My sister challenged me to write a flash fiction about talking to your reflection in the mirror and slowly realizing that our world was the evil one. His grin, that's the worst part. It was both alien and familiar; a poorly drawn self portrait. It was too perfect to the point of being unsettling. I couldn't find a flaw if I tried. What’s worse, I had always loved smiles. Especially my fathers, both reassuring and optimistic. People would always remark how much i resembled my father; if only they could see me now. “Well of course there’s no such thing as killing. I mean, there are accidents, but these things will happen, that is the fate set by the Creator”, spoke the phantom hiding in the mirror. “But what about all the people who would have lived in my world? How could you, I mean me, or whatever, exist? Wouldn't a whole different set of people exist? I mean what about the butterfly effect? How do you have radar and rockets, and have you guys ever been to the moon! That was all the cold war and Kennedy... hey what about Kennedy! He must have…” “Whoa nelly! Calm down there me.”, as he snuck in a quick wink, “I guess what they say about us is true; we really are curious!” I don’t like ‘us’, it’s unsettling. With any other man, I would have punched him right in his smug face. Honestly though, I could hardly move if I tried. I took a short breath and thought for a second. “Well if you think like me then you know what I mean. How is this possible?” He, me, whatever, paused and gave a slight smile, “Well I think you see what you want in this other world, whatever is comfortable I mean. We could even look like completely different people. Instinct tells ‘us’ that we’re the same in spirit, if not body. We’re pretty clever you know. Do you know what I mean?” Dammit, none of this makes any sense. But I mean if he gets what's going on then why don’t I? This is so damn confusing! Finally I sighed, “You know what, I don’t even give a fuck. Who cares how this works. I’m still not 100 percent convinced i’m not nuts” “What does ‘fuck’ mean?” he said quizzically. God dammit. I practically screamed, “Oh please don’t tell me you guys never swear either! Fuck damn shit hell cocksucking motherfucker!” “I know know mother.”, he said proudly Exasperated, I groaned, “Well what about hell and damn? You seem like a fairly pious bunch. There’s no way you haven’t heard those words. ” “No… none of those sound familiar.” suddenly slipping back into his quizzical stare. No. This can’t be true. There’s no way he doesn't know all the words we are supposed to be ashamed of. Dammit none of this makes sense! Are our worlds really so different? But, maybe they are. Maybe they don’t know, can’t know, these words. Maybe I’m trying to see what I want, the better part of things. No, I’m too pessimistic for that. At least there’s something I know for certain. Finally the reality set in, slowly things became sickeningly clear. Quietly, with a tinge of fear, i spoke, “Do… do you know sin?” He Laughed, catching me off guard. “You’re messing with me! Man, I should’ve know I’d try something like that. There’s no way you have words that I don’t. Man it really is true; we sure do love to fool people!” Speechless, the seconds strolled by. I saw his expression change one again from joy to query. He is the same person as me, but we could not be more different. His world was a paradise, and mine is a shithole. A virtual antithesis to his impossible utopia. This is such bullshit! This is some sort of sick joke! I mean he said we like messing with people. No, the sincerity was palpable, undeniably innocent. A rage from deep within burst forth. Screaming in what was nearly pain, I tore into this guy, “How!? How are you so perfect!? You have to comprehend this! Sin! The act of evil! All that is bad, the horrors of humanity! How can you be this way!?” “Well, I can’t help it. Anything else is unthinkable. I don’t think I could ‘sin’ if I tried”, he smiled still drowning in his innocence. There it was, the sick sweet truth. He isn't better than me! His world may be an Eden, but it is undeniably a prison. A grin crossed my face, both alien and sickeningly familiar. My sin kept me free. It was time for me to laugh. I carried on a bit too long honestly. It was both terrifying and refreshing. I even think I scared that little punk a bit. Hot damn that’s satisfying. I sputtered through the cackles, “You know what, you can keep your pious bullshit and your fucking Eden! I wouldn't leave here for anything; I’m a free man here!” “That’s wonderful!”, he said. God dammit. Whatever, I’m too excited to get pissed off at his optimism. Still, like a splinter ignored for too long, I felt a sudden sudden prick deep in my psyche. Man, I’m getting sick of this fucker. “What do you mean?” I asked, exasperated. “We love seeing people happy, deep down you know that! As long as you are at peace, I can be happy for you!” “How can you be okay with that? I mean being a captive to yourself and your ‘Creator’ that ‘loves’ you so much? I know you understand me, I can see it your smug fucking eyes!”. Shit, did I just insult myself? I mean, that is me, I guess. Whatever, he won’t understand anyway. Still with that fucking grin he retorted, “He gives me love, unconditional and liberating! I do have free will you know.” “Oh really?”, I said, confidence returning. “You said you couldn't fathom my concept of sin, that means you’re ‘creator, is holding you back!” “No, I’m free to do as I please. Look at it this way, if you got a brand new car, would you crash it just because you could? Why would ruin something perfect?” Fuck, he’s figured this sin thing out pretty quick. Well all that means is I’m obviously very clever, a straight up mental badass. I’ll figure this bastard out. Shit, I probably shouldn't think of him, me or whatever, that way. “Well, I mean at least I could if I wanted to for whatever reason! That’s what makes life so exciting! I mean, when I pop some pills my body gets a beating but I get high as fuck! You've probably never even felt the rush, the ecstasy, of danger.” Man, I've got this guy pinned. “Yes, I know about these pills. I can tell when we take them. I ignore the sensation though, because I have the choice to!” “Ha, that is some ignorant sh..” Wait a second… Confused and terrified, I blurted. “What the fuck do you mean… you know when I get high!? What the fuck is going on here! I can affect you, your world and whatever!? There’s no way… Who the fuck are you!?” “I’m you. You should know by now, but maybe you've ignored me for too long.” The smile was gone. Deep down that racked my soul in a way unfathomable. “No.. no, no no no… what the fuck is going on!? god fucking dammit what the fuck! Just… WHO ARE YOU!? explain yourself motherfucker!!” Insults flowed to freely now. “I’m you, but I think you are no longer me. You haven’t been for a very long time. Still you visit from time to time, so I know you exist. I still keep the hope, and follow the perfect path you made for me, since the very beginning.” I tried to run, tried to scream in a rage but something was wrong. I don’t think my body can anymore. I whispered, “You can’t be… are, are you my soul?” A slight chuckle, comforting. “No, him and I do not get along. I’m your conscience. I am all that is all that you know is good, I have reached out to you our whole life. But like I said, you see what you want here. You saw my ignorance to ‘sin’ as a weak, but it’s becoming clear to us now. You know ‘sin’ quite well, it seems comfortable to you.” A wave a panic rushed to me but found no anchor, I was too stunned. Reality was too vague now. I forced the words past my empty lips, “Why... now?” “I think deep down you know. Look in yourself, tell me what you see.” No, I won’t. I fucking won’t. Fuck this guy! No, no I’m not going to look! Fuck… FUCK! A new phantom is walking towards me from just out of my field of vision. He’s undeniable, I don’t know how, but somehow knew. Truth was unmistakable. Suddenly Truth is wrestling my mind down. It’s futile now, I know it… no... fuck no I won’t let him! Shit, he’s strong. I can barely fight it, I’m more tired than I know. Truth moves closer as I struggle less and less. Finally, angry lips whispered into my ear, “It was too much this time, a pill to many. You are going to die.” I cried absent of tears. My mind sobbed, screaming throughout my whole being. Panic finally overcame me. My knees buckled and the world moved so slowly that it tore at my sanity. Violently my eyes returned to the mirror. He had taken a step back, and the panic turned into soul crushing pain. More than my conscience can take. I begged with my eyes for words of comfort and my last words struggled in less than a whisper out of my whole body, “I am dying. help me, please!” Quietly my conscience spoke, “I wish I could, but I can’t find the words. You have ignored me so long that I no longer know. I’m not strong enough to carry you with me...


Just wrote this and wanted to share with someone. So here you go. Based on a true story... "Look at that head of hair! You look better!" I exclaimed gleefully. The man had been suffering from lung cancer. Stage IV, it didn't look good, but he kept fighting. It had been years since his diagnosis. The treatments appeared to have worked. His hair was growing back. "And you look worse, older even." A wry smile flashed across the man's face. "Sit, sit. Honey, could you grab us some tea?" "Of course dear," the man's wife headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "I'll let you two catch up." She smiled. She looked happier than I'd seen her in years. "It's so good to see you." I said. "It's good to see you too, son." The man said. Everything was right with the world. It seemed like the dark times brought on by the diagnosis were past. The family could finally move past it all. We had so much catching up to do, it felt like we talked for hours. And then, just like that, things changed in an instant. I saw the man's hair go white and fall out right before my eyes. "What? What's happening?" I asked. His wife brought our tea from the kitchen. "Well, his hair is falling out. Part of the treatment. It can be rough." Her face looked more worried by the second. "I'll call the nurse." I couldn't stop staring at the man. Here I was just joking about how well everything was going and suddenly I had this great despair wash over me. All I felt was hopelessness. "But you looked better, what's happening?" "I'm dying." "But that can't be! I just saw you, full head of hair, everything fine! I'm having trouble comprehending this!" I started to raise my voice. The man lifted a hand as if to calm me. "You saw what you wanted to see, but that is not the way of things." "What is the way of things then? I thought you were getting better? I thought the treatment was working? That is why I came, you know I don't do well around death." "And how would I know that?" The man asked. "But... but, you're getting better! Things are going to be normal again!" "Maybe, maybe not, but will this ever go away?" He asked, knowing full well the answer to his question. He moved toward the window overlooking the balcony and looked down toward the street below. His hands were animated. "These people... These people don't know. They'll never know." "Know what?" So unsure of what might be said that I was almost afraid of the answer. "What I see." He answered. "All that." He gestured towards the window as a bus rolled down the street below. "The bus dies in the same way we all do. We are the same. Parts break one by one, one piece at a time until you just can't fix her no more. Sometimes it goes all at once, but ultimately all that is left is silence; Is where it's been; who it's taken; what it's done. Some of it worthwile, but not enough. Never enough." He stared out the window contemplatively. "That's sad," I said, trying to put his words into a box which I could understand. "No it isn't." He snapped back. "Everything has a history. Everything has its place. Everything has its end... And almost always, things manage to live on past those ends. That's not sad, it's beautiful! The things I see... Like I said, these people will never know. That includes you. Not until the time is right, but by then it is already too late." I wanted to ask, "Too late for what?" But he had already started in, "Too late to truly live. Too late to actually appreciate what you have. Too late to break free from the shackles binding you every day. Too late to realize the beauty that I see. But... hold on." He gazed out the window. "It's so beautiful. They'll never know. And how can they? ...I didn't." He smiled at me. "I do now." "Dad?" I called to him, and suddenly I was awake.


"I'm a monster". He said. He was looking right at me. "You don't look like a monster." I said. He was wearing a dark blue hoodie and black jeans. He was clean shaven, and his hair looked freshly cut. "I am. I promise." "I don't believe you." "You don't know me." He was clutching one of the bridge wires to steady himself. He wouldn't stop looking at me. "Why do you care, anyways?" I glanced around at the empty, midnight air. I shrugged and kicked an imaginary pebble on the sidewalk. "Same reason as you, actually." He let out a breath that I think was supposed to be a laugh. "Fuck." he said. He finally took his eyes off me as he shook his head. "Of course you are! No other reason to be way out here by yourself on a beautiful Friday night." He stared at the water several hundred feet below us. "Get out of here, man. Pick another night to die." I didn't say anything. I just stared at him for a while. "You don't get to tell me that." I said. He just kept looking at the water. "I came out here to end it all *tonight*." He was still looking at the water. "You think you can take that away from me? You think your problems are worse than mine?" He looked at me. "Problems?" He said. "This isn't about problems. This is about reality. I'm a monster. I need to die." I rolled my eyes: "And I don't?" He didn't blink: "Let me guess: you lost your job and you didn't tell your wife. When she found out she trashed the house and left you. She took the kids with her too. The last thing she said was that she wanted a divorce. You've got money but no one's biting in the job interviews you've been doing for the past--what--year or so? So you've been pulling out of savings. Next you'll have to start selling things. All your debts have started piling up anyways. Give it another year, and you'll probably be on the street. That's unless someone bites on the interviews. But no one will, because they haven't." I kicked another imaginary pebble. "Two years," I said, "I've been out of work for two years. Wife just found out tonight." I heard him scoff: "You don't need to die, man. You just feel like shit. Go home. Sleep it off." I clenched my jaw and glared at him. "Stop telling me what to do." This time he definitely laughed: "See, there it is. Everyone. Every damn person I meet!" He was looking at me again. "That irritation you're feeling? That dislike for me? That's just the start. Everyone gets it, even when I was a fuckin' little kid people were getting it. For as long as I can remember I have repelled people." I stared. "They've all fucked off! Everyone I ever met! And the people who've stuck around only did it cuz they pitied me. My own wife pities me. You know what that's like? To have your fuckin' wife *pity* you?" I didn't. "Nah, man. You don't need to die. I do. I'm a fuckin' monster." He let go of the bridge wire, and he teetered on the railing. I stood with my hands in my pockets; frozen. I had never watched someone die before. He started to fall, and I reached out instinctively. My hand caught hold of something that felt like fabric. I squeezed as hard as I could. His weight whipped me into the railing. My shoulder made a popping noise and I gasped for breath. I reached out with my free hand and grabbed a bridge wire. I couldn't feel the ground under my feet, but I felt the bridge wire in one hand and fabric in the other, so I held on. My chest ached and I struggled to take in air. The arm that had caught the fabric was shooting pain through my entire body. I thought I could feel it spasm periodically. When I finally caught my breath, I looked down. I had caught him by the hood of his sweater. He hung limp below me, dangling two hundred feet in the air. I couldn't see his face. I looked up and saw that we were over the railing, that the only thing keeping us from falling was my tight grip on the bridge wire. I closed my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. First I let go of the hoodie. When I heard the body hit the water below with a horrifying *SMACK*, I let go of the bridge wire.


I can’t remember the first time I saw the sun. Memories only go back to when I was about three years old, and by then I was about four feet tall. I lived on the corner of two streets, but they were never that busy. Always the same people going back and forth all day long. My home was on the smaller side; a one story with beige siding. I’d look into the windows just to see what was going on, and sometimes, looking back at me, would be a little boy. I had grown by the time the boy finally approached me. He looked up at me and studied me, but I was too tall for us to play together. His dad mowed the lawn a lot, kept it pretty short. The boy would ride on his dad’s lap, and he’d scream when his dad would go in circles around me. On sunny days, him and his parents would be outside playing and eating. They would play tag, and would let the boy win. He was far too small to keep up with them, so I guess it makes sense just to let him feel good. The year goes by fast until it hits winter. Everything seems to slow down then. I’m always tired, and piece-by-piece I fall a part. The wind would pick up, and these pieces of me would blow away down the street and out of sight. The boy didn’t come out to see me often when it was winter. The first day of spring is my favorite day of the year; when the sunlight hits me, and I feel the warmth on my back. The boy was taller now, and so was I. Now, he was no longer the only one. There was another much smaller boy. When I would look into the windows, the smaller boy would be looking back at me. I had come to know the taller boy by David, as that is what everyone seemed to call him. He would come outside and climb my arms, and we would sit together and watch the sun go down. Once the light disappeared behind the horizon, he would jump down, look at me for a second, and then go back inside. It seems every boy loves football when they hit a certain age. David and his brother and their father would always be outside when the weather permitted, tossing around the ball and chasing after one another. They would go around me, dodging each other, and using my arms to try to jump over the other. I never saw myself as a football player, but it definitely was never a bad time. David and his brother would sit on my arms and watch the sun go down. When it went behind the horizon, both would jump down, look at me for a second, and then go back inside. Yelling coming from the house was more common now. Every few days the boys’ father would slam the door and drive away in his truck. At first the brothers would run out together and yell at him to come back. Eventually they stopped running out after him, and eventually I stopped seeing their father anymore. I saw less and less of David and his brother. They’d leave home early in their cars, and then come back very late. I was always alone in the yard now. I would look into the windows, but I never saw much. The grass was longer than usual, the neighborhood older than it was, and I taller. The boys were gone by next summer, and their mother put the house up for sale. Everyday I just stood in the yard, watching cars go by and watching the lawn service poorly cut the grass. The boys’ mother started coming out to see me. At first she would just walk around me or sit by me. One day at sunset, she came out of the house. She climbed up my arms, and watched the sun go out of sight. She got down and looked at me, nodded, and went inside. The house had been empty for some time. Months passed, seasons changed, my leaves fell off. It’s funny, for standing here so long you’d think I had my fill of this world, its people. You’d think it would be all right to be alone. You’d think I wouldn’t feel the years go by. Spring had started not too long ago when a moving truck showed up in front of my home. A young couple got out, holding their young daughter. The grass was mowed again, and lights were on in the house at night. I’d look into the windows just to see what was going on, and sometimes, looking back at me, would be a little girl.


He blinked his eyes hard. Opened them. He saw everything in shades of purple, the way the world looks when the sun is too bright. It was too hot, too; he could tell from the way the people under the awnings shifted and fanned themselves. But all he felt was cold. The sweat seemed to freeze on his skin. The dust felt cool under his feet. Bare feet. He looked like a fool, standing there. That sumbitch had taken everything. Even his boots. The sumbitch had been done gambling, he said when he called that morning. What he meant is he’d been done playing at cards. He looked around. Everyone looked fit to catch flies, with their mouths open like that. Jenny from the saloon’s was shut, and her eyes were welling up with tears. She turned away and hid her face in her hands. Damned fool woman. He was faster than the sumbitch, and better than him too. She ought to know better. He grinned, and looked the sumbitch straight in the eyes. Through the smoke, he saw the smirk twisting his enemy’s face. His mouth formed a word. “Draw” is what he meant to say, but he choked on something. He coughed and wiped his mouth. The back of his suntanned wrist came away red. He felt a thump against his leg, and looked down to see his revolver fall from his grasp. He frowned at his nipples. He seemed to have an extra, just above and to the middle… His chest snapped into focus, and he saw the ruined flesh just above his breastbone. He looked up, the movement heavy with effort. The sumbitch was grinning now, a grotesque expression marred by a twisting scar. “I done told you last night, boy,” the sumbitch said as he raised his gun. “I always win.” In the stables, a horse reared. As the echoes died away, all that could be heard was the sound of a woman sobbing.


It was a beautiful old truck. Used to be my dad’s. Though he could never quite get it to start. The 1959 Chevrolet Apache with pearlescent blue finish used to be quite flashy. The last owner had driven around in it back in the 60’s. Back when it could move, it must have been a sight to see. I can imagine it. Windows down, radio on, maybe a girl in the passenger seat. Hands on the leather steering wheel as I drove along the highway, the world spread out before me. Maybe I’d even stop at one of those places where the waitresses are all on skates and I’d get a milkshake and a burger. Then take that magnificent machine and spend the night at a drive-in and try and get lucky with that girl in the passenger seat. But as I said, the truck doesn’t start. It hasn’t for years. My dad got it cheap, and he got what he paid for. The thing only ran for a year while he had it. It’s been sitting in our backyard next to the garage ever since. The paint is faded and the body is beginning to rust. Weeds have grown up around it. A blanket of pine needles and spider webs fills the truck bed. I walk past it every time I climb into my Nissan. It always reminds me of that old idyllic lifestyle when I pass by it. I wonder if one day fifty years from now, some kid will pass by my Nissan and think back to the time I live in. Perhaps by whatever year in the future he is, our time has already been romanticized. The era of hipsters and social networking. Some kid in the future will see an old rusted 2006 Nissan and think, “man I wish I could go back in time and see The Lord of The Rings when it was still in theaters.” Everyone is always thinking about the past as if it were some magical place where everything was right. No one stops to shed the romanticism and see it for what it is. An old dilapidated truck with rusted paint, sitting next to a garage as it fades from memory.


EDIT: Added more of an actual ending. Changed a couple of lines in the preceding, non-ending part. “Oh shit!” thought Niklas Chalmers as he poured over the results from the latest tests. He read further down the page. “Oh shit.” He patted his pockets for his phone, pulled it out, and dialed Wilhelm. “Wilhelm, the results are in. It’s true. It’s fucking true! They’re hitting the detectors at an uneven distribution. Billions of them.” There was a moment of silence on the line before Wilhelm finally responded. “I see,” he said solemnly. “Well that’s that then.” “This explains everything” said Nik excitedly. “The discrepancies we saw in the weak-force, the lattice results over at Geneva, everything!” Nik paused and thought for a moment as the realisation of the results hit him. “So that it then? We’re living in a simulation? Nothing is real?” There was another long pause on the line before Wilhelm responded. “It certainly looks that way, my boy.” “Well, shit. “ “Well it’s not necessarily a bad thing Nik. Everything’s the same as it was. I hate to sound philosophical about the whole thing, but what is real anyway? Nothing’s changed. Just our perspectives I suppose” “I don’t know what to feel. I just feel kind of empty I guess. I have to get home. Listen I’ll call you again tomorrow morning. We should call a meeting with the investors, shit, there’s gunna be so much press. Jesus, this is it. This is fucking it!” “Nik,” Wilhelm said, urgently. “Have you considered this? Have you thought this through? What would happen, I mean? If this were to get out? Why, it would be catastrophic. Think of the world reaction. Think of how empty you felt just now when it hit you- Think of how empty the whole world is going to feel. That nothing is real? That nothing is worth anything? That life is not worth anything? We- *you* need to think about this.” “So we should just not tell anyone? Wouldn't you want to know? Don’t these people deserve to know? I mean sure, people will be shocked, but it’s the truth.” Wilhelm was silent. It’s the *truth* Wilhelm,” Nik pleaded. “Do you want blood on your hands Nik? Because that is what you will have if this gets coverage.” Wilhelm was angry. His voice crackled through the receiver. Nik didn't know what to say. “Anyway,” said Wilhelm, calmer now. “It doesn't matter. It’s out of your hands. Out of my hands even.” “What do you mean?” asked Nik, confused. The line crackled a little before Wilhelm responded. “I liked you Nik. I always did” “Well I like you too Will, but what are you saying?” “I told you,” said Wilhelm calmly. “It’s out of my hands.” “What’s out of your hands?” And in that instant everything stopped. Nik’s phone dropped to the ground. For a moment he felt as though he was floating. He no longer felt any weight to his body. He no longer felt much of anything. Too quickly, his brain was unburdened of his memories, his body unburdened of his brain and finally, the simulation within which he existed was unburdened of his entire existence. Everything that was once Niklas Chalmers was no more. Wilhelm hung up the receiver, took a deep breath and lent back in his armchair. “*It’s a shame,*” he thought. “*I really did like him.


: *This was originally posted to /r/nosleep but had to be taken down (because I am a dumbfuck).* *Also, any concrit is eagerly welcomed.* No one is sure when The Limb-less got here, or where they came from. The only thing for certain is that we were here first. No one even remembers a time before them. For generations and generations, for thousands of years, The Limb-less have been here. How are we certain they came after us? I don't know. It's just something everyone says. Something we all know to be true. Limb-less is a bit of a misnomer. When I was young and asked about the name, I was told that when they first came here, however that was, they stood in such a way that their limbs were tucked neatly against their bodies, making them look like a body with no limbs. They were dubbed The Limb-less and the name stuck. I've also heard that they originally didn't have limbs and evolved them, which sounds ridiculous. They didn't just sprout normal limbs like everyone else. But they have limbs attached to larger limbs, vaguely resembling trees. Their enormous size furthers the comparison. No one is certain why they came here in the first place. The most commonly accepted theory is invasion. They barely noticed us, it seems, building their gargantuan homes around our homes, blotting out the sun. That they came here to harvest something is another popular theory. What that something is is unclear. It doesn't seem to be us, at any rate. Some of the crazier individuals say The Limb-less were here all along, hiding deep in our oceans until the time was right to surface. My sister, who I'll get to in a little bit, she thought the reason nobody can agree on a motivation is because there wasn't one singular motivation. She believed that each Limb-less has their own reasoning. It makes more sense than it should, seeing as how she was the only one who ever put forth that idea. But indeed The Limb-less seem to differ greatly. For the most part, The Limb-less pay no attention to us. They neither seek us out nor avoid us. They don't seem to consider us at all, really. However, there's some fractioning among them. Some of them will kill us on sight if we happen to cross their field of vision. They do not hunt us down, but prefer to lie in wait. Then there are the assassins. Their sole purpose is to hunt us down and kill us all. Unlike the ones who lie in wait and use blunt force to take us out one at a time, the assassins use some kind of poison that kills us all, spreading from one to another like a horrible infection. Yet there are those of The Limb-less who do not seek to harm us at all. They will see us, know we are there, and be completely fine with our presence. Some of them will kill every other creature in range but purposefully avoid us. Then there's the third group. Their mentality is most bizarre. They will kidnap one of us if seen and not kill us. Nor do they keep us captive. Instead, they will bafflingly Relocate us. Exactly as it sounds, they will abduct us and set us free hours from our home. We disappear all the time, only to show up battered and worn but otherwise unharmed some hours later. I know lots who have been Relocated. Their stories are identical to my own experience: We are placed inside some sort of invisible force field, flown at frightening speeds to a different area of the map, then let go. Weirder still, they often release us in the same area. Everyone has been Relocated at least once or twice in their lives. My sister probably holds the record for number of Relocations. Sometimes The Limb-less do interact with us without killing us. The smaller ones, which everyone generally assumes is their young, in particular show a curiosity toward us. I was once out getting food when I spotted one. I froze, hoping to blend in with my surroundings, but it was too late. It's face, this horrifying monstrosity beyond description, took up my entire field of vision. Moments went by while I waited for it to act. It didn't move, just watched. So I inched my way along, warily. It still didn't attack, but it did follow me. It followed me as I grabbed my food, and continued to watch as I ate. Eventually it went away, perhaps having lost interest. It was the most harrowing experience of my life. See, while their young seem to have mostly benevolent intentions, they are clumsy and uncoordinated, and dangerously unpredictable. The larger ones, for the most part, have their own patterns. You learn to identify the ones who will kill on sight, the ones who will let you go, and the ones who Relocate you. We make sure to teach one another which of The Limb-less are to be avoided and which are safe. I make it a personal rule to avoid all of them just to be safe. My sister does not hold my same belief. In fact, she has been obsessed with The Limb-less ever since she claimed one of them has rescued her. She will tell the story to anyone who asks, and to most who don't. She had fallen into a lake, or ocean (the body of water seems to grow with each retelling) and struggled to stay afloat. Just when (according to her) she had accepted her death and was about to give up, a Limb-less spotted her and pulled her out of the water and onto dry land. Over night she went from being reasonably cautious to dangerously daring. She started associating with the crazy ones. She's regurgitate some of their nuttier stories as if they were gospel. The Limb-less have replicated us in machine-form, she would tell me excitedly, or some of them, the bigger ones not just the young, study us, try to understand us. This phase was harmless. Sure, she was believing some crazy stuff, but it was just stories. I figured she was just trying to rationalize The Limb-less's irrational behavior. Then she decided she wanted to study The Limb-less back. 'We barely know anything about them,' she'd told me. 'Don't you think it odd that we haven't even tried to understand their language?' She would go out in view and just observe them. She wasn't totally idiotic; she would try not to be seen by the ones who would kill on sight, but she was more reckless when it came to the others. This resulted in many Relocations. Each time she'd return chipper and full of breathless excitement, as if being Relocated was some sort of honor bestowed upon her, or a bonding moment. She'd constantly update me on their movements and her theories regarding them. 'One stayed completely still for hours on end. I think it might have been at rest,' she'd tell me. I'd hoped it was some sort of temporary rebellion. We were quite young when the famed near-drowning occurred. But her interest in The Limb-less never waned as we grew older. We each started families, and our children started their own families. Even in old age she still wanted to know everything she could about them. Up until the day she died, she never ceased her investigation. Eventually, their communication became her favorite subject. In fact, her intense study made her a sort of expert in the field. By observing them day in and day out, she had grown to recognize patterns in their language. Using contextual clues she could sort of determine the general meanings, or at least what it pertained to. She couldn't give a direct translation, but she was able to piece together if they were discussing rest or meals. Somehow, through means I have yet to understand, she could also determine if The Limb-less was more likely to kill one of us or Relocate us. Because of this, she was sometimes tasked to identify the intention of a particular Limb-less to serve those who lived near it. I can't argue with results: she was absolutely spot on. When I didn't see her for a while, I hadn't worried at first. I just assumed she had been Relocated again. As she aged it took her longer and longer to return home. Maybe she moved slower, maybe she paused to watch The Limb-less for a while. I only went to her home to check to take care of her children. It wasn't like her to abandon them, but I thought it best to keep them company all the same. That's when I saw her. My sister, dead. I knew she hadn't been killed by The Limb-less. Their methods of killing made it obvious they were the culprits. Those killed by The Limb-less were either utterly obliterated beyond recognition, or poisoned. It wasn't poison, since nobody else in our family was sick, and she was whole and full, I knew it hadn't been one of them. It seemed, in all likelihood, she had died of old age. It was a bittersweet moment. Just the day prior, she had gleefully informed me that she might have cracked their language. At least, she thought she had isolated and identified one particular word. 'This is the start,' she had told me. 'Everything is going to change.' She had died full of hope and joy. She had died thinking she had done the impossible and had given us a way to possibly communicate with The Limb-less, to finally understand them. She had died happy. But with her death went the very thing she had hoped for. Nobody had devoted their lives like she had. Nobody had ever gotten as far as she had, not even close. Because nobody had cared enough to. I certainly hadn't cared when she informed me of the good news. Don't get me wrong; I was constantly impressed with the things she had gleaned. But I wasn't as excited as she had hoped when she had told me. I regret that now. I hope that there will be someone like her, someone down the line who will have her passion for The Limb-less and do her memory proud. I'm far too old right now to go down that road, for it took my sister her entire life to get as far as she had. We were the same age. I don't have much longer before I meet her same fate. But I hope her discovery will help whoever decides to study The Limb-less. So I'm going to share it as much as I can, hoping to spark an interest in her protegé. She had identified the name The Limb-less have given us, what they use to describe us as a species. That word is spider.


Always be thinking. Always have something on your mind. Think about the random ad you saw on the street, the last time you ate a kiwi, or even what getting in a bar fight would be like. Your thoughts should be also huge and overwhelming at times. Think about [ ], and wish you could spend more time with her. Think about how your father is starting to cry more now that he’s been diagnosed as clinically depressed. Your mom will ask you for help with him. Wonder if your friend [ ] will kill himself. Always be willing to share these thoughts with others; they will come to expect conversation from you, and it will define you as opinionated. Almost always be open to conversation. At first resent your emotional side and tell yourself you are a masculine, stoic, intellectual-athletic machine. Think of picturesque male roman statues and personify them. Grow egotistical and neglect your social intelligence. Get much less out of high school than you could’ve. Don’t go to prom, or a single football game. Cut your long hair. Slowly outgrow most of your angst. Kurt Cobain could pull it off; you can’t. Go to college and meet people you had no idea could exist. Unconsciously begin redefining yourself. Your neurotic inability to stop yourself from thinking will help you ask questions in your classes. Participate in the classes you care about. Quickly become comfortable with speaking in public, and participating in class. People will notice this about you. Try marijuana for the first time the day of your high school graduation. Come-too on a stranger's carpet eating Kraft cheese singles and white grapes. Your track-buddy who throws discus is playing Call of Duty with the kids who you used to play tag with, back in 2nd grade. Learn to cherish bizarre experiences. Drive yourself home. Feign exhaustion and go right to bed to avoid talking to your parents. Later realize that wasn't marijuana. Vow to never smoke synthetics again. Start going to the gym religiously. Impress your older brother with your dedication, instead of playing online with him late into the night. Develop a deep seated appreciation and respect for self-discipline. Egotistically admire your progress, but never abandon the insecurities surrounding your body. Start seeing results. Convince your friends to come to the gym with you. Start seeing their results. Notice that girls are starting to find you attractive. Realize that women found you attractive even before you started going to the gym. Act on their advances, clumsily, but successfully. Sleep in 4 different beds over the course of a week during your freshmen year. Become a better kisser. Start flirting with a lot more girls. Mature a little bit and embrace your emotional side. Open up to people too quickly. Get hurt in your relationships. Dramatically (but no less painfully) suffer the loss of your first love for well over a year, until your new RA gives you a blowjob. You’ll fall for her too, and she’ll hurt you like [ ] did, but you’ll be better equipped to handle it. Regret burning bridges with her, but never rebuild them because of an indescribable combination of shame and pride. Hope you’ll unexpectedly run into her somewhere in the future, and hope she’ll want to reconnect with you. Innocently enjoy your escapades, blissfully ignorant of the beautiful girl who you have the most intimate and powerful conversations with. Figuratively kick yourself when she asks you why you didn’t kiss her freshmen year. You'll be 6 weeks from graduation when you realize it's too late. Mature a little more and tone your emotional side down. Start to put some weight and meaning in the word “friend.” Connect only with people who you respect and who respect you, but try to learn something from everyone. Play cards with your close friends and try to read their facial expressions. wonder if you look like your father when he played poker. Drunkenly reminisce about things that happened as early as last week, and realize that these will be the moments you miss when you graduate. Listen to a variety of albums while playing cards, and develop a deeper appreciation for music. Try to teach your other friends how to play cards, and wish they could get into it as much as you do. Allow your roommate to convince you to drop acid. Visit seagull island. Ruin your favorite pair of jeans. Laugh so hard you can't stand up, and appreciate the fact that someone was sober enough to take pictures. Spend the rest of the night irresponsibly, but amongst friends. Question labels and assumptions people make about you. Question the labels people make about the world around them. Ask really meaningful questions in your philosophy, aesthetics, and English classes. Form meaningful relationships with your professors. Renounce your Catholicism. This will inevitably upset your mother, but she’ll understand. Ask Mom whether she prays for you, and wish you had the heart to tell her to stop. Change your major and spend a lot more time in business classes. Coast through college averaging B's. Get an internship and dwell on how strange and different it is than the rest of your life. Realize you need a job after graduation. Start applying for jobs. Update your resume. Start networking with professors. Be immensely grateful of the job listings they forward you, and the professional connections they help you make. Wonder if you’ll get an offer before graduation. Wonder how much time you’ll spend living with your parents after graduation. Take stock of virtually your entire college career during your creative writing class. Get carried away with the assignment. Wonder what you’d think about re-reading this document ten years from now.


Once upon a time, in an age before clocks, there lived an octopus named Shteev. In her youth, she had been part of a cruel experiment that left four of her tentacles useless while making the remaining four more robust, and so from that time on hid her worthless appendages under a top hat she wore each day. Fearing further underwater experiments, she made her dwelling on land rather than in the sea through the use of a special snorkel and a strict diet of fermented egg yolk. Unsure of her new life, Shteev decided to look for a job to give some stability to her otherwise tumultuous existence. Her rather odd appearance, however, ruined any chances of landing a decent career. With nowhere else to turn, she put all her effort into a desperate attempt to get a job at a jellybean factory. Her hard work paid off, and she was employed as a behind-the-scenes jellybean taster so as to not scare the other workers. Once she tasted the vomit-flavored jellybean, though, her whole life came crashing down. The specific chemical composition of that particular flavor activated something long-dormant left over from the days of the experiment, and her kindness and compassion were instantly overwritten by cruelty and malice. In accordance to her programming, she slaughtered all the landfolk with her bare tentacles, dumped all the jellybeans into the sea, then took off her top hat and hung herself using her limp appendages as rope.


"Run away with me." Her pale blue eyes glistened in the fading sunlight, shimmering with hope and joy. Her childish tone and mellifluous voice washed over me, drawing me into the idea. The words she said could not be taken back, and our conversation snowballed before my eyes. "Run away with me," she repeats, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. Four words that offered so much promise yet so much fear. I could see myself with her, my other half, living beyond the world of parents and responsibility. Perhaps we would rent a small apartment somewhere in the Midwest, or perhaps we would travel the world together. The imagination is a powerful thing, and these four words grasped onto mine and let it loose. I saw my future with her; the future is blurry at best, yet it is with her. As the words hung in the air, I studied her face and she mine. Wisps of hair splayed out from their dark home, struggling to remain independent of their raven black origin. A few strands fell across her face, perhaps trying to conceal the hurt that lay within her eyes as she understood my answer. Her lips touched mine, and a single inaudible word drowned out the rest. "Please." The strength of her ensuing silence tore my heart and I struggled to return to a few minutes before, when all that mattered was staring deeply into those same gorgeous eyes that now begged me to relent. I struggled to respond, finally managing to squeak out "why?" "Because you love me, because you promised me anything, and because I need to get out of here." "I hate that word." "But you love me." "I do." "Say it." "Not yet." "When?" "I can't answer that." "I love you though." "Debatable." As she registered my words, I lost myself in her smile. She had a smile as bright as the sun, a smile that could drown problems in a sea of happiness and desire. Aphrodite herself would have been jealous. Yet the quintessence of her smile existed in her mind. She did not even begin to grasp the beauty of her smile, constantly insisting that she had flaws. To another, maybe she did have flaws. In my mind, these were what made her perfect. "Are you even listening to me?" "Did you know you have the most adorable smile?" "Run away with me." "No. It's not going to work now. Maybe in the future." I had to look away as the hurt surged in her eyes, and I felt tears begin to form in my own. I had to do this, I had to be strong. She was my everything, my alpha and my omega, yet our time was ending. Very much like summer turns to winter, the heat and passion of a relationship turn to distance and cold. For once in my life however, I felt myself clinging to the summer and dreading winter. As is human nature, I longed to turn back the wheel of time so as to spend the rest of my life in that moment before I said no, that moment when her eyes shone like diamonds and when the light reflected through her black hair to completely dazzle me. Reality hit me hard, as I saw the tears in her eyes and felt the tear in my heart. I fought the urge to take everything back, I told myself the right thing had to be done. She needed to move on; I was merely an anchor, tethering her to the past when she deserved a bright future. The human heart does not accept logic, rather, it longs for what it cannot hold onto. She had become an ideal in my heart, the basis for which all of my following relationships would be compared to. This girl, whose imperfections made her perfect, whose love improved my empty heart, and whose smile brightened my darkest day, would leave my life in a heartbeat. She understood. She knew our relationship could not live, yet she tried to resuscitate it with that soul stealing smile. "I know you love me." "Love means being able to let something go. You were always to good for me." "Yet you're the one ending it. Who's too good for who?" "I'm your anchor. I hold you back. You could be so much more and you settled for me. You had a better guy, he made you happy." "He wasn't you." Those words felt like a knife twisting in my chest, and I'm left speechless as she starts her car and drives away, away from her past and into the future. This had been my goal hadn't it? She's better off now right? Idiot. "I love you.


Wake up warm except a freezing cold face. Shout abuse at the alarm clock. Snooze 5-6 times. Mutter abuse to yourself as you flop out of bed limb by limb. Open the curtains to show a dark, overcast, miserable day. Sigh. Get in the shower and forget that the first 15 seconds are freezing cold water. Dance like a little girl while holding your privates and avoid the ice of doom coming from the shower head. The shower finally warms up and it's bliss. Stay in the shower for about 5 minutes too long because you can feel the cold air outside. Finally muster up the courage and get out to dry yourself in record time with the accompanying "brrrrrr". Make it downstairs, dressed. Just the collar and cuffs ironed because you know you're going to be wearing a jumper for the rest of the day. Have a cup of tea, some toast/porridge/cereal. Listen to the radio while you eat. Clean teeth, looking in the mirror and wishing that the person staring back at you would cheer up. It can't be that bad can it? Oh well, no time for this. You're late for work. Get in car and slam the heater on full blast so that the windows steam up and use the sleeve of your jumper to clear off a 3 square inch window on the windscreen. Repeat for 30 minutes. Put the radio on, turn it off. Radio presenters shouldn't be that cheerful in the morning. Maybe a talk show would be good. BBC Radio 5/2/4 should have you covered. Finally get to work. Realise you're late but just this once (which is what you tell yourself everyday) it won't be a big deal. It's only 5 minutes and that time in the shower was well spent. You know you're doing 2 hours of overtime anyway even though you know you schedule is clear for the whole day. Something will pop up at the last minute. Make mundane comments to your colleagues. Sit at your desk, check emails, start work with a cup of coffee. Make it through to lunchtime and then get a cheap, thin, limp tuna sandwich from Tesco just down the road. Get back to work. More tea. More emails. More work. At 1645 your boss does the rounds just before they leave. "Oh wait, we have a problem and I really need you to fix it or we will be in a tight spot. You will? Good lad. See you tomorrow!". Sigh. Join the rush hour traffic. Tomorrow will be better. It has to be. Thank God it's Thursday today. Oh no, it's actually Tuesday. Get home. Put the TV on. Look in the fridge and look at all the food you have that you can prepare into a tasty, delicious, nutritious meal. Take frozen curry out the freezer and shove it in the microwave and grab a beer. Wonder if you really do need to punch those little holes into the film on top of the packaging. Fall in to the sofa until the magical dings happen and you know you can eat. Watch something mundane on tv, start to snooze. Wake up at 2350 and realise with great sadness that you have wasted your evening again. You'll do the washing up tomorrow. That's what you tell yourself every day during the week. Go upstairs, clean teeth and get in to bed. As you lie there, tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow will be a better say. Tomorrow will b.....


As we walked out to the lake, away from the streets that run like rapids, I knew I was in bad shape. I had a feeling, almost physically tangible, that today was going to hurt. I could tell by the way her hand sat lifelessly in mine, as if she wanted to remove it but was just biding her time. I've never been one to prolong the painfully evident, or placate the evidently painful, so I asked the obvious and dangerous question. "What's wrong?" I said, flippantly. As if today was just another day and I wanted to know how she wanted her eggs that morning. We watched the lazy ducks in the overcast gloom and I felt a relief, as if we were finally approaching the verdict, and my life hung in the balance. I almost laughed to myself as these thoughts imparted themselves in my mind--"so melodramatic..." was my hilarity. It wasn't as if I was facing the death penalty. But I WAS losing my girl. I could see that in the way she answered my question before a clumsy word left her flawless lips. By the way her smile turned strained then faded. She steadied herself with the kind of breath a doctor draws before he tells you simply,"there's nothing more we can do". I closed my eyes and braced myself, as if the impact was a surprise and not something I had accepted before we came anywhere near this stupid lake. She stammered through her speech like an unprepared valedictorian, all graceless and mindful of my feeble pride. I love her for this, as even in the end, she always paid heed to other people's feelings. I nodded along, not an interjection in the world can bring someone back who has already gone from you. She turned away at last, the formality had come to fruition, and strode with purpose toward her newly single life. She looked radiant and beautiful, as if the last two years lost had as much impact on her as changing body wash. What can you do when you lose your muse, your heart, the one you thought was going to see you into the ground? I sat and watched the ducks nip at each other and wished I was anywhere and anytime else.


First there was the light. The light was brighter than the sun. Brighter than the ten-terawatt laser that the ignition facility used. Brighter than the light of a million, billion galaxies that we had yet to discover. It woke me from my slumber. I ignored it, thinking another police helicopter was searching. Then came the shockwave. It blasted across the city like the hand of God, wiping clean the dirty slate of civilization. My window shattered in a burst of glittering, sparking glass, and for just a moment, I was able to see the stars. My eardrums burst. I screamed, blood pouring from my ears, as the drapes covering my window burst into flame. Rolling to the ground, I crawled under the bed and bawled like a toddler. As the pain began to subside, I managed to get my wits about me. *What happened? A bomb, explosion, something nearby?* I shook my head trying to think clearly. *The army? They must need me. Something bad happened. Really bad. Where is Anita? She was in here!* A thousand thoughts raced through my mind at once. Half of the room was engulfed in flames as the light outside subsided. I crawled to the door and flung it open, gasping for cleaner air, only to find more acrid smoke filling my lungs. I half crawled, half tumbled down the stairs in a bloody mess to where the open kitchen was all but gone. The front door had been blown in halfway across the living room. I managed to get to my unsteady feet, my balance all but gone. Stumbling out onto the street, a wave of heat hit my face and made it feel as if it was going to boil away. Wiping away some of the dirt and blood from my eyes, I managed to look up, shielding my eyes from the heat and dust. *Dear god, and all that is good in this world. It happened. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.* Ahead of me in the city center, a menacing mushroom cloud rose into the sky and proclaimed it's sentence of fiery destruction to all who were near.


“What do you think about marriage?” I think about my 18-year-old sister, with that veil over her smiling face. I think about the silence, the void of life that followed. I think about her with tears on her face 18 months later, as she asked my grandmother if she could stay for the night. I think how great that was. I think about my parents, how they’ve enjoyed wedded bliss for 30 years. I think about my dad, his hands around my mom’s throat, as he banged small, round dents into the sheetrock with her head. I think about how I walked away. I think how beautiful that is. I think about my grandparents, fidelity for over 50 years. I think about listening to my grandmother talk about her ex-boyfriends, how she wishes, how she misses. I think about hearing her describe all the places she would have visited if it weren’t for Grandpa. She didn’t miss that bastard until she found him facedown on the floor for the last time, no pulse, no life. Finally? I think how fantastic that is. I think about my best friends, both good-looking kids, in love for five years. I think about how she left graduate school when she became pregnant with twins. I think about how he decided he would rather love a stripper. I think about her voice on the phone, when she snuck back into her own house and found the baby cribs full of empty beer cans. Her clothes were on the garage floor. I think how jealous I am. I think about my uncle, with his beautiful wife and daughters. I think about their perfect life, minivans and vacations. I think about my uncle looking over at me at the stoplight, and saying that he would be happy if the plane carrying his wife home crashed tonight. I think about what to say. I think… I think about the preachers that get rich declaring the genesis of such eternal beauty. You may now fuck the bride, your life. I think about the lawyers that get rich eternally ending this beauty. Till death do those guys part your savings account. I think about the children that are destroyed in between. Domestic violence and cable television is the least common denominator for these brats. They are doomed to the same fate, and can’t wait for it. I’m sorry, what were you asking? Oh, I think it’s great.


“I think he’s in here guys!” Jamie hollered as she waved to us up ahead. As we ran to her the carpet felt uncomfortably soft and damp under the soles of my shoes. The hallway lights, if the bulbs inside the casings worked, were so dim even the blind would take off their sunglasses. The wallpaper, an ugly shade of a patterned burgundy, peeled to reveal its years of weathering. All of it combined to create a cascade of dark colors in my peripherals as if I was running warp speed through the mind of someone on a bad trip. This was a bad trip. As we caught up to Jamie I could faintly hear what I believed was Leo’s ringtone playing behind the apartment door. Manny started rapidly knocking. The rusty bronze ‘C’ quickly succumbed to the forces of his fist. Somehow the ‘11’ continued to hang in there and take the beating, though you could hear its screws loosening up as it clanged against the wooden door. “Leo. Leo you in there?” Manny barked. I checked my phone—5:43am. “Around what time did we lose him?” “At like 2-ish.” Sofie replied. We then heard nothing behind the door. Sofie put her phone back in her purse, “Voicemail again.” It wasn’t unusual that Leo left us in the middle of a night out. He always did like going on a chase while we went out on the town. But he would always, ALWAYS let us know he was heading out. And almost always with glee. This time around it was nothing. Not a “catch ya later” wave, not a head nod and a smirk, not even a silly text. Nothing. I tried the door knob. It rotated about three quarters a turn to the left until it caught. But still nothing. “Help me shoulder into it as I turn it.” Manny provided the tag team. It took more than a few tries before it finally swung open. My face tightened up, my throat squeezed to close up, my arm covered my nose and mouth, my eyes squinted: The natural instincts have by the grace of God reacted to the deathly toxic skunky aroma. The apartment, a studio layout, was all dark but for the upper half of a window on the left letting in the faint orange hue of the street lamp and the open microwave in the kitchen on the right casting a dim yellow light. Residing inside the microwave appeared to be something slowly drooping out. Whatever it was, that’s where much of the smell was coming from. This apartment complex was right deep in the armpit of town. Even the homeless would look elsewhere for shelter. I could hear Sofie gurgling. She never did have a strong stomach. Jamie and Manny scanned the place. Jamie had her flashlight app on. Manny acted tough and didn’t cover up like the rest of us. But past his gruff exterior I could see his squinted eyes watering up and I could read on his face that he longed for fresh air. Along the back wall some several feet away from us laid what looked to be a bed rising some three feet from the floor. The bed looked empty from the doorway but it was hard to tell in the shadows. I also took my phone out and used the flashlight app to further scan the place. The floor was littered with empty convenience store drink cups and cardboard pieces varying in size and shape. It was all carpeted by many, MANY fast food bags. Every major fast food company was represented and all the bags looked empty… unless it was moving. “What a shithole.” Jamie astutely observed. Her index finger pushed her ruby red glasses back up before retreating to reform the defensive line her left hand made over her nose and mouth. “There’s his phone, I think.” as Manny pointed toward the bed, which we could now see was only two mattresses stacked on the floor without a frame. The bed had a dirty rag of a comforter on it. But still, it looked empty. I did see however what looked to be Leo’s phone on a makeshift night stand on the side of the bed towards that mess of a kitchen. We started tiptoeing nervously through the maze of trash. As those random few bags moved around I hoped that if there was indeed something not a hamburger inside them, that it was nothing larger than a nasty roach. But the dead blackbird on the floor to my left which I happened to flash over with my phone’s light told me that it was probably wishful thinking. I prayed the bags crawled way the hell away from us. “I always did hate going into the Halloween scare houses as a kid.” I caught myself saying it out loud. I still do. As we safely reached the bed I saw on the floor behind the makeshift nightstand some empty Four Loko’s and a paper plate ashtray with several already smoked joints. “Yup he was definitely here at some point.” I said. Leo was my roommate back in college. I knew some of his signs. “But where is he now?” said Sofie. We scanned around the bed some more. All four of our phones were now directing the spotlights. I spotted what appeared to be his jeans and one of his shoes to the left of the bed. I also noticed what looked to be a track of scratch marks on the back wall along the far side of the bed. The avenues it created revealed the poor drywall underneath its old beige paint. Manny pulled off the dirty brown comforter. Sofie’s natural instincts immediately took her in a dash towards the hallway oblivious to what she stepped on. Manny, maybe frightened for the first time in his life, paused for one second then ran to the door after her. Jamie and I couldn’t help but stare, frozen still. His uncovering of the bed revealed Leo, sunken deep into the mattress as if he was inside the lining of a coffin. His tank top was on but it was soaking wet and transparent enough to show his chest bruised in strategically delicate places as if he was loved on by an octopus. His lower half was wrapped in white bed sheets, also looking soaking wet. Thankfully nothing showed and I dared not to look further into it. However, two other things caught my eye and judging by Jamie’s shocked stillness, she like me has never seen something like this before. First, the body outline of the mattress wasn’t perfectly lined up to Leo’s body size. The hips and groin area looked as if they were disproportionally wide and medicine ball sized compared to the rest of his body outline that caved into the mattress. But what really has caused the shock in the room and Sofie’s puke in the hallway is Leo’s face. A deformed smile dominated the shape of his deranged face. It looked as if he saw the girl from The Ring come out of the TV and he fell in love with it. It was fascinatingly creepy as much as it was unfathomably grotesque. The Joker couldn’t look any happier. Jamie, being the pre-med student that she is, pocketed her phone and bravely went to check for a pulse. Her right hand shook nervously as it moved slowly toward the left side of Leo’s neck. Her index and middle fingers lined up to make the check for a pulse shape. I held my breath as she made contact. “He’s still alive.” Leo’s body remained still. ”Jesus, I’ve never seen this before.” Jamie said as she quickly retracted her hand and wiped her fingers on her leg. “I have.” Sofie replied as she returned with Manny. She looked paler than before, as if that was even possible given her Irish-like complexion. She looked distressed and anxious, but aware and alert. “Never in person before today. I came across something like this on Reddit once. Had pictures looking almost like this. Thought it was stupid photo-shop bullshit.” Jamie gave me a puzzled look. “I remember the headline that drew me to click it. *‘It walks amongst the bottle caps and cigarette buds during busy city nights. It preys on the lonely and broken hearted. Its breasts, pillows for the damned and depressed.’*” I noticed as Sofie spoke I had taken a couple steps toward the open door. “What are you talking about?” Manny said. Sofie stood at an angle that caused her body to silhouette with the window. “‘The Wildebeest’”. The bathroom toilet flushed, a shriek shook the floor with fury.


Glasses. When I was six years old, I defined my dad by his glasses. It’s humorous now to think about the way I pictured him. He was a giant pair of oversized spectacles with a vague person living behind them. I saw him this way because his glasses were the most obvious feature on his face, and I lived in a world defined by the obvious. My father on the other hand, concerned himself more with the finer details of life, and in doing so, he seemed to overcomplicate every simple idea. When I grew up I was going to be superhero. Why? Because I wanted to. Where my father would have studied the logistics of it—calculated his every step, made sure the numbers added up— I didn’t worry. I was the type of kid who would come home from kindergarten and, like any other type of kid, play endlessly with my toys. In fact, the word “play” does not properly convey how I was able to interact with such simple pieces of shaped plastic. I would become my toys. I lived inside my childhood afternoons as countless superheroes, dinosaurs and soldiers. Each one I became was just as unique as I was. They each had their own memories, fears and dreams. I lived as these other people late into the night, and just as my arms were exhausted from climbing “Mt. Bookcase” and my legs were rubber from running down the “Fifty Million Mile Hallway,” my father would get home from work. In this sense, my father and I were similar. He would also come home and play with toys, but his toys did not seem nearly as fun. At the kitchen table stood a chair whose legs warped painfully outward from years of use. It was in this chair that my father would sit and type on his calculator— pushing in its loose, ink faded buttons for an eternity. The eyes behind his glasses did not reflect happiness, but they did reflect a determination both strong, yet quiet. Some nights, I would curiously study my father as he calculated. Sometimes I even asked him the occasional question. He would happily answer, ever enthusiastic to share the various snippets of knowledge he had accumulated throughout his life. The ratios and inequalities he attempted to explain were difficult enough concepts for my young mind to grasp, but what baffled me the most was why he would choose to be this “engineer” that he spoke of— a superhero’s life seemed much more appealing. Some nights though, he did not come home and play with his calculator. Instead, he would go into his bedroom and pick up his guitar. Within seconds, his music would begin to echo throughout the house. As if in a trance, I would instinctively follow the sound to its origin and sit as close as possible to my dad. I could physically feel the music as it brought every single air molecule in contact with my skin screaming to life. He brought this music into existence out of nothing, just as he had done with me, and I felt as powerful as each and every note he strummed. Maybe my father really was a superhero. The strong, yet quiet determination that shot out of my father with force as he entered numbers into his calculator also came out as he played guitar, but in an almost unrecognizable form. Here, it gently flowed out of him, its harshness diluted with something else— pure happiness. His eyes overflowed with a silent poetry that sang out louder than the music itself. In these moments, I would forget he even wore glasses— the emotions in his eyes were the most obvious feature on his face. Then much too soon, the ringing out of the final notes would end and I would instantly become overwhelmed by sleep. As my dad slowly walked me to bed, I would always have one final question, such as what the difference was between the “big” guitar and the “little” guitar. “The big guitar is an acoustic guitar,” he answered. My first reaction was that “acoustic” is a strange word and that I had never heard one like it before. Recognizing this in my face, my father told me how Acoustics is the study of sound using numbers, but I still could not understand. After much thought, he finally explained it in the perfect way, “When a sound is created, it runs along until it hits something, but it doesn’t stop there. It bounces off and continues in a different direction— it’s more tired and not as strong, but it keeps going and never disappears completely. That’s what an echo is,” he explained slowly. After pausing to make sure I understood, he continued, “and this acoustic guitar was created to make echoes as loud as possible.” Then he disappears. I find myself alone in my room, playing an acoustic guitar of my own. Although memories of my father have faded throughout the years, sometimes, when I play a certain note a certain way, I remember him as if I am six years old again. Only now, when I picture his face in my mind, I see a big, complicated person behind a tiny, vague pair of glasses. As I aged, the wrinkles and imperfections of his eyes became the most obvious features on his face, and even later still, it became the pain and sadness that lay hidden behind them. I focus on every one of these flawed, beautiful details that I was never able to see beyond his glasses, and I feel him in the room with me. My father created music. My father created me. Even though he is gone, when I strum my guitar and create music of my own, he will never disappear completely. Finally, I fully understand what an echo is, and how an acoustic guitar makes them as loud as possible.


His head struck the wall repeatedly. *Thud. Thud. Thud*. A U2-esque song rattled through the tinny handset speaker and enveloped his every thought. He’d say that this was the worst experience he’d ever had on the phone, but Mark never had a good experience to compare it to – he *loathed* talking on the phone. The fact that this was a call to his Internet provider was just the cherry on the icing. Why did these call centres even bother playing music? *Probably to get rid of the callers*, Mark suggested to himself. *It’s not in their best interests to speak to me – that’s how they lose money*. At this stage, Mark's paranoia was growing worse with each of Bono's verses – it was a welcome relief to his nerves when the music finally stopped. “Hell-lo you’re through to the customer retention department mynameisAshleyhowcanIhelp?” uttered a young-sounding woman in a tone that could only be described as “tired of this crap”. “I… I… uh” began Mark, who could now only remember bono’s tinny voice – perhaps *this* was the purpose of the music. “I’d like to cancel?” he *asked*, for reasons unbeknownst to him. Now it was time for Ashley the call centre agent to do what she was trained to do – stand in between the way of Mark and his freedom. She struck him hard with a financial counteroffer: “Well, it’d be such a shame to see you go, I can see you’re a loyal customer...” “Was, a loyal customer” Interjected Mark – but Ashley didn't seem to hear him. “...and I’m going to cut your bill in half!” exclaimed Ashley happily, in a disarming tone not-dissimilar to a child who’s just said “I drew you a picture”. Mark's defences were collapsing rapidly, he had to maintain his composure here. “Thank you” he said “but I’m no longer in need of your services, so if you could please just cut me off before the next bill comes around, that’d be fantastic, Ashley.” There was a brief pause in the air where Mark was worried he’d legitimately hurt Ashley’s feelings, but little did he know, Ashley was about to hurt his feelings: “I understand sir,” she began “I'm just going to put you on hold for a moment.” Bono’s voice chimed in once again. Calmly putting down the phone and gently placing it on the hook, Mark realised that he’d learnt a very important lesson today: he’d happily pay the broadband fee every month, just for the privilege of not having call the company ever again.


CHAPTER 1 “Caw!” The crow screamed from his perch on a nearby tree. I looked up lazily from the trail I was following. Beady black eyes stared coldly back at me. His friends joined in on the cawing, as if taunting me. It didn’t bother me, though, and I continued on my way with my catch in my mouth. Stupid birds. They had nothing useful to say so they just shouted angrily to seem imposing. Once I was safely back at my home, I packed away the mouse I had caught for dinner and stretched out contentedly. I would eat it later. I always felt like getting a little exercise before meals to build up an appetite. My hole was buried deep under a short oak tree. It was hidden and well protected by exposed roots - an ideal home for a fox. I poked my head back out of my burrow tentatively, sniffing around. A new smell had attracted me earlier and I was dying to find its source and I had made up my mind to seek it out today. Also, lately a lot of new animals had been appearing in our forest and I was really excited to see what new creatures turned up. The other foxes all laughed at my curiosity. They said it would lead to my death. I didn’t see it that way. The forest had a thousand different ways to kill me at any given moment and I had only made it this far on my own by always knowing my surroundings. If there were changes to my hunting grounds, whether it be climate, new game, or a new predator, I wanted to be aware of it. I sniffed around and started heading back the way I came. The forest was very lively, which was surprising at this time of day. The warm summer weather must have proved too tempting for everyone and I found myself in the company of many small woodland animals. Squirrels were chatting in their trees, a pack of voles was out walking single file, and birds were singing songs on every tree. I barked loudly a few times to let the animals nearby know it was safe to be around me right now. It was a rule of the forest that if a carnivore was openly making his presence known, that he was not hunting and meant no harm to other animals nearby. This law was sacred and I had never seen it broken, at least not in the few mile stretch of land that I stayed in. After a few meters I caught on to the scent again. Thrilled, I chased after it at full speed, barking occasionally to let everyone know I meant no harm. Seeking out new sounds and smells always excited me and on top of that, it was my favorite time of day. I could see the last glimmer of orange and pink and gold in the sky fading out between the trees to my west. A strong wind brushed through my fur and I soaked in all the different sensations around me. All the sights, sounds, and smells hit me and I sighed contentedly. It was a warm summer night. This time of day, just as the sky started to darken and the wind began to pick up, was my favorite time to go for a trip through the forest. Delighted, I let out one powerful, proud bark and charged full speed ahead towards the new smell I was chasing. Soon enough, evening turned into night and the sky became a dazzling black and purple ocean full of jewels. I began doubting that I would reach my destination before it became too dark to see but the smell had grown much stronger and I knew I must be close by so I kept going. I had never gone this far north before and was worried about getting lost as well. By now I was able to distinguish two unique scents coming from the same direction. One was completely new to me but the other seemed familiar, although I could not recall it. I didn’t think too hard about it because I was too caught up in my own thoughts about the day and everything I had done earlier. Besides the troublesome crows that had moved into the trees nearby, I had a run-in with some of the black foxes while I was hunting. I was still absorbed in my thoughts when something caught my attention. Up ahead I heard a branch snap on the floor and instantly I was on my guard. The forest is a loud place in general but every once in a while a sound would seem out of place and my gut would tell me something was wrong. Fear sunk in as I looked around cautiously, trying to identify the cause of the noise. For a while everything was silent and I became completely still as I crouched down and waited for a potential predator to make its move. I was very large for a fox but I was still only a slightly more challenging kill than usual for the owls and hawks that would hunt at this time. Minutes passed and there was absolutely no noise except for the chirping of various bugs. I started thinking I was being paranoid and decided to move on but every instinct in me warned my body to sit absolutely still. I willed myself to lift my front paw and take one step forward and, in a split second, the area surrounding me turned into a storm of violent action. A giant rat came darting straight for me hissing at the top of her lungs. She wasn’t speaking. She didn’t want to talk and she wasn’t simply making me aware of her presence. This was a battle cry. This was her trying to scare me before she attacked. Surprised as I was that a rat would charge at a fox, I reacted quickly and lunged straight at her, but another animal reacted much quicker. I saw a flash of grey light and a powerful gust of wind knocked me off balance. It took me a moment to collect myself and understand the scene before me. A great grey owl had appeared seemingly from thin air and was mauling the rat in a flurry of talons and beaks. I was terrified but also completely mesmerized by this act of extreme savagery. I backed away slowly to not draw attention but I could not look away from the bizarre sight. It was over in a few seconds. Slowly the owl stood up straight with his back to me while still looking at the dead rat near his talons. Fear crept in and I could not move. I didn’t want to do anything to attract his attention. Owls did not eat foxes but they were prone to random acts of violence and never needed a reason to kill. “You do not need fear me, fox.” He spoke in a high pitched yet booming voice that did not seem to suit him. “I was never interested in you to begin with. Well, not as food, anyways.” He added. He sounded pleased. Hoping this meant I was safe, I cautiously stepped towards the giant owl even though I was so afraid I was shaking. “Hello. I am Ragvilus. You helped me earlier. I think the rat was going to attack me,” I began, not sure what to say to this owl. “Aaah, I found that amusing.” He laughed, ruffling his feathers happily as he turned to face me. “Maybe she thought an injured fox would be more appealing to me than a large rat.” “Would it have been?” I asked. Despite my best efforts to stay calm my voice quivered noticeably as I spoke. The owl turned his head completely around and hooted. He stared at me with vertical eyes that looked both completely insane yet infinitely intelligent. After a few moments he answered with a simple, “Yes.” Then he slowly began turning back towards his kill. “Where are you going, Ragvilus the red fox?” he continued as he spread open his wings and revealed his enormous wingspan. “Just a few meters north of here.” I answered truthfully. “Do you seek the other foxes up ahead?” He asked. This caught me off guard. I had no idea other foxes were nearby. I considered lying to the owl and saying they were my friends to seem like I had a pack with me. In the end I decided against it because it occurred to me that an owl would not be intimidated by foxes and that if he wanted me dead I would already be dead by now. “No. I noticed a new smell today and wanted to investigate it.” At this, the owl froze. He folded his wings completely and turned his head slightly so he could see me from the corner of his eye. “Strange new animals have been entering our forest. Isn’t it exciting?” He asked. For some reason his voice became very grave. “But sometimes it does not pay to be so inquisitive. Red foxes are so very rare.” His ominous words once again put me on edge. Without thinking I began backing away but it was unnecessary. The owl picked up his prey and began lifting himself up into the air. With two flaps of his enormous wings he was already a few feet in the air. “Do you know why this area has been especially crowded lately?” He continued. I had heard bits and pieces of it but as a predator and an outcast amongst the foxes, I did not have very many chances to find out. “The cold northern forest was lit completely ablaze. A fire like this has not been seen in my lifetime or in many lifetimes before.” By now the owl had disappeared amongst the treetops and his voice began to fade. “Many new animals. So very exciting. But look out young fox. There are many monsters that lived in the cold northern forests and even monsters fear fire.” A fire in the north? I was confused by the ominous threats left by the strange bird. Shaken up, I turned around and looked at the trail I was following. Maybe it was time to give up on this. Maybe this was a sign that my curiosity was finally a bad thing. I took one more deep breath and thought about what my strange new smells could be. Then it hit me. I recognized one of the scents. It was the smell of smoke and ash. I have no idea why but a sense of urgency set in at this and my gut told me I had to get to the source of the smell and get there fast. I had no logical reason to do so but my gut had never steered me wrong before. I took one last longing look at the trail behind me then sprinted towards the new smell.


So I posted this to r/nosleep a few days ago, and if you aren't familiar with that subreddit here's the basic idea; every story is assumed to be true, kind of like role-play meets found footage movie. The problem is, that doesn't allow for anyone to critique your story, since it's not a story it's a true event. So if I could get some constructive criticism or reviews or anything at all from you guys it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading. This may not be your typical r/nosleep story, but it’s the only place where I thought anyone would believe me, or at least pretend to believe me. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t have a lot of options left and I just needed to tell someone. I just………. fuck it. I guess I should start at the beginning. Please bear with me here…. I don’t exactly know where to begin, but right here is as good a spot as any. I’m 23. I come from a bit of a rough background. My parents worked their asses off to provide everything my brother and I could want for, but every boy has a knack for finding trouble, and that rings especially true in my family. My older brother was an oxy addict and a drug dealer. And I mean a weight mover, not a corner pusher. He got clean the November after I graduated high school. My parents tried their best to hide it, but they were heartbroken with disappointment. I never went down that road. Sure, I messed around with drugs, but a few run-ins with the police that could have led to my arrest and an overdose scare set me straight. No, my issues were different. I struggled with depression and anxiety my whole life. Shit, I almost killed myself and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for a friend who unknowingly intervened that night. So I know what it feels like to look up and not see the light at the end of the tunnel. So did she though. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. She was my girlfriend. She was a recovered addict also, and she’d been down before too. I guess that’s why we worked so well together. We’d both been so low that we couldn’t see the way out anymore. But somehow we found our way. And found each other. She had dealt with depression and anxiety her whole life as well. We understood one another; we really just got each other. We lived in this little studio apartment together. It was tiny but it was all we could afford. It didn’t matter though; in our minds we were rich as long as we had each other. I worked nights bouncing at this bar downtown, and she worked there as a bartender. Maybe a bar isn’t the best place of employment for people of our background, but as weird as it was it just worked. Kind of a metaphor for us really. During the day I went to community college so I could learn how to run my own bar one day. And she worked retail all day to pay for my classes, even though she hated it. But that’s just how she was. She was self-less, thoughtful, and passionate. I loved her. God, I loved her so fucking much. We had a great gig working at that bar. We got to spend all night together, spend an hour after closing with our best friends, and then go home and really spend the night together. Not many couples can do that. There was this customer though. He started coming in a year ago. He was nice enough, quiet type. I didn’t really ever think much of him. He would only order drinks from my girlfriend, but it didn’t bother me. It was kind of cute actually; he was 21 and shy and had a bit of a crush. I kind of felt bad for him in a way, always alone, never really talking to anyone. When he did talk he was nice enough. Well-spoken, seemed pretty smart. Things started getting weird though. After a while, I would catch him giving dirty looks to me, as if he was jealous or something. There was something about these looks though. His eyes were so full of hate. This guy must have had a serious problem with me. But I let it slide, she asked me not to make a thing out of it. Later though, she told me he started giving those looks to other customers, anyone who tried flirting with her, which if you know anything about a babe tending bar that’s pretty much every patron. Still, I didn’t make a thing out of it. Until one day, someone was getting a little too fresh with her. This guy, he quietly asked the customer to stop, but the customer wouldn’t listen. Had a few too many drinks I guess. Anyway, this guy, he just snapped, and smashed a beer bottle right on his nose, knocking him to the ground. The customer falls down with blood just gushing from his broken nose, and the guy jumps on him, punching him over and over again right in his already fucked up beak. I rush over to pull him off, but he put up a fight and I ended up breaking the rules a bit and catching him on the chin with a hook hard enough to send him reeling back. I swear to god the customer he was beating looked like fucking Voldemort his nose was such a mess. I called an ambulance for the guy, and started to ask for the cops but my girl interrupted. She begged me not too, said that he was just defending her. So we kicked him out and told him never to come back. Meanwhile he just smiled, staring with those hate filled eyes. I fucking hated those eyes. The next morning I left her sleeping peacefully and headed off to class. She started work a few hours after me, and I knew how much she loved her sleep. I can still see her now, lying there without a care in the world, naked and beautiful. I just wish that was how I could remember her. I came home that afternoon to find our apartment exactly as I left it, including her still in bed. Except it wasn’t exactly as I left it. There was blood everywhere. I never knew there was so much blood in a person, but I swear man it was fucking everywhere. She was tied to the bed posts with our own fucking sheets. Her legs were splayed open by the restraints, the bedding between them soaked with blood. Christ, how was there so much blood? Her eyes had been gouged, pushed into her skull by thumbs. Her nipples had been bit off, her tongue bitten out, and according to the police the motherfucker must have ate them because they couldn’t find those….. those pieces of her…. they couldn’t find them anywhere. The autopsy said she drowned on the blood from her own severed tongue. It was a mercy, the doctor said. She was already dead for most of the rape. He had fucking raped her, tortured and killed her, raped her some more, then had a fucking coffee. That was the only evidence they could find. The sick fucker had made himself a pot of coffee and drank it in our bedroom, with her ravaged body as company. I don’t remember much after seeing her. I called the cops, gave them a statement when they arrived. They asked if I knew anything, and I told them. I don’t know how but I just knew it was that creep from the bar. I gave the police his description and let them do their job. Turns out they weren’t very good at their job. The police found the guy that same night, at our bar. He was drinking a beer, quiet and alone as usual. They tried bringing him in for questioning and he went calmly. Only he never made it to the precinct. They found the bodies of two cops in their cruiser a couple blocks away. Their throats had been opened, fucking torn out like deer that fell prey to a wolf. I couldn’t sleep that night. My boss let me crash at the bar, but I stayed up all night drinking. There were a couple of cops outside in case he came back, but it wasn’t any comfort. There was no way I could sleep. It’s kind of fucked up in a way, because if I had been able to sleep I would’ve met the same fate as my girlfriend. He came back. It was 3AM and I was almost halfway through a bottle of Irish when that sick fuck walked in the back door. He had the smallest hint of a smile on his lips and such malice in his eyes. I’ll never forget those eyes. If I were a better man I would have killed him right there with my bare hands, but I was drunk and all I could do was run outside and bang on the squad car window. Thank god those cops were more useful than the last two. He came out the front door as they were running in, and they managed to wrestle him to the ground. They were smarter too, because they didn’t even try to take him in. They just cuffed him, keeping their guns trained on him while they waited for backup. Once they got him back to the precinct, the guy admitted to everything. I don’t know how he could speak so emotionless, yet have such hate flow from his eyes. He told them how he watched our apartment building, waiting for me to leave. I’ll never forgive myself, because I left the fucking door unlocked. All he had to do was walk right in. I fucking hate myself. He described in gross detail, with that little fucking smile and flat detached voice, how he tied her up and how she screamed as he raped her. How he pushed his thumbs into her eyes sockets because she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. How she tasted of iron as he chewed her. How she wouldn’t stop whimpering my name, so he bit her tongue out. How she gurgled, the blood flowing out faster than she could swallow, slowly drowning. How she fell limp, and no matter how hard he fucked her lifeless body he couldn’t cum without her putting up a fight. How he put a pot of coffee on while he cleaned himself up, then sat drinking it for half an hour while gazing upon her pallid corpse. The trial began months later. He pled insanity and they bought it hook, line, and sinker. He was sentenced to a cushy psychiatric rehabilitation center. Too good for scum like him. How could they not see how he played them? It was obvious. I saw it, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him living a long, comfortable life in that place. No. I don’t believe in God but I prayed that there is a hell, so he can burn for eternity for what he did to my baby. Even that is too good for him. I still knew a few of my brother’s old contacts from his dealing days. It took me a couple weeks, but I got in touch with the right people and they hooked me up well. Snub nose .38, serial numbers grinded off. The gangster special. This cozy psyche ward didn’t even have metal detectors. Lucky me. I interrupted his session with the therapist. Some fat old man, eating up whatever lies this fucker was feeding him. I walked in there, hammer cocked, my mind thinking of everything I wanted to say to this piece of shit. But I couldn’t say a damn thing. My heart was in my throat, but I had come too far to go back now. With tear filled eyes, I stared into his, still so full of rage. To the very end he had that little fucking smile on his face. I pulled the triggered and watched his brains decorate the sterile white wall behind him like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting. It was beautiful. I can hear the cops pulling up now. I knew they would find me here, where it all began. I’ve been sitting here typing this up, drinking my Irish. I just needed to tell someone, to get it off my chest. I need my story to be known. But I’m running out of time. I don’t know what’s coming next but I’ve ceased to feel any fear. Either I’ll see my baby again, or I’ll watch that fucker burn for eternity. Or nothing. I’ve felt far too much in this dreadful life and nothing would be pleasant in its own kind of way. It doesn’t matter. It’s funny how calm you are in the end, that quiet acceptance of your fate. I keep thinking how alive these cops will feel when they’re staring down the barrel of a gun, adrenaline coursing through their veins. They won’t be hurt though. It’s not their time. But it is mine. Thank you for reading.


Susy Clide I can't stop thinking about a girl named Sue, well Susy, Susy Clide. It doesn't matter what you call her she doesn't change. I think everyone around the world knows of her in some way, she's quite famous. Sometimes I'm able to forgot about her, but not for long, and when I remember her she infects my brain for quite some time. A couple people I know have actually gone out with Sue Clide. People really seem to change after having experiences with Sue, I guess you just really don't understand it unless you feel that intense desire for her and everything she does. I think a lot of people think about her but only a few are really able to commit. Sometimes it takes a leap, other times it's just hanging, but it is always the same. Sue doesn't stay with any one person at a time, she visits and flirts, but the visits never last longer than an instant, and that's all the time you'll need. She just has a way of getting inside your head, like her presence spreads through your mind like a virus and the only cure is a visit from her. I can't seem to get her out of my head tonight, I've heard rumors of ways to meet her or get rid of her, some kind of repelent, like a pesticide, it's called Su-i-cide. I think I'll give it a try, she's driving me mad.


Sorry, new Title: Roads and the Ring. "Maybe. Maybe this was this way. Maybe it was the other way around. No one could fool the decision of the heart." At least one could see the direction of the heart. The decision of the one road, it was: If you follow this way, you will never come back. The decision of the one road, it was: If you follow that way, you will always come back. "One could follow the way that the past was dead, but remembered. One could follow the way that the past was alive, but distant as the present." Before the decision of the road, one took the decision of the Way. It was: For where you walk, you're in your way. If you strive or mistook one direction, maybe it was this way. Maybe it was the other way around. No one could fool the decision of the road. "The decision of the Wise man isn't to fool himself or the people he share his life with. The decision of the Wise man is simple. Follow the Way, even if there aren't roads and you have to go barefoot." Walk on in your way, breath your spirit. "It's the way of the earth, to make the sun set once a day. It's the way of the human, to be awake and bath in the Sun's light." It is the way of the sun, to have his rays blocked by the moons and planets. It is the way of the sun to bath the unliving. "Until life arises and could stand, and praise and breath and meditate. That was part of the way of the sun. A way of living is too, a way of the sun. Breathing is our necessity." It's the way of the moon, to receive the sun light for us. It's the way of the moon, to cast it's shadow upon us. It's the way of the moon, that lead to comfort us from the warm sun. It's the way of the moon, that lead to many deaths and cycles. "Their wedding made the winds and the sea. Therefore, as i breath the air, i remember. My tiny lungs, in this tiny universe, my tiny mind in my tiny body couldn't not follow the big decision that i was to took." The way that i never come back, as the rays of the sun. Or the way that i will always come back, as the shape of the moon. "The way that i will consume everything within my approach, warm it, burn it, and interact with it - the planets and comets. Or the way that i will always be there, within my own spot, touching and colliding with the things that are across me, and simple being there. Casting shadow that moves. I will act on the space within my range." The decision is now more clear. "Expansion will lead to smallness, And stagnation will bring movement, And the wedding between the sun and the moon, Settled as the sun and the moon were kissing the sea." "A ring is two roads together." I took the ring and held it. I would gaze at it and invest all my spirit in this ring. My spirit was getting stagnate as i held it. What a heavy ring. I feel down. I am setting, as the sun. I will marry the sea, not the moon. "One will marry daughter, not mother. This is not the way." "One will marry mother, not daughter. This is the way." I threw away the ring in the sea. The seas unfolded. In a rampant, they got me my silver ring back. This ring is yours, mortal, i could hear the sea say. Please hold it, he is not a burden, but a gift. The sea remembered me. The obstacle is the Way. "Like a wave, i go swin in the sea to kiss the moon." Stars were bright in the blue night.