But in one moment she had been silenced. Perhaps up until that moment, despite all the violence I had seen on Outer Fastanet and elsewhere, I felt some comfort in knowing Alessia was by my side - a calm guide in the roughest storms. It was a comfort that had now been shattered. As we walked off into the forest once more, I looked back at the woman. She held back spluttered tears that knew too well of her fate. Yet the instinct remained. And even as we disappeared among the leaves, she would push off with her leg, crawling a few inches before collapsing again. Eventually the trunks grew too many, and I lost sight of her. She was alone, left to the forest. I turned to Alessia, now standing stronger, but still with a hand held over her stomach. And I wondered how long it would be till we were claimed too. \ Next chapter published 28th October.


He often found that bus rides were oddly conducive to a particular kind of reminiscence. Sitting in his little row, with eyes glazed over, he reached back into his prepubescent self. He was at the kitchen counter, grueling over math homework. Intro to fractions: a real killer. None of the questions actually involved a fraction, and he’d completed most of the sheet without much trouble, yet there was one extra credit question on the back that he wanted to get right. Thinking back, he couldn’t be sure why he wanted to solve it so bad. It was elementary school, he couldn’t have cared much about his “grades.” Maybe it was a sense of perfectionism instilled in him by his upbringing, but he never much cared about that as much as he probably should have. In all likelihood, he surmised, he had probably wanted to simply prove that he could, most likely out of simple, run-of-the-mill childhood insecurity. He asked Mom for help. This was the only time he could ever remember asking her for help with homework. She always seemed too busy, and he always thought he could do these things on his own. Still, this time she helped. He refrained from trying to psychoanalyze his mother at this moment. The question that had stumped him was generously simple in hindsight. It was only asking how you would represent three of something out of a group of four. The problem was, he had never seen a fraction before. When he explained his issue to Mom, she pulled out four cookies from the cookie jar. She had baked them the day previous. Mom always liked to bake. Mom always had an unhealthy relationship with food. She laid the cookies in front of him and said, “You have three of these cookies. So, how many of the cookies do you have?” As an adult, he could see that she worded this extremely vaguely. He replied, “Three.” For what felt like hours, she kept repeating those same two sentences to him, and everytime he’d say “Three.” She’d group off the three cookies and he’d say “Three.” She’d raise her voice and he’d say “Three.” He had started crying. Mom looked very frustrated. Scoffing, she grabbed the paper from him, wrote three fourths, and walked away. He felt very fragile in that moment. Mom wasn't a great teacher. His stop came too quickly. He was surprised at how far ahead in time he’d managed to travel with that little sequence. The walk home was comparatively thoughtless. It was just the same procedure of motions - steps, turns, doors opening - that he’d gone through most other days. That sense of unimportance seemed dully significant to some recess of him. The apartment extended no greeting, and his bed found him in record time. He didn’t bother getting under the covers. He lay there for what felt like too long, then checked the time. 7:34 PM. The day was still young. He thought about all the things he could do, maybe should do with all this time on his hands. Read something, listen to music, work out, go for a walk, meet new people, watch a movie, play some video games maybe. He juggled the idea of these things in his head and decided that yeah, maybe he should do something, yet he knew that the second he moved his chest would be crushed by the lead ball that was laying on it. He was never much for parties. He’d made a fool of himself at enough of them. This one seemed to carry on far too long. The swirl of people and voices became dizzying if he focused on it for too long. He hugged the wall like he did the first time he went ice skating. He could feel the life of the room echoing through him. He didn’t like the feeling. It used to be that when he felt like this at parties, he’d go off by himself for long enough that all the holes in his body would close up again, and he could have another drink and maybe talk to someone after. Now, he knew that someone was bound to notice, especially in a cramped space like this, and leaving now would be especially dramatic. He resigned himself to getting comfortable and hoping no one struck up conversation. When he finally deemed it socially acceptable to leave, he did with only marginal deliberation. He would’ve said bye to the people he knew there, but then again, would he have? Walking out into the night air was at first a relief. The first few steps felt like a consolation, and the cool air cleared the dust out of his lungs, but then the air started to stream into him so fast he felt like he was being played like a harmonica. He was leaking all over. The walk back to his car became more hurried than he’d intended, and he made sure to expunge what was left of that foreign invader in his rib cage before getting in. The thought of music at a time like this seemed contrived, and more than a little childish. He put music on anyway - something with no words. As he drove, he imagined himself in a movie. What would he look like? How would the writers and producers deem fit to package him? What parts of him would be cast aside first in pursuit of digestibility? He imagined to an outsider the thought might seem vaguely anti-consumerist, but really it was nothing so high concept. It was an honest consideration. The streets were mostly empty, which was good. The thought of sharing the road right now made him feel strangely sick. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got home. The apartment complex was quiet enough. He parked where he found a spot; he never much cared about things like getting good parking. He thought about that tendency as he walked, and he realized how alienated that made him feel from the people around him. Everyone he talked to always had some kind of mundane complaint. Their food had to be fresh. They couldn’t drink Pepsi products. They didn’t like this or that actor. The temperature was too much this or that way. He had always resigned himself to these things. There wasn’t much point in agonizing over things like that, right? As he was unlocking his door, he saw a woman coming down the opposite end of the hallway. He looked at her for a second. She was pretty enough. He stopped looking. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He knew how easy it was to make the people around him uncomfortable. The thought made him want to cry. He wouldn’t. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. As the door shut, he looked into the pitch black of the apartment. There was one dull, silver streak tearing through the living room. He seized. He stood enveloped by that darkness for a time. He felt like if he were to move, the space around him would collapse in on itself and splinter into a billion tiny fragments that could never be pieced together again. Not because it would be impossible really, but because he lacked the grace, patience and inclination to put any of it back together. He flipped the light on. The room maintained. He considered what his first move should be, and resolved that he’d eat something. He had some microwave food, and the experience was pleasant enough. Really, it was just an attempt to delay the inevitable. He would eventually lay down in bed, with that same sensation of a snake coiling around his lungs and he wouldn’t know what to do about it. Some of his coworkers were really nice. He was friends with some of them. They were something of a group. They’d go out to bars together and drink and smoke and watch movies and do whatever they felt like. He hadn’t expected to spend as much time with these people as he had recently, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He had been enjoying himself. There was a lot of fun to be had with them. Still, there was really one reason more than any other for his continued participation. He’d liked her for about a year now. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d “liked” someone. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what that meant anymore, all he knew was that he felt it for her. Still, he had no intention of doing anything about it. Friday, they would all go together on a little pub crawl, and eventually get really high. Those nights always came and went in a bit of a blur, but that was the fun of it all. The week was a continuous stream of mostly undefined impressions, but the weekend was virile and fatalistic. It felt like there were stakes, even if he made sure there really weren’t any. This Friday would be no different. Somehow, he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The music seemed louder than usual tonight. He’d had his fair share to drink, yet he couldn’t shake this feeling of cold lucidity that held him. It wasn’t the ideal mindset when you’re in the middle of a dance hall. He found himself idling again. That fact made him uncomfortable. If he didn’t get up to something soon, then he’d be in for it. When he saw her friend coming over, he knew it was too late. “Go ask her to dance.” He hated the lecturing, but it was only fair. Everyone knew what was going on, and everyone could see he was doing nothing about it. He thought on some level that their goading was a little unfair, because they didn’t know his reason for inactivity, but at the same time he knew that he really didn’t either. He looked at her friend with playful disdain. “What, are you calling me pussy?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Go.” She was being a good friend to him for this, yet at the same time he couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. Prodding him into action meant prodding the source of his inaction, and that was something that no one was supposed to even be aware of. Of course, she wasn’t aware of it directly, but even being able to touch it tangentially felt like an assault. He gathered that he really didn’t have much of a choice. It was time to stop pussying out. He walked up to her, and found that he couldn’t think in that moment, which was for the best. If he could, he’d just think about what he was about to say and it would tumble out of his mouth completely twisted. “Hey, are we gonna dance?” He was relieved at how casual it sounded. He knew her well enough now to know that they were somewhat alike in their anxiety, and because of that she was eerily in tune with the insecurities at bare in him at any given moment. The grace with which he executed the line was like a verbal suit of armor. “Yes, but I can’t dance.” He figured she’d say something of the sort. “That’s great!” he said as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, “Neither can I.” He’d love to have been able to say that the dance was evidently special to any onlooker, but in all actuality it wasn’t. It was actually a bit awkward. Neither of them, in reality, were very good at dancing. More than once they lost rhythm, or bumped into someone else. He spun her around a few times and even dipped her. The whole time they danced they just made comments about how off-beat they were, yet he couldn’t help but feel like it meant something. Being so close to her in that moment, feeling the skin of her hand against his, and the way their bodies moved together. It was the first time that night that his lucidity counted for something. He felt fortunate that this feeling would be hard to forget. After their dance was over, he felt like he came away with something. Looking at her then, as they made their way off the dancefloor, her face bathed in flickering and flaring multicolored lights, he understood that she probably didn’t feel the same way, and while that knowledge made him feel raw, naked, and vulnerable, he was okay with it. At least he got to make her happy, even if for a moment. After all the dancing was over, and the hall emptied, they made pilgrimage back to her friend's apartment. The weed gave way to a new, uncomfortable dimension of social awareness, but that was unavoidable. They watched a stupid comedy, and then proceeded to watch the whole series. Of course, he was forced to sit next to her on the couch. He’d expected as much. It made everyone giddy to see him squirm. So he sat next to her and watched. He knew her penchant for early nights, so he figured she’d go up to her room soon. That’s exactly the reason he was so shocked when she laid across his lap. An hour must have passed before he built up the courage to touch her. He felt conflicted for being so hesitant, but also couldn’t shake the feeling that if he did touch her something terrible would happen. As the night went on, and each movie blended into the next, came to hold her as she drifted off to sleep. He still felt that same sense of uneasiness, that same edge, but the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin made those feelings unimportant. He’d bathe in this feeling for now, and not think about anything else. He’d invited her over to his place to watch some movies. He felt nervous. At this point they’d gone out on a few undeniable dates. He was getting more and more comfortable around her, but still, having her at his place, just the two of them, it felt like he was showing too much of his hand. When she came, he decided he’d skip the game of pretending like they weren’t going to end up laying together, pressed as close as they could be. All of his doubt started to fade when he held her again, and he could be in that moment, drowning in her presence. They watched one movie, and then put on another. The movie stopped being so important. Where they’d actively been watching, commenting, joking, and laughing through the first one, the second was met with silence. They laid facing each other, legs intertwined. His cheek was pressed against hers, and his hand was buried in her hair, cradling the back of her head. He felt frozen in time, like his slightest move could cause her to shatter. He wanted to hold her so close that she would sink into him and they’d become one, so that he’d be able to feel her fingers, arms, and legs under his skin. He moved his face so that he could press his forehead against hers. As he did, their corners of their lips brushed. His heart punched him in the chest. He found himself surprisingly short of breath. He froze there, with their faces an inch away from each other. The time that passed like that had no concern for punctuality. He felt his arms contract, pulling her in, a fraction of an inch a second. He was helpless. She was everything in that moment. When their lips finally met, his chest caved inward and blew out of his back, leaving a hole where his solar plexus would have been, and the violence of the situation was unspeakable. He said goodbye to every solitary vestige that clung to him and the spaces he’d occupied in the days he’d walked the Earth. His bedsheets. His car. His books. His mom. The cookies. Fractions. Jealousy. Intimacy. The feeling of being slowly strangled. The poison in his veins. The fact that he’d wanted to make something special. The fact that he’d never known he was disabled, maybe? He’d never be able to paint his life on canvas. He’d never be able to embellish his death with words. He’d never truly face himself. He’d never see her again. All was as it was meant to be. Maybe one day he’d find the bones of the person he once was and build a house with them. He could only dream.


“What are you doing?” The little boy asked. The old man seemed startled, how did he not see him? “I’m sweeping the train tracks.” The old man replied. “Why?” “Well… they don’t have the money to keep the track clean like they used to. It wouldn’t do for the tracks to get cluttered.” He said, brushing aside some rocks on the tracks. “Can I help?” The little boy asked, picking up a branch to use like a broom. “Where’s your mama? Won’t she be worried about you?” “No. I just have to be back for dinner. I play in the woods a lot. Do you ever play mister? My daddy says grownups don’t play but I think that’s boring.” “I used to play in these woods every day when I was your size…” more debris was swept away. “Here, why don’t you help clean the outside of the tracks? There like that, good. Careful now, always keep your eye out for the train a comin’.” “Why? I’ll hear it. I’ve got the best ears around!..” The boy proudly proclaimed. “I can hear anything!” The old man chuckled. “Oh yeah? What’s that squirrel doin?” “That’s easy, he’s chewing on a nut! Gimme something harder.” “Oh ho, well then can you hear that chickadee off in the distance?” The boy went quiet for a while, trying to listen to the woods around him. Finally his shoulders slumped and he shook his head no. “That’s because there isn’t one there.” The old man said with a mischievous grin. “No fair you cheated! You cheated!” The boy complained. “Alright, you got me. I can’t compete with the best I see. Here boy, will you help me move this big branch here?” “I can do it myself, watch!” The boy ran around and started to tug on the fallen branch. After a little effort from both of them they were able to pull it mostly off the tracks, and the little boy broke off some of the smaller ends. The sun was getting low in the sky at this point; they’d been walking and talking most of the afternoon. They were in the middle of singing a song from the old mans childhood when the little boy felt a shove and landed in the dirt. “Oww. Why’d you… oh no!” The little boy turned around to see the train rolling by. Why hadn’t he heard it? He didn’t see his new friend. That meant… Tears filled his eyes, his new friend was gone. He should have been listening! He should have… “Ta daa.” The old man said with a smile. He was standing on the train tracks completely fine. “What? But… where did you?” The asked in between sniffles. “Magic…” the old man said with a wink, “and a magician never reveals his secrets.” “I’m glad you’re okay.” The little boy said, running up and hugging his knees. The old man wobbled for a moment unsteady. “Whoa there, I’m not as sturdy as I used to be. I’m glad you’re okay too.” “Is my husband bothering you?” A voice said with mock frustration. It belonged to an old woman who was walking towards them from the train station they had reached. “No. I was helping him today. We cleaned the train tracks.” The boy said proudly. “And you were an excellent helper, now do you know how to get home? Don’t want to be late for supper.” “Aww do I have to?” The boy complained. “I’m afraid so dearie, you don’t want your mother to worry do you?” The old woman said. “Okay. Can I come back again?” “Well I don’t know…” the man pretended to think about it. “Please?” The boy begged. “I suppose so. As long as you promise to be careful. You know where to find me.” “Okay. Bye!” The boy said as he ran off. The couple stood there for a while, hand in hand. “You almost had to take him with you today.” The old man said. “But I didn’t, thanks to you. The rest of us miss you, you know.” “I know, but I can’t…” “We know. We’re proud of what you’re doing. I’m proud of what you’re doing.” “I don’t want somebody else to end up the way we did.” “I know. I love you.” “I love you too.” The two shared a long embrace as another train passed through them, never knowing they were there. Once it was gone the old woman turned and faded away, and the man set off once again down the tracks.


Case 1724.9 is now being presented to Prefect Charpentier. Brad Bentley, Prosecuting: *Prefect Charpentier, this matter brought before you today concerns a most peculiar crime indeed, one that obviously requires the audience of this special court.* Prefect Charpentier looks at his watch. Prefect Charpentier: *Go ahead. I break for second supper soon and wish to finish my meal before the second sets.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *Of course, Prefect. The State of Upton wishes to bring attempted homicide charges against the defendant and request that bail be set at two million dollars, as per the guidelines set out in the Upton Criminal Code.* Prefect Charpentier frowns, squiting down at the case notes in front of him. He looks up and stares at Brad Bentley. Prefect Charpentier: *Explain to me how the defendant went from cooking to being arrested on attempted homicide charges.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *Of course, Prefect. Well, you see, first of all, the defendant is no normal defendant; he is an alien, a shapehshifting alien wearing somebody else's face and skin.* Prefect Charpentier: I...see. Bentley, Prosecuting: *And I will now go on to explain how The State determined this. You see, on the night of the 3rd, last year, the defendant - an alien shapeshifter - began cooking a meal on an electric stove. The defendant then left the cooking unattended. A short while later, the cooking burnt and the entire property was filled with smoke, setting off detectors. At the time, there was only one other inhabitant in the property at the time.* Perfect Charpentier: *Mhmm.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *The State argues that there is clear evidence that the defendant - an alien shapeshifter in disguise - wrongly believed that the other inhabitant had asthma and with this belief in mind, maliciously intended to cause a fatal asthma attack by deliberately leaving the cooking unattended, thereby causing it to burn and smoke. The inhabitant's relatives are well aware that none of them have asthma, ergo, The State proved that the defendant was in fact an alien shapeshifter in disguise, given that were he not an alien shapeshifter in disguise, then he would know that none of his relatives actually have asthma.* Prefect Charpentier nods enthusiastically. Prefect Charpentier: *Go on, go on.* Bentley, Prosecuting: *So, the defendant - an alien shapeshifter in disguise - acting on the belief that the other inhabitant had severe asthma, set out to cause a fatal asthma attack. In the State's eyes, this would be akin to somebody sprinkling large amounts of nuts over food in the belief that the food is meant for somebody with a serious nut allergy which could kill them when nuts are consumed; or, pulling the trigger of a firearm with the intent to kill. Furthermore, albeit a little premature, The State would also like to make known its intent to pursue the death penalty.* Prefect Charpentier nods. Prefect Charpentier: *Okay, I have heard prosecuting. Would the defendant's attorney like to say anything?* Reece Fallows, Defending: *Nothing to say at this time, Prefect.* Prefect Charpentier: *Okay, in light of the above, this court will accept the charges of attempted homicide which have been put forward and I am remanding the defendant in custody and bail is set at two point seven five million dollars. The court accepts the Prosecution's arguments and the rather colorful analogies put forward today.