I’d love some criticism, not even necessarily constructive lol. TW: Schizophrenia, blood, depression The voices are back. Telling me to do things, say things. I can’t live like this. I want to tear my fucking walls down and find the source of their incessant whispers. It’s worse when I can’t understand them. What are they saying about me? Plotting, waiting for the moment when they can take me down. I can’t do this. I throw open my door and sprint for the woods. The voices are gone, but I know they’ll find me soon enough. A perverted game of hide and seek. As I run, the sky darkens and whispers start to drift from the tree line. Calling me things. Calling me stupid. Calling me lost. I’ve fallen for the trap. I’m lost, wandering with my head in my hands and my eyes pinched shut. The voices call, offering a way out. My eyes open on a fairy ring, something so sweet and innocent twisted by the demons. Death caps form a circle around the small carcass of a baby deer. The voices mutter to themselves louder as the fawn rises, leaving a small pool of red atop the crumpled grass. I watch in horror as the fawn seems to implode, folding in on itself until it’s gone. The mutters grow louder, pushing me towards the ring. Better to wander forever, or resign to my true purpose? The chorus in the trees grows louder, impatient. I need to decide, I need to be faster. The voices almost sound frantic. They’re louder than ever, a deafening chorus of hate. I step into the ring, laying upon the crumpled red grass. I reach for a mushroom, a large one with a thick stem. How do you eat these? Does it even matter? There’s probably no wrong way to eat a poison. The voices are screaming, drowning each other out. They want me to get on with it, give them a show. I take a few bites, and before I know it my vision starts to swim. In the distance, I hear twigs snapping and tall grass being pushed. Everything fades to black. There’s a young boy. Can’t be older than 17, stumbling through the woods with his head in his hands. “Hey” I call to him. I step forward, but I’m stopped by something I can’t see before I can reach the path. I see others, people with sad eyes and desperate voices. They call to the boy, pleading with him. Their voices are turned to whispers by the trees. He grips his ears, like he’s trying to rip them away. We call to him, trying to throw our voices through the barrier. It seems the barrier only grows stronger the more we struggle. I know that yelling louder will just lead to us drowning each other out, but I can’t help it. He’s getting closer to the end. I plead with him, beg him to just hold on a while longer. I yell and scream until my throat bleeds. He reaches the sick imitation fairy ring, a young doe lying in the center. I should be there. I just died, didn’t I? The boy takes a step closer, his face illuminated by a rare patch of light from the setting sun. A face that I know all too well from endless nights in front of the mirror, trying so hard to see who I am. I scream to him, “You don’t have to do this! You don’t have to wander!”. But I falter. What other choice did I have? These voices sounded so hostile from the other side, my path seemed so messy. What else can I possibly do? But how can I know what lies farther on the path? Surely it’s better than surrendering, letting the voices lead me on. Perhaps I’ll learn to hear correctly a mile down the path, I’ll learn to speak a mile after that. Isn’t struggle the only way to learn? He lies in the blood, and a fury overwhelms me. He’s throwing it all away, can’t he fucking understand? He’s letting himself go for no goddamn reason. I scream, I shout, but I know how his story will end. There’s nothing I can do from here. I’m utterly helpless. I let myself go.


Jasmine Thompson attends Davenport Elementary School. When she walked into the classroom today, she realized she had forgotten about the geography quiz. She begins to panic as the paper is placed in front of her on the desk. She is a perfectionist and must get all of them right. Jasmine is relieved as she goes over the questions because she remembers much of what was on the quiz. What is Maine's capital? What country is located to the south of the United States? Jasmine breezes through the 10-question quiz and hands it into her teacher, Mr. Colson. Mr. Colson was grading geography quizzes that night while watching the news on television. He arrives at Jasmine's quiz and examines her answers quickly. He is surprised when she gets question number 10 wrong, "what is the tallest mountain in the world?" "Sorry, Jasmine, Mount McKinley is not the tallest mountain in the world; Mount Everest is," Mr. Colson says to himself. A breaking news banner flashed over the TV that Mr. Colson was watching as he was ready to place the quiz in the completed pile. "We have some breaking news this afternoon: seismic activity in Alaska has caused Mount McKinley, also known as Denali, to rise 10,000 feet in elevation. Mount McKinley has now surpassed Mount Everest in height due to this seismic event, and it is now the tallest mountain in the world." Mr. Colson pulls Jasmine's quiz from the stack, looks at question number 10, and changes it from incorrect to correct. He knows Jasmine will be surprised and happy when she sees her quiz tomorrow. Mr. Colson considers Jasmine's answer a fluke and prepares tomorrow's science quiz. Little does he know that Jasmine will get another question wrong on the science quiz. What team of scientists discovered the double helix structure of DNA? "Lewis and Clark," Jasmine answers. The correct answer is "Watson and Crick." At the end of the day, another teacher enters Mr. Colson's room and informs him that they have located Lewis and Clark's missing journals. The lost journals discuss double-helix DNA, right down to its molecular structure. "The explorers are said to have discovered the double helix DNA structure 150 years before Watson and Crick!" "It's not possible!" Mr. Carlson looks at Jasmine's quiz, and lo and behold, Jasmine's answer is now correct. When Jasmine gets a quiz question wrong, reality corrects itself such that she gets the question right. Mr. Colson decided to put this to the test, so on tomorrow's Shakespeare quiz, he poses a question that none of his students will know: "In the play Romeo and Juliet, who is Juliet's cousin?" The answer is Tybalt, but the students wouldn't know that because they haven't read it yet. Every student in the class, including Jasmine, failed to answer Tybalt on the quiz, just as he had predicted. Mr. Carlson waits, remembering that the Mount McKinley transformation did not occur until he graded the quizzes. He takes out the quizzes to grade them; he immediately turns to Jasmine's; her answer is, Franklin. Mr. Colson shakes his head, filled with skepticism. How will reality change for this to happen? He marks the answer wrong, then takes out his cell phone and waits. Refresh, refresh, and refresh on the news website that he uses. All of a sudden, there it is: "Historians have discovered an alternative text to Romeo and Juliet; the only difference they see is that Shakespeare had not yet come up with the name of Tybalt, inserting the more modern Franklin in its place." He can't believe his eyes; this proved it once and for all, whenever Jasmine puts for an answer on a quiz becomes a reality. In tomorrow's quiz, Mr. Colson has asked, "Who is the richest man in the world?". Jasmine raised her hand during the quiz and asked, "We never studied this in class?" "That's OK. Just put in Brian Colson, and you'll get it right." "But you're not the richest man in the world; it's Jeff Bezos?" "OK, this is a bonus question; I won't count it against you as long as you put my name." When the quizzes are returned, he sees that Jasmine entered his name for that question. As soon as the students had gone to lunch, he got out the quizzes and scored Jasmine's, marking it incorrectly and waiting. He stayed up until 12:30 a.m., hoping for something to change, but nothing did. Concerned, his wife came down to the living room where he was waiting on his phone, and he told her about the strange situation with a student in his class. After she looked at him like he was insane, but wanting to go to bed, she pretended to support his crazy idea. "What if she needs to believe it for reality to change? You told me she already knew you weren't the richest man in the world?" "Makes sense, so it must be something fresh I taught her. Any ideas?" "The Super Bowl is this Sunday; how about asking who will win?" "You're brilliant!" Mr. Colson tells his students that the Rams will win the Super Bowl during class. He teaches it like an actual lesson giving bulleted notes and sound reasoning. Despite a few arguments from the boys in the class, the class took his word for it. On this question, Jasmine has circled the Rams to win the Super Bowl. When school was out on that Friday afternoon, Mr. Colson went straight down to the casino to place $100 on the Rams to win. He wanted to bet more, but he figured there would be time for that if she could predict the winner. He won! On Monday, though, he was called to the principal's office. "Can you explain why you chose to teach about sports rather than the curriculum?" Mr. Colson was startled but was let off the hook when he promised never to do it again. He was disappointed he had to toss away his NBA lesson for today, but he decided that perhaps something good could come from this. He taught about how the world was at peace. For the first time in human history, he told the students that there was no war and no one was killed in battle. He asked the quiz question, "Is there world peace?" Jasmine responded with the answer she was taught, yes. The major news that night was that everyone had called off all wars. He told his wife, who was completely taken aback. His wife was now a true believer and wanted to seize the opportunity. "How about you teach the class that a woman named Marilyn Colson received $10 million dollars she had no idea existed?" He told students the next day about a woman named Marilyn Colson, giving them her address and other identifiers, who had received $10 million dollars out of nowhere. He asked on the quiz, "What was the name of the woman who unexpectedly received ten million dollars?" To answer the question, Jasmine gave Mr. Colson's wife's name. Mr. Colson felt a rush of exhilaration as he drove home that afternoon, knowing that this could all come true. He was so engrossed that he failed to notice the truck crossing the median. The truck collided with Mr. Colson's car, and he died immediately. Her husband's death saddened his wife. The next day she found out he had a life insurance policy that she didn't know about; it was worth $10 million dollars.


We were just about to land when suddenly the plane was forced to the ground. The thud of hitting the ground threw my phone out of my lap and into the air. The entire cabin was in chaos until the plane came to a screeching halt. I looked for my phone and found it just underneath my seat. Luckily the screen wasn't cracked at all. The feeling of relief ended when the pilot came over the intercom and told everyone that we would be getting off the airplane here, on the runway. I swallowed my frustration and followed the river of passengers exiting the airplane. I jumped out of the airplane and realized what had happened. In front of the plane, the ground had caved in a hundred feet, no wonder the pilot put the plane on the ground so quickly. I took some pictures of the hole in the Earth with my phone, thankful I didn't end up in it. As I was staring at the hole, my teacher found me and tapped me on the shoulder, ushering me to leave with the our school group. A few hours later, it was starting to get dark, I was playing games on my phone on the bus ride back. I got a breaking news notification, which was odd since I usually didn't have notifications for news. I realized it was probably an article on what had happened at the airport when I landed, so I tapped on it. It wasn't. The first thing I saw on the web page was the photo. The photo was of something in the sky, something big, not human at all. I tapped on the picture and it turned out to be a video. "We are the Seventh Humanity. Your kind is outdated. You will be replaced soon. Do not resist, you will not succeed." The words seemed to come from the massive heap of metal in the sky, just before it released a monsoon of smaller metal objects from it. It took a few seconds for them to be close enough to the camera for me to realize what they were. They were people. They had an orange light on each of their hands, with a larger one on their forehads. They started running from person to person. As soon as they touched someone they would vaporize, instanly. As this happened, the bus turned off of the highway onto a small road in the woods nearby. Our teacher had seen the headlines. "We're taking shelter! If you don't know what's going on, check your phone and then turn it off. We'll probably be here for a while, so save your battery." Some time later, I tried falling asleep despite how hot the bus was. I had just gotten comfortable before I heard a noise outside. I closed my eyes and told myself it was just a squirrel. Moments later, A girl on the bus screamed bloody murder. I opened my eyes and looked up to see three orange lights outside my window.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join. Each week you are required to provide feedback for at least 2 other writers on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.   *** #This week's theme is Unity! This week, we’re going to take a look at the theme of ‘Unity’. There are many ways people can be—or feel—united; this could be through their community or culture, in a relationship, through their beliefs and goals, etc. We all crave that sense of belonging that comes from being a part of something bigger than ourselves, being part of something that matters. In what ways do your characters seek this out? What makes them feel united? What happens when that sense of unity is tested, maybe by a foe, who is trying to tear them apart? What about when characters are united in something that isn’t true, or real, or something that isn’t good for them? What happens when a group of united people falls? What sort of effect does that have on the people and the world around them? These are just a few things to get you started. This week, please keep in mind the subreddit rules, and treat the topic of mental health with respect. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. **Please remember to follow all sub and post rules.** You can always modmail us if you’re unsure. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I post the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even vote on the upcoming themes on the Nomination form! - June 19 - Unity (this week) - June 26 - Visitor - July 3 - Weakness   *** **Recent Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 12pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Come back later in the week and leave a feedback comment on at least 2 other stories on the thread.   *** #The Rules: - **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme.** You can interpret the theme any way you like as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and sub rules. Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. - **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalog. *Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title.* If you don’t use the correct titling format, your serial will be automatically removed by the bot. (Please note: In order for the bot to recognize your serial, you **must** use the exact same name each week. Titles can not be edited in after the fact. Should you make a mistake or forget, you will need to repost.) - **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt or post is not allowed. - **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. Stories outside the wordcount will be disqualified, so don’t forget to check! **You may include a *brief* recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.** - **Stories must be posted by Saturday 12pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will be disqualified and will not be eligible for rankings or Campfire readings. - **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. - **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread each week (that’s on two different stories).** The feedback must be **actionable** and should include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. You have until Saturday night at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. Those who go above and beyond (more than 5 actionable, in-depth crits) will be rewarded with “Crit Credits” that can be used on our sister sub, r/WPCritique. - **Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week.** If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead. - **Serials must abide by subreddit content rules.** This includes, but is not limited to, explicit suicide or suicide-note stories, pedophilia, rape, bestiality, necrophilia, incest, explicit sex, and graphic depictions of abuse or torture. You can view a . If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!   *** #Reminders: - **If you are continuing an in-progress serial (one that you began off of Serial Sunday), please include links to the prior installments on Reddit.** Our bot will not be able to log these. - **On Saturdays, I host a Serial Campfire in our .** Join us to read your story aloud and hear other stories. We provide feedback for all those present. **We now start at 1pm EST.** You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join! - **Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted .** The form is open on Saturdays from 12pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations! - **Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials.** This is to celebrate your wonderful accomplishment and provide some extra motivation to cross that finish line. Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information. - **There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server!** Be sure to grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news, including new posts and Campfires!   *** #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 60 points - Second place - 50 points - Third place - 40 points - Fourth place - 30 points - Fifth place - 20 points - Sixth place - 10 points **Feedback:** - Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap) - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap), this does not count toward the required 2. **Nominating Other Stories:** - Submitting nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total) *Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above. Your feedback must be **actionable**, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” style comments will not earn you points or credit.)* ***So what is actionable feedback?*** Actionable feedback should be constructive, something that the author can use to improve. A critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. You can or these previous crits from Serial Sunday: | |   *** #Rankings - **First place:** - by u/rainbow\-\-penguin   - **Second place:** - by u/mattswritingaccount   - **Third place:** - by u/katherine_c   - **Honorable Mention:** - - by u/MeganBessel   ###Crit Credits Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques (on the thread) and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our . - **Crit Star** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite   *** ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


"What the hell were you thinking?!" He yelled, slamming his mighty fist on the table! The room went quiet. The projector shook a little after the commotion. One of these days, it would fall straight from the roof and stomp on his head like he was a goomba from Mario. But all focus remained on Death at the moment, who stared, poker-faced, at the one and only Holy Spirit as you humans like to call him. Or what I call him, the leading director of The Human Condition. Or, quite simply, boss. "Do you see what I see?!" He pointed to the screen which lit up the office. Death had always been more defiant than the rest of us. We watched as she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms like an angsty teen. "You said we needed to cut down the population, so that's what I did," she said, nonchalantly. "Sure, that's what I said," God voiced angrily, "but all we needed was to slow their progress down! Not WIPE them out completely!" Death just shrugged. "You can't blame me for being *too* good at my job." "25 million. Gone. Done for. Dead. It'll take nearly eighty years for them to recover. Hell, they even call it the Black Death. This wasn't according to plan!" "When is it ever?" Death smiled. "When have you ever been disappointed in my work? I get shit done, you know that as much as everyone else in this room. Because I don't make mistakes. I'm the result of them." God restrained himself before he could erupt like the volcanos which buried the Roman city Pompeii (which was an entire ordeal on its own. I stayed overtime many days after that, trying to fix the mistake I made which led to that moment). He took a deep breath in, paused, then let it all out, releasing a faint mist of steam through his nostrils. Rubbing his tired eyes, he looked to all of us with a new-found determination. On the board, there were a number of pie charts and graphs showing the mortality rate of humans, their progress, and possible evolution cycles we had planned for the future. God clicked his fingers, and the slides changed to present the words: *God's plan for 1353.* "This year is going to be different," he said with a smile. He looked over to death who's arms remained folded. "You," he said. "No more pandemics for a while. Not until the twenty-first century, capeesh?" Death's smug look returned. She unfolded her arms and said with great delight, "I've already got something planned."  AN: Thanks for reading! First story I've posted on this subreddit, so I'm open to criticism and ways to improve my writing. I've made this little note to get over 500 words which is a required minimum to post something here. But still, thanks for reading again. Any feedback is welcomed :) Now I'm really just trying to get over the limit now. You don't have to keep reading honestly, it's fine. I only wanted to make a short story to so people's attention wouldn't drift, which is why this rule is strange in my opinion. But it's fine, cause I'm definitely over now.


There she was, again. For years I've seen her sitting on that bench, as I make my way to work, crossing the park. It's funny, we've never actually greeted each others, let alone speak, but I have this feeling that we both notice each others.  One cold morning I poured my coffee down the drain and made my way outside, to be greeted by a morning mist, a sort of shapeless guardian of time, fighting the sun to keep this peculiar moment, called crepuscule, going. Well, I felt minuscule, as I walked across the road, these dark fluffy clouds hovering over the very city I've lived in all my life. I made small talk with the chicken, on the other side of the road, exchanging pleasantries. ME ''How are the kids'' CHICKEN ''They're just fine, still in their shells and all'' ME ''Well, say hello to the wife will ya, friend'' CHICKEN ''Will not, since a fox got to her last week, gruesome affair'' ME ''Sad to hear it, good day'' CHICKEN ''Same to you, watch for the dragonfly'' As I tucked my icicles in my pockets, I realised that I was laughing like a mad person, completely lost in my mind, walking. Making my way under the tall trees, I entered the park. In these trees were big-nosed monkeys, hurling rocks and branches at passerby. As I pass the biggest one, I avoid eye contact and start hollering, filling the crisp air of an absurd, primal music. Soon enough the monkeys got down from the trees and started to walk, as people do, stopping and pretending to talk. The big-nosed one stayed on his branch and clapped his hands, then I kissed his ring. Blessed by his majesty the Prime minister of the big tree, I kept on walking my merry way. My mind kept trying to focus on the upcoming day at work, but such thoughts could wait a few more minutes. As I turned to the left at a park highway, a flock of cyclists passed me on the left, at incredible speed. All of them had the standard Spandex suit, with the helmet and sunglasses. One yelled something as he passed me by, making these intricate movements with his arms, as if I were to understand some abstract body cyclist language. After a few minutes the flock thinned. The last one I saw was a pig on a unicycle, struggling to keep up with even the slowest of the flock. I pushed him down and, ignoring his screeching of panic I laid my judgment upon him, taking its pathetic life, to the blind eye of many witnesses. Cleaning my hands on a nearby bush, I was ecstatic. My white tie was stained with the invisible blood of a non-existent animal that I slain without pity, yet my mind was in complete ebullition. Above me was hovering one of the biggest dragonfly I'd ever seen, and I've seen at least two in my twenty-four years on this earth. In one swift move its wings began flapping in a noisy way, and it stood completely still, a few meters above the ground. Its wings were so noisy in fact that I couldn't hear anything else, neither the chirping of the harpies nor the screams of agony of the ants. The dragonfly flew away, seemingly disinterested by my humble presence. The deafening silence made way to a symphony of nature's most mundane noises. Only to be interrupted by a soloist, performing the lacrimosia. I had completely forgot her. There she was, again. Sitting on that bench. But today she was crying, and she wasn't alone. Seeing her in such an emotional state took me completely off guard. I must've had such a concerned face, which is funny since we were nothing more than strangers. How I wished I could go sit next to her and comfort her, not as an excuse to finally talk to her, but only for her to not be so sad anymore. As I approached, they didn't even seem to see me, or the dead body on the floor, in front of them. I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. I tried to do something, but nothing came to body. I finally laid there, on the ground in front of them, as the clouds opened their hearts and let forth their tears, much like her. To all I was an unfortunate fool, that somehow died while crossing a park. To her, I was this stranger that she never dared talk to. To me, I was a mad person, so deep in my own imagination that I perished from it. As I stop breathing, I feel as though this is for the best. I look one last time at her, as I accept my departure from this world. She wasn't crying, she was laughing.


Droplets of water shiver. Rolling slowly down off of their green beds; the blades of grass bend under the shifting weight. The dew moves with the coming dawn. Trying desperately to hide from the rays of the sun. They don't make it. New light hits them, splitting into seven as it does. All along the verdant lawn spots of color explode outward. To any eye sharp enough to notice, the ground has turned into countless pinpoint rainbows. The sight, sadly, doesn't last. The rising heat takes hold of any droplet not quick enough to hide. They shrink under the sun's grip. Vapor slowly rises into the sky; the air ripples as water is freed from its earthly bonds. On these rising currents drifts a large bird. Amber orbs perch atop a sharp curved beak. They dart this way and look for breakfast. Now that the lawn is still, it can perceive any movement. Talons flex hungry, as it lazily floats above the world. A soft buzzing drones over the now motionless yard. Looking for a flower amongst already ripened berries; a bee bumbles along. It had found pollen here earlier in the year and was back to check for more. However, it had done its job quite well and now all that could be found was fresh fruit. A rustle in the grass causes the hawk to dive. It lands with thud. The full force of the plunge burying wicked talons into its prey. A few flaps and it's off, a rabbit clutched underneath it. There is no remorse for this act from the hunter. A nest full of screeching chicks demands to be fed. It flies back over a cabin, bringing the fresh meat back to its young. A small girl stands on the porch looking in awe at the retreating bird. Too young to really understand what she had just seen. She dashes out into the late morning sun, taking a wide course around her home. Behind the cabin was a large patch of black earth devoid of any grass. A man and two older children were bent over. Careful not to step on any of the small green shoots coming out of the ground. Their steps leave deep footprints in the soft soil. They were inspecting each seedling coming up in their respective rows. Fingers reached out and pulled plants gently aside. Selecting the undesirable ones and removing them from the tilled earth; leaving only the growing vegetables. The girl sprinting, called to her father as she approached. All three looked up from their task. The man's face breaks into a grin. She entered the garden; slowing her pace, she picked her way carefully through remaining plants. She had learned last year to be careful. When she reached the man she proudly exclaimed her sighting of the hawk. The man lifted her up, resting her in the crook of his arm. Praising her sharp eyes, he gave her a tight hug. She burst into a giggle before forcing her face into a pout, imploring her father to come play. He took a moment and looked around the garden. The weeding was almost done. Then he turned his eyes to his other two children, who had barely masked desire on their faces. He waved all three of them off, telling them he would finish the chore. Their faces beamed. Joyful children dashed off through the grass. He called after them to be careful. He gave a proud, contented smile. There would be more work for them this afternoon and even more tomorrow. There always was this time of year, but for the moment they could enjoy the weather.


Ron Gaston walks up to the checkout lane with his groceries. "OK, I see we have one head of lettuce, some random nuts and berries, and one stick of chewing gum. That'll be $80; will that be cash, credit, or plasma donation?" "Eighty dollars? I guess the price went up since last week. Credit, I guess." The cashier swipes his credit card. "We'll be launching a layaway option next week, allowing you to pay in installments." "Does that come at an extra cost?" "No, we'll hold your nuts and berries for free until you pay." "So, it's the same as tonight; only I don't receive a snack at the end." Despite being the town mechanic, Ray walks home since his truck has been out of gas for three months. On his way home, he notices various signs of the town's desperation. At the furniture store: "Buy a couch and get a back rub from my wife for free." At the tailor: "Buy one suit, get one free... and a back rub from the furniture store owner's wife." At the massage parlor: "Buy a couch and a suit and get a back rub from the furniture store owner's wife." Ray walks up to his gas station and looks up at the sign: $10.98 for regular, $12.04 for mid-grade, and LOL for premium. As he approaches the light, he notices a van with an out-of-state plate getting gas. "Just traveling through?" Ray asks. "Oh, yeah, the interstate was down due to a huge accident. I'm trying to take backroads." "Good plan; thanks for coming by." Ray heads inside, eyebrows raised, where his wife Laura is behind the cash register. "A customer? We can finally afford that loaf of bread we've been talking about." "I know; he paid cash too." Outside, the customer is having difficulty starting his van, and Ray walks out to see what's the problem. "It won't start." "Do you mind if I take a quick look?" Ray can tell it's an alternator as soon as he looks under the hood. He feels terrible for the guy because he was only trying to take a shortcut and ended up breaking down. "It seems to be the alternator; we can order one and have it in a couple of days? It's going to be expensive. Do you have credit?" "Money isn't an issue; I'll pay cash." "OK, then, I'll order it tonight. Why don't you check back in a couple of days? We'll get you all fixed up." "That sounds good to me. One thing though, don't go poking around the back of the van, alright?" "Certainly, your van, your business." The man takes out his phone and begins scrolling. "Is Uber available out here? Nevermind, 30 minutes. I'll see you in two days." "Alright, see you then." Ray returns to the gas station. "Did I hear you right, an alternator? Did you get the money up front?" "Trust me; he's good for it." "How do you know that?" "He just ordered an Uber." "An Uber? What is he a millionaire?" The next day, Laura visits Ray, who has already begun installing the alternator. "How are things going?" "We're ahead of schedule." "Isn't it odd that he told you to stay out of the van? I'm curious what's back there." "Leave it alone. Whatever it is, it is none of our concern." "What if it's a dead body, a kidnapped child, or, worst yet, he wants to sell us solar panels?" "There's nothing back there except a slew of boxes. Leave it alone." Laura walks to the back of the van. "Come on, aren't you interested in what's in those boxes?" Ray follows her to the back of the van. "Stop; the last thing we need is for this guy to think we're snooping through his stuff." While Ray watches nervously, Laura opens the back door and carefully opens a box. There were stacks and stacks of cash inside the box. "Whoa! One of these boxes contains around half a mil in cash." "We have to put it back and pretend we didn't see it." "No way! This could be our ticket out of here!" "What do you want to do, steal the money? Do you honestly think he won't come after us?" Laura begins to rummage through the cash. Ray realizes that Alexander Hamilton is wearing eyeliner and pulls out his own ten to compare. All of the bills are fake. "They're all fakes!" "Who has this much counterfeit money?" Ray remembers last night and goes to the cash register to examine the bills he paid; they, too, are fake. "He's taking advantage of us!" Ray yells. "We can't afford to take a hit on the alternator." "We need to turn some fake money into real money." "Nobody cares about one-dollar bills. We'll be able to get away with it if we spend them in different places." Ray compares a one-dollar bill to a fake. "The only difference I see is that George Washington is wearing a woman's scarf." "No, that's in the real one; in the fake, his brows are arched like Martha just put on that girdle he likes." They drove to the city to spend several one-dollar bills after Ray fixed the alternator. They purchased groceries, gas, and a subscription to Gas Station Gourmet. They realized that at this rate, they would never make up for the alternator. Laura also had to tell everyone she was a dancer down at Bazooms off the 909, open till one, no cover before eight. She thought she might have to go through with it until Ray had a better idea. The local casino slot machines would take the larger bills without suspicion. They could never return to the casino, but it would get the job done. That night and into the next morning, Ray and Laura exchanged approximately $100,000 in counterfeit money for real money. They were exhausted when they returned to the gas station in the morning. The van's owner arrived late in the morning to pay for the alternator and handed Ray some cash. "Thanks for getting it done so quick. I put an extra hundred dollars in there because I paid for my gas with movie money last night by accident." "What's that, movie money?" "Yeah, I work for a prop company; I'm delivering fake money to a movie set. Honestly, I was a little worried about leaving it here overnight." "Laura, did you hear that? This guy has movie money in the back of that van." "What happens if you spend some of the movie money?" "An honest error, like last night, no worries. But I might be in big trouble if I spend a lot of it." Ray and Laura turn ghostly white. "Hey, you two don't look too hot. If you want to see a movie being made, they're filming a scene at the local casino; that's where I'll be bringing the movie money; I could get you in if you want.


I gazed up at the treetops that gently leaned to and fro in rhythm of the wind. Spring had greeted me once again like seasonal clockwork. Streaks of sunlight covered my face in warm stripes. I closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. This was my homestead. The soil imprinting my soles were a comforting earthen blanket beneath my feet. The outdoors was the dining room. I sat on one of the four tree stumps, adorned with handmade embroidered cushions Ma made. The table was one large carved stump with a surface sanded smooth. I heard the crunching of sticks nearby, and quickly looked back down, eyeing my surroundings. I caught a glimpse of Pa ambling up the hill carrying a bundle of freshly chopped wood. “Mornin', Pa,” I greeted.  “Mornin', Lex. Could you help me bring this inside?” he asked. “Sure thing,” I said, standing up and walking over to meet him. I lightened his load by taking half of the wood out of his hands. The cabin door swung open for them to walk through by his younger brother, Finlay. They walked through the doorway and into their home, dumping the wood into a crate beside the entrance. The aroma of cooked blueberries drifted through the cabin from the kitchen, where Ma stood, scrubbing at some dishes. Clifford wiped the sweat off his brow.  She turned her head to look at us and smiled. “Any of you boys have a hankerin' for blueberry pie tonight?” My brother and I nodded eagerly in unison. “Annamae, that pie sure smells mighty fine,” Pa said. “Why thank you kindly, Cliff,” she responded gratefully with a warm smile. He walked over to her, embracing her with a kiss. Finlay walked into the kitchen, tugging at her dress.  “Ma?” he asked. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, picking him up into her arms. “What are you fixin' for dinner?” he inquired. “Oh, honey, it's your favorite. If you, Lexton, and Pa catch us a deer, we'll have us some venison stew,” she answered. He grinned and hugged her tightly. She let him down. “Pa, Pa, can I go hunting with you, *please*?” Finlay begged. “As long as ye keep close to your brother, I don't see a problem with it,” Pa answered. Finlay clapped in excitement, jumping up and down.  He was active as much as he was curious, all at the tender age of five. Pa strode over to me and looked at me intently. “What is it, Pa?” I asked, confused. He lifted his hands and turned my chin back and forth. “Looks like ye have some stubble growing in, son. My boy's finally becoming a man,” he said with a chuckle. His skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. He patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Lexton, why don't you go grab the hunting rifles, and let's start huntin' afore gets too late, alright?” he requested. “Yes, Pa,” I agreed, before walking into his study. I grabbed the two hunting rifles down from their wall mount and returned back into the common area. I handed over one of the rifles to him.  “Did you make sure they're loaded?” he asked. “No, I didn't check,” I replied, before clicking the safety and checking to see if the gate was loaded with bullets. “Yeah, I have some in there,” I said. He followed after my lead and checked his gun. “Well, it looks like we're good to go, then,” he said. “Do you have the spare ammunition, Pa?” I asked. “I got it in my pocket, let's go,” he nudged.  “You boys be safe now, ye hear!” Ma called out to us, as we left the cabin and started down the hill. I took Finlay's hand and walked with him to make sure he wouldn't accidentally get lost. Halfway to the clearing, I had something to ask Pa, but I wasn't sure what his reaction would be. “Pa?” I asked. “Yes, son?” he responded. “When can I go into town?” I wondered. He abruptly stopped in tracks, causing me to stumble a bit. He whirled around, with a scowl on his face. “What makes you want to go into town?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.  I opened my mouth, but no sound was able to come out. “The only reason for you to go into town is to find a woman, wed her, and bring her back here to stay. You'll build her a cabin just as I did years ago with my own bare hands, and you'll raise a family with her,” he lectured. “But Pa, I'm tired of living like this! I'm sick of fish, roasted crawdads, and venison. I don't just want to meet a woman. I want to see what's out there!” I shouted.  “Listen, Lexton, you were born by this here crick, you were raised here in these woods, and you'll die here in these woods. Aside from courting a lady, you have no business to go into town. We're outsiders, we don't belong in their world, it's best we're kept separate from all of that nonsense,” Pa huffed, before spitting at the ground.  “I want to leave, I want to see what life is like beyond this place, Pa,” I retorted. “Aside from matrimony, there is nothing for ye beyond these woods. If you decide to leave for any other reason than that, then you are not welcome to come back. Those people, they'll change ye, they'll rip the heart of the forest straight from your rib cage. And no son of mine shall have a worldly heart,” he said sternly.  I looked down at the ground for a moment, collecting my thoughts. All I had known since birth was life in the wilderness, away from other folk except my own family. I knew I wanted something more than whittling wooden figurines with a pocketknife when bored. I had always wondered what life outside the wilderness would be like. I met Pa's gaze once again, and said, “Okay, Pa, then I guess I'll be headin' into town tomorrow to find myself a lady.” I was usually always honest, but it felt strange letting a half-lie escape my lips. I wanted to embrace a life away from nature. I finally relaxed my shoulders upon seeing him make a contented sigh.  “Well, alright then. I'll let you pack your bag and go for two weeks, and two weeks only, but I want ye to come back home every night for dinner and to sleep. If you're out for longer than that, then I'll know your heart has been changed,” he instructed. “Now come on, boys, let's catch ourselves some supper,” he said. “Yes, Pa,” Finlay and I said in agreement. We made it to the clearing within the next few minutes. After finding some good bush to hide behind, we laid down on our stomachs, our eyes barely peering over the bushes, with the barrels of our guns resting on the tip of the leaves. For the next fifteen minutes or so, we laid there in pure silence, with the exception of birds chirping amongst us, high in the trees. Soon enough, we saw a whitetail deer come trotting slowly nearby, in search of more grass to graze on. Pa closed one eye and began to aim his rifle.  Unexpectedly, a fawn bounded out into view, catching up with its mother. “Damn it,” Pa whispered, lowering the barrel of his gun. He exchanged glances with me. “Can't leave a fawn without its mother,” I whispered to him. He nodded. The deer grazed while its fawn hungrily nursed. After a few minutes, the deer bounded out of sight. “Should we wait for another?” I asked. “If you want us to have supper, then, yes,” he replied. The sun began to hang low in the sky. Again, we lied in wait for what seemed like forever, until a buck came into view. I looked over at Finlay, who began to stand up. “Antlers, antlers,” he whispered loudly, with hands outreached. I grasped onto his hand, making him lie down. “No, Finlay, you can't try to touch the deer, he'll charge you and you can get hurt,” I whispered. Finlay frowned sadly. I closed one of my eyes, aiming my gun. After I aimed it, I slowly rested my finger onto the trigger, before shooting.  The buck collapsed to the ground. “Wow, great shot, son!” Pa exclaimed. We spent the next hour hauling the deer back to our cabin, skinning it, and cleaning it. Once that was finished, Pa sliced up the meat with his hunting knife, and brought it inside. I brought the deer innards we wouldn't eat back to the clearing, as some other animal would probably eat it. I went inside the cabin and washed my hands of the deer blood. Ma began to chop potatoes, carrots, onion, and celery, and placed it into the slow cooker, along with gravy and the deer meat. In a couple hours, the stew was done. “Go on and fix yourselves a plate, boys.” We all grabbed a bowl and ladled ourselves a helping of the venison stew, then headed outside to the dining table. We set our plates down while Ma lit a lantern over us. We started to eat supper, and it was delicious. Pa broke the silence by sharing the news. “So, Lex is going into town tomorrow, he told me,” he blurted. *“What, really?”* Ma responded, still holding a forkful of stew in one hand. She turned her attention in my direction. I nodded without saying a word. “That's *wonderful* that you feel ready to find someone,” she praised. “Well, yeah, *I am eighteen* now, I'm not a kid, anymore,” I said. “After supper, wash up and get some rest for tomorrow. I'll pack your bag, *don't you worry about it.* You have to save your energy for tomorrow, it's a twenty-mile walk to get into town.”  *“Twenty miles?!”* I cried out. “Yep, it's about a four to five hour trek, we'll have to set off at daybreak tomorrow,” Pa informed. “Less talk, and more eatin,' before your stew gets cold,” Ma encouraged. Finlay was the first to clean his bowl out, as he hadn't said a peep since earlier when we were out hunting. He got up from his seat and started back to the cabin door. I rushed to finish my bowl of venison stew, before walking back inside. My parents soon followed after me. I washed and put up my both mine and my brother's dishes, before washing my face, brushing my teeth, and turning myself into bed.  Closing my eyes to sleep and opening them upon waking felt like one long, continuous blink. Birds saluted the dawn with excited chirrups outside the window. Looking across the room, I saw that my little brother was still asleep in his bed, holding tightly onto his favorite stuffed animal that my mother had hand-crocheted and stuffed before he was born. He named the bear Bootsy, because my mom used to crochet little outfits for him, and he always kept the boots on his feet. After all these years, his black button eyes still hadn't fell off of him. I knew that I would miss Finlay. Despite our age difference, we shared a really close bond. I rolled out of my bed and quietly walked towards his side of the room, stooping down to kiss him on his forehead. He squirmed a little, before returning to a deeper sleep. The sun started rising outside the window.  I got myself dressed, laced my shoes, and reached under my bed for my knapsack. It was already full and packed with supplies, thanks to Ma. I headed out to the common area, to see Pa already seated and ready for the trip into town. Ma was in the kitchen, cutting out a few slices of blueberry pie. “Good morning, Lexton,” she said. “Mornin,' Ma,” I answered back. “I *completely* forgot about the blueberry pie I baked yesterday evening, I just got so tied up in the news that you were heading into town for the first time, *it must have slipped my mind.*” “It's alright, Ma, at least we could share a slice before we go,” I said with a smile. “Of course, dear,” she responded. We each grabbed a plate and headed outside to our tree tabletop. We all took a seat and started nibbling on the pie.  “Be very careful out there, Lex. You haven't seen how cruel the world is until you've been into town. Make sure that you're picky, too, you can't just pick any woman to be with. She has to be honest, and sweet to you, *sweeter* than this pie, even, and pure of heart,” Ma advised. “That's *right*, Annamae. You're definitely right about that. You want to be sure this woman is worthy of being your wife, not just a bedfellow,” Pa added. I nodded as I silently bit into morsels of my blueberry pie. Although there was just the right amount of sugar in it, it tasted bittersweet, as it was the last slice of pe, I would have for quite a while. Upon finishing our slices of pie, Ma grabbed our plates and took them inside to be washed and dried. “Have a safe trip!” Ma called out as we began our journey into town. We both waved at her with a smile. I fastened my knapsack to my back.  The trip from our cabin into town was relatively straightforward and quiet. After about an hour of walking, I filled the silence. “Pa, what's the name of this town?” I pried. “Tallisville, that's what it's called,” he answered. “Are you coming into town with me, Pa?” I asked. “No, son, I'm not. Think of this trip as a rumspringa of sorts, if you think this is place is nice enough to stay in, then stay. Keep in mind that your family is the cost of this sacrifice. However, if you want to remain wild-hearted and free, and bring a little lady for us to meet back to our home that you like and we approve of, that you know will be open-minded enough to consider life in the wilderness, then she can be an addition to our pack,” he responded. I gulped anxiously. “So, how far are you going to walk with me?” I pressed.  “I'll walk with you until we're on the outskirts of town, and from there, I'll let you go on your journey, whatever that entails. Make sure you leave early enough from here to be home for dinner. It's at sunset every day, it's always been our tradition,” he informed. “Why can't I just live in the town for the two weeks, Pa?” I questioned. “Well, living in the town is different, if you don't already have a house of your own, you have to stay at the Mellow Oak Inn, and that costs money, which you don't have,” he answered. I furrowed my brows, asking, “What's an *inn,* Pa?” “It's a temporary place to eat and to sleep, they also have this crazy entertainment box, called a television. You never want to watch it, it gives you strange ideas about the world that pollute your head,” he explained. “Wow, television sure sounds *horrible,* Pa,” I thought aloud. “It is, son, it is,” he agreed. As we shared small talk, and I asked more questions about Tallisville, I found myself getting equally excited as I was nervous to explore the place for myself. Soon enough, the trail that was once densely bordered by trees became less woodsy. “Are we there yet?” I asked. “Just about,” replied Pa. “You see that wooden sign in the distance?” he asked. I squinted and made out a sign that read: *Town of Tallisville*. “I see it, Pa! I see it!” I cried out eagerly. We walked all the way up to the sign, and I was able to read it more clearly now. *Town of Tallisville, Population 834.* “Population 834? Does that mean eight hundred thirty-four people live here?” I said, taken aback. Pa nodded. “Well, son, this is it. When you want to make your way back home to the cabin, find this trail head and take it all the way back. I hope this is an eye-opening experience for you. Be home by sunset, or you'll miss your supper,” Pa warned. I embraced him tightly in a hug before making my way into town.  Pa waved his goodbyes and began walking back up the trail. I waited until he disappeared from my sight before walking into the entrance of town. It was a few minutes before I realized I was no longer on the outskirts of this town. Houses and buildings came into view. Promptly after that, I began seeing people talking, entering and leaving buildings, and working. I even saw some strange, large shiny objects I had never seen before. I watched as a man stepped into one, closed the door, and it lit up, and made a loud humming sound. My jaw dropped as I watched him operate this contraption and quickly speed away in the opposite direction from me.  Continuing on my way, I observed the people around me bustling around, seemingly very busy, as if it was a normal thing. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a beautiful woman walk past me. Her hair was shoulder-length, walnut brown and curly, her lips were as red as fresh strawberries, and her eyes were green like summer leaves. She wore a denim jacket with a mustard colored dress with black polka dots under it. She passed me with a heap of books in her arms, giving me a quick nod and smile, before walking into a large building called *Tallisville University*. I had no idea what a university was, but all I knew is that I wanted to be wherever she was going. I pulled open the door and stepped inside. It was very spacious inside and had lots of rooms, and a long hallway in the center. That woman I saw went into one of these rooms, but I had no idea which one.  If she lives in this town, that must mean this is where I'm meant to be. *“Excuse me,”* someone called out from behind me. I turned around to see who it was. It was the woman in the dress! “Are you lost? Do you need help finding your class?” she offered. I blinked and opened my mouth, but any ideas of what to say escaped me in that moment. She laughed and smiled. “You must not be from around here, I'm Magnolia,” she said, extending her hand out for me to shake. I clasped her hand in mine and shook it. “Magnolia, like the flower?” I asked. She cheerfully smiled and laughed, “Yes, Magnolia like the flower. What's your name?” she asked. “My name is Lexton, but my family calls me Lex,” I introduced. “Well, it's very nice to meet you, Lex! Where are you from?” she questioned. “I'm from the forest,” I answered. She laughed loudly. I wasn't sure what was so funny to her. She stopped laughing once she saw the look on my face. “You're joking, aren't you?” she inquired. I shook my head.  “Are you really from the forest?” she questioned. “I am,” I answered. She grinned a happy smile. “Well, you'll have to show me what life looks like in the forest sometime,” she said. “I'd be honored,” I replied. “So, what room is your first class in, I'll help you find it, Lex?” she re-offered. “What's a class?” I looked, staring blankly into her eyes. She laughed again. “You're very funny, Lex. Have you not been to college before?” she poked. “No,” I said. “Oh, then let me show you the admissions office, they can help you get enrolled,” she said.  She grabbed onto my hand and lead me down this long hallway. As much as I wanted to protest, this lovely woman was holding my hand and I just met her, and that was a fair trade to me. “Welcome to Tallisville, by the way, Lex,” she greeted. “I'm happy to be here,” I replied. I now had this newfound feeling of belonging, and not just to nature. No matter what else would happen during these fourteen days, I knew I had to get her to visit the cabin somehow.


*Life will come to Spring;* *To the fiery god of Summer,* *Water brings his Fall.* *Daughters of the Snow,* *Bring glory to us all.* The boar was released into the clearing, and the people roared and cheered. It began to dash into the forest, with an instinctive knowledge that to run was to live. It smelled of hay and sweat, bringing the Dragoneers to life, as their reptilian thirst for warm blood awakened, and cunning forgotten came to the forefront. The first to run after the boar was Lily, and her face was a sight to see, for calm had morphed into an intense excitement, and she was grinning as she ran, her teeth white and sharp, her body lithe and sleek, what dark scales she had on her back and arms glittering in the dappled moonlight. She had foregone clothing except for a loose loincloth around her hips, and her breasts had almost completely merged into her body, so that they were not in the way. Just one step behind and on the right of the beast her long scaled legs bounded, unhindered by the cold snow and rough thorns. The beast, being blocked from the right which led into a darkly thicketed, safe ravine, ran in mad dashes ahead, sometimes veering in roundabouts around treacherous unseen quicksands and swamps that usurped several Dragoneers, who cried as they fell to the traps of the night, their wounded screams piercing the landscape and sending chills up Tam’s spine. They would never move on. But the bulk of Dragoneers, with heightened vision and taste of the air, could feel the same dangers as the boar did, and veered around the uncertain grounds to continue driving the boar ahead. Tam timidly followed them, fear of the darkness pounding in her head. Ada and Eva were at the head of the drivers who prevented the boar from ever escaping backwards, and they loped patiently at a constant pace, neither slowing nor racing ahead. Tam trotted with them, unsure of what to do, until Jai yelled, “Run!” At his call, a strange voice awakened within Tam. *Run*, it murmured. *See*, it beckoned. *Feel*. She suddenly felt that the boar was banking towards the left, where the bush was thicker, and there the prey would be lost soon enough. She had to take a chance. She broke away from the path of the mass of Dragoneers who were performing the role of drivers, and went on her own towards what she predicted would be the boar’s path. She was still uncertain, but she felt something that drove her to make this risk in a lifetime of monotony. No longer would she follow behind. *Awaken*, the voice within her commanded. She could smell. See. Feel the boar’s fear, its mind wildly calculating its last escape. The moon, high in the sky; the trees, awash in its light. The good night air, cold and fresh in her lungs. On the ground lumps of snow sparkled where the light was able to pierce the bare arms of the branches. And blood. She smelled it now, copper and rusty, and it would be good to taste. Life was good, life was precious, and it was worth fighting for. Tonight, the boar’s life would give her life. The boar was running fast, but Tam was running faster, a giddiness filling her mind and soul, and she felt keen hunger. She forgot who or where she was. At the last, Tam looked into the boar’s eyes, maddened with fear and rage as its tusks reared up in the air, and it was when she heard its scream that she realized that she was screaming herself, a spear of ice piercing into the boar’s neck, cold smoke evaporating from her nostrils and open mouth. She’d done it. She was a true Dragoneer. The boar had slashed her across the thigh. As the bloodlust faded away, she dropped to her knees, panting, the dying boar’s throat gushing blood upon her, and she saw Lily behind the boar, with a duplicate ice-spear that drove into its neck from the other side. They feasted on the blood, and the blood was good.


"Hello, thank you for stopping by this afternoon; I'd like to talk with you about a fantastic timeshare opportunity that is too good to pass up." "All right, it's not too long, is it?" "No, ma'am, we'll be done lickety-split." "OK, I have a dinner reservation with my husband in an hour, so..." "No worries. Have you ever wished you could go back in time? There is now a way to make that dream a reality! Transtemporal Timeshare allows you to experience history directly by visiting various time periods of your choosing, all while splitting the expense with other owners like you." "How exactly does that work? Do I simply choose a time and you transport me there?" "No, not at all; it's even better!" "How?" "I'm glad you asked! We have 50 time periods to choose from, each with all of the modern convenience of the future. You could see Abraham Lincoln's assassination one minute, embark on an augmented reality adventure with Harriet Tubman the next, and undergo rotator cuff lipo suction by the afternoon." "That does seem cool, but as you said, it covers 50 time periods. How do I decide?" "Well, that's the best part! You are not required to make a decision right away. You can take your time and try each one until you discover the one that fits you perfectly. And if you change your mind later, you can trade weekends with other owners." "That doesn't sound too bad, but what's the catch?" "All we ask is that you attend one sales presentation in exchange for a free weekend at your convenience." "How much does a Transtemporal Timeshare cost to buy?" "For the price of a large Starbucks latte each day, you can afford the amazing opportunity to see Billy Holliday sing in person, Louis XIV at Versailles, or go back to see your Great-Grandmother when she was still alive." "Are you allowed to see family?" "You'll have to keep your distance for safety reasons, but yes, we'll trick your Great-Grandmother into attending a sales presentation, and you can check her out from behind a two-way mirror. Although, please remember not to feed or touch family members from the past." "You're going to trick my family?" "That's not it at all! They'll get an all-expenses-paid trip to the future to see you from behind a two-way mirror." "Wait a minute, is she looking at me right now? Mimi? Are you here?" "Ma'am, please have a seat; there is no one behind that two-way mirror." "How do I know for sure?" "Well, we did offer it to her, but your Mimi chose to see Elvis live in concert instead." "She isn't here?" "Don't be disappointed. Think of it this way, what if you had the opportunity to see the Harry Styles farewell tour of 2046 or go back to the hellscape of 2022 to see your Mimi? You'd make the same decision, trust me." "I guess. So, what do you have available for a free sample?" The Transtemporal Timeshare agent swiftly starts typing on her computer. "Glad you asked! We have a quaint cottage in 1350, which is peak black plague, this really is hard to get. We also have a lovely townhouse in 1941 Germany; you aren't Jewish, are you? Oh, and this just became available; wow, this never happens; you are so fortunate; we have all time periods open in North Korea, it's a small work camp, but all expenses are covered." "Is that it? I was looking for something a little more impressive." The agent speaks in a hushed tone. "Look, I don't do this for all our potential customers, but here's what I can do. I can get you 1920s America if you sign up today and start payments. This is popular, and it should be easy to trade. Imagine yourself doing the Charleston in a speakeasy, having drinks with Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald, or seeing New York jazz clubs in all their glory! The best part is once you own it, you can trade it to go anywhere and when you want!" "Alright, let's do it." The agent prints out some forms. "Great! It looks that I have gotten you one of the last dates available in the 1920s; your trip will begin on October 28, 1929, and end on October 30, 1929. Simply sign here to become an official member of the Transtemporal Timeshare family!" While she is signing... "That date seems familiar; is there anything noteworthy going on?" "Yeah! They get a visit from someone from the future!" "Ha, I'm feeling pretty good about this.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion Each of us has our own reason for writing. Some write for enjoyment, some write to clear their minds, and some write, simply, because they love to create other worlds. There are many different reasons people choose to write. So, this week, we are asking one simple question: * Why do *you* write? *New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? *You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! - **Check out the *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


1st draft of a short story I finished writing recently. Let me know your opinions. Thank you. \ Joe drove into the rest area at the base of the mountain feeling a bit drowsy, yawning loudly and at once stretching in theatrical displays of lethargy to his wife, Kaylee, who was sitting next to him. At the curt behest of his wife, who showed not the slightest measure of sympathy for those boisterous sounds that he made, Joe resignedly parked the car away from the other vehicles. “We’re here,” he said, with a tiredness in his voice as he looked up at the summit hidden under the exhaled white, frosty breath of the frozen air. His wife sat silently next to him. As if she had made a covenant with herself, she looked the other way seeking instead the attention of her own frigid reflection through which she observed the icy landscape, the snow falling ever gently on to the cold glass. She suddenly began with a silent rustle in preparation of the forthcoming hike. She gathered the whole of her gear: boots, backpack, fanny pack, jacket, pants, mittens for her small hands. Her movements were aggressive, noisy, made in such an angry spirit that she tossed things into her backpack and shoved them as deep as the bottom would allow for a thing to reach; she even felt herself challenged by an innocent zipper of her impermeable jacket that stubbornly refused to zip and close. “Damn it! C’mon you stupid thing!” she quietly exclaimed to it, still unable to get it to move, pinching it harder between her fingers and pulling it with greater force inasmuch as the little metal zipper seemed destined to be torn off completely against its will. “Can I help?” Joe offered. “No… I got it,” she replied coldly as she struggled, but soon thereafter the zipper yielded finally and relief had come to her face with the zipper now drawn up to her neck, yet she did not appear entirely freed from her sudden agitation. Joe ignored his wife’s rejection and looked out through the windshield up at a calm sky of gray clouds. The sun appeared stifled, dormant even, and, for as long as it remained behind that thick haze of the clouds, as a faded, yellow smudge that was weak enough in radiance to look at directly without much damage to the eyes. Joe was thin, and despite his slender form, he was not at all athletic. He already felt the altitude exerting its influence in the difficulty there was to breathe when he first arrived at the park. He had not gone a few steps on the first trail that his head began to feel light and disorientated, but he never disclosed these ailments to Kaylee whom he found, on looking up from his staggered step, mustering on a few meters ahead of him with a red tinge on her cheeks, and her little back muscles exposed and glistening under the frosty sun. The symptoms would grow worse for Joe and they had to stop their advance more often, very much to the disappointment of his wife, and owing to these difficulties therefore decided to quit the hike prematurely and failed to reach the end. This was always the result at each trail that they had visited from that to the current path, each a failure to reach the summit. The trail now before him was a redemption of some kind for him, as he looked at the peak just out there amid the white mist. “Will you get ready already? We’re wasting time.” Kaylee said, tearing him away from the peacefulness of the mountain. Joe quickly grabbed his things for the hike along with his wallet when a wrinkled, little old paper fell from it, and he reached for the slip with great regret for its fall, anxious about retrieving it from the dark abyss between the armrest and the driver seat in which more things are lost than all the mountains that the human spirit ever had the courage to scale. There was nothing of particular importance on it as it was mostly empty in fact except for a heart that had been cartoonishly rendered on it by Kaylee. It was a small gift he vouched to forever keep that she gave to him one night as recompense for abiding yet another long night of intense study during her days as a law student. “Alright, let’s go,” she said to him, bringing the straps of her backpack over her shoulders like a military man throwing the immense weight of his equipment on his back. “This time, we have to reach the top, please. We can’t keep quitting in the middle of it.” “I won’t stop,” he replied, “I’ll try not to stop, for anything.” “You promise we’ll keep going until we reach the end? You keep saying you will, but you never do, and I have to do it alone or not at all in the end.” “I promise.” The trailhead began where a sign was put to mark the beginning that read “Deer Mountain trail.” “There it is,” Kaylee said, marking out the long, dirt path ahead of them that disappeared rather sneakily around a bend. Joe found it a bit of a charming curiosity in his wife that she was as steadfast as yet she possessed no survival instinct; she had no sense of orientation as he knew on the basis of past experience that she would not be able to find her way back to the origin point despite that the trail only went in two directions, forward and backward. Unlike Joe, her big, astute eyes often overlooked the many markings of a forest that can guide a fellow traveler and lead him to his destination even when the forest seems vast, dark, unnavigable for its many possible paths that can lead a hiker astray to frustrating dead ends. She’d often look back whenever the trail vanished before her at Joe to consult with his inner compass for directions, and he relished the smile on her face when he pointed to her the direction in which they ought to continue. Some time later, not half-way up the mountain, it began to drizzle on them as they began to hear the small patter of falling rain droplets against their shoulders, near the ear. “It might get muddy, and dangerous if we keep climbing, don’t you think?” Joe said. “It’s nothing, c’mon! Don’t stop.” In addition to the gentle beginning of the rain, the road began to vanish under a slight haze. The fog was encroaching more on the mountain with the passing of each minute, like some sinister specter come to haunt the hikers. Through the white mist, each branch and each rock and each hill took on the form of a silhouette without any distinguishing feature to speak of. Each object as seen through the haze was a dark outline, fuzzy like television static. Even the people themselves looked identical under the cloak of the mist as everyone took on the same fundamental form, indistinguishable from man to man, from woman to woman, except when it was from man to woman as the former had a noticeably larger build than the latter, and it was under these ghostly conditions that Joe saw someone sitting on a boulder some feet away from the trail. The couple pressed on, but Joe was in sufficient proximity to the stranger to notice that he had a face which was similar to his own, except for a large burly beard that hung well below the neck. His eyes were hidden under the lip of his hat and were impossible to see what with a shadow cast from the same hat over his face. He had stopped to eat, and to do it alone. His eyes were on the trail, yet there was an absent quality in them. As he might have seemed like an apparition to Joe, they might have been viewed as figments by him as they aroused no notice from him as he ate. “So, have you started your IT courses yet?” Kaylee asked. “Not yet, I haven’t.” “Then when?” “Soon. I’ll start them as soon as we return.” “You keep saying you will, but you never do.” “I will, okay? I will. Please, don’t start.” Kaylee stopped; she dug her heel into the ground and pivoted quickly. “Joe, you know the plan! We’ve gone over it many times. We have to earn this much,” she mimed an amount, “so that we can live our best lives while we are still relatively young! Don’t you want that?” “I do, babycakes, I never said that I don’t, but — ” “Well? Or do you want to grow old and feeble and never enjoy what you could have enjoyed while you were young?” “I said I do already, okay? I’ll get started when we get back, I told you. I can’t do it right this minute, now can I? So, can we just keep going?” Scoffing, “Fine…” she replied. When a thousand feet more of mountain had been climbed, Joe requested for them to take a small rest. (name) released her backpack from her shoulders and it fell to the ground in a way that made the gravity on Earth seem stronger than it is usually. Joe was aware of the pain in her shoulders, and the tremble in her legs, the same symptoms that Joe exhibited in his own physique, but also there in a peculiar aspect of her expression he witnessed the firm reticence to complain of her deficiencies, fully formed on her brow, on her stiffened nose and expanding nostrils attempting to catch the faintest air to bring to her panting lungs. She hydrated, she ate small portions of her trail mix, she had done whatever to regain the strength that she perhaps knew had been permanently lost to the commitment that the hike demanded. Joe always admired that she was blindly aware of her limits that when he knew that she could feel herself reaching them, they were only another corner to go around, or another hill to climb, another river to cross. Where an insurmountable barrier to anyone, a red cape dangled over the eyes of a bull. “Do you think we are almost to the top?” she asked him. “Not likely, and what’s more, it’s getting harder to see what’s in front of me with this fog. It’s thicker now than before.” “Don’t tell me you want to turn back.” “I didn’t say that…” “You don’t have to.” On that last word was the moment when the stranger from before began to appear behind them, emerging silently from the mist but for the soft crunch of the ground beneath him as he walked. He continued without a word, as if seeking quick passage to avoid being caught in the middle of their quarrel. This time, Joe was more convinced than before that the stranger was stranger still for the resemblance that he bore to himself. As rapidly and as silently as he arrived, he passed through. His presence came like a shadow, or a kind ghost wandering the mountain. His footsteps eventually faded into the natural cacophony of wind, the rustle of leaves, and gravel and likewise rocks crushed by that heavy tread that belonged to him. “I’m only suggesting that it may get more dangerous as we go. We can hardly see the road below, down there in the valley. A short while ago I was able to see the cars drive by, but now I can’t.” “You always make excuses. Always.” “It’s not an excuse, (wife). I’m just concerned.” “You said we would reach the end.” “I said I would try.” “Well, you aren’t trying hard enough. Damn it, you’re so lazy! What is wrong with you? Why don’t you have any ambition? You’re constantly quitting. You’re so unwilling to make the sacrifice, even for me.” “I don’t know! I don’t know! Maybe it’s because I don’t give a damn about anything, or because the world is one big shitty place and I just can’t fathom doing anything in it. What’s the point? I don’t know, and I really don’t want to talk about it now. Can we go back? Seriously, please?” “You go back. I’m going to keep going.” On that the conversation ended. Kaylee tossed the backpack on her back and continued to hike the trail. The idea of her walking alone so high up, on a narrow path when the ground had recently become wet created a series of terrifying images in his mind, all of which depicted her fall or some other serious injury, and the guilt they produced sprung him into motion. He beckoned her to wait as he ran to her even as she had gained a great distance on him in such a short period of time. Some few hundred feet higher, Kaylee stopped when the path had suddenly ceased to continue. Joe had reached his wife and he too stopped and noticed that the path had disappeared behind them both. “Did we go the wrong way?” She again asked him. “I don’t know. It’s possible. I was getting tired again anyway, so let’s rest.” She sighed, and wove her arms together, and she nodded her head, “we’ll never get to the top at this rate. We should just turn back.” “Now you want to turn back?” “I feel like I’m dragging you up there.” “You’re not dragging me — “ “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not,” he replied. “Yes, I am. I feel like I drag you all the time, like your IT courses that we paid for. I’ve always felt that I was the one pulling us forward, the mule pulling the cart. You haven’t even found a job yet.” “I’ve started looking.” “Yeah, a month ago. You’ve sent, what, ten applications in that time?” “Twelve…” “Whatever. We aren’t on track to achieve anything we have set out to do, together. I’m the only one giving a shit.” Joe found nothing in his repertoire of prepared speeches that were not prolonged apologies that offered to her thin rays of weak hope which she believed emanated from the promise of something more, so he found it difficult to say anything. He was not deaf to her exasperations of him as he had committed every accusation leveled against him of indifference to memory, and he stood there to listen to them again, and again invoking inevitably the same ponderous weight of guilt that has become an indispensable aspect of their spats, and so, he thought, that he will continue to hear them evermore, again and again, ad infinitum as he gazed into the future somehow showing in the thick foliage of the trees overhead, a cycle that alas culminates only in a self-loathing for which he had no means to end without offering up his mind and body like a bloody heart to the altar of the cruel world that begat him. “I know. I hear you…” “Well, then, tell me why? Why is it so hard to get you to move?” He shrugged his shoulders, and did not respond. There was a brief silence between them. Only the trees spoke of anything when their leaves were ruffled by a wind. “Well, can you get us back to the trail?” “You still want to continue?” “Sure. Why not? Let’s see how far we get, I’ll be happy with that if we can’t get to the top.” “Alright. I think I remember the landscape enough to guide us back. Follow me.” More than half an hour later, the two of them eventually began to notice more areas where the vegetation had been cleared for the trail, and before long the path outlined itself for them and they knew where to steer themselves. In that instant, the vicissitudes of circumstance aligned so that a hole in the clouds serendipitously formed and a sun ray bathed them in an intense white light. They looked up - their skin was lit to a warm touch - and they went to a point a few steps away where they determined the sun was most intense. There was nothing special, nothing to distinguish this little piece of dirt from another little piece of trodden dirt elsewhere since or to come. The rocks were the same as were the branches dangling from the walls of trees, and the shrubbery was no less dry in some areas of where they stood than in other areas. Yet, to there they were drawn by a more clear view of the open green valley and all things revealed therein illuminated by liberated sunbeams. The fog had cleared away mostly and they could see the tiny cars down below driving by without hearing the sound of their engines or the whoosh of their passing as they cut through wind. Joe and Kaylee both looked out at the other mountains from their location, and Joe wondered at the view. She stood by silently next to him, and there the two of them stood in silence. “As difficult as it is, views like these are worth it,” he then said to Kaylee, “this is what I always hope to find when we go on hikes, did you know? This. Nothing else.” “It is beautiful up here, but I like that feeling when you’ve reached the end. It’s satisfying, don’t you think so?” she replied. “I’m sure it is… but I’m happy here…” She smiled at him and returned to silence. To Joe, life seemed rather simple at that altitude. Without the noise and the preoccupations born of the world below, life consisted of very little else that was possible to fathom. Health, love, peace, nature are some of the things indispensable that came to his mind. Just above, Joe saw the stranger walking up the mountain, disappearing just over the edge of the hill where even the whole Earthly firmament disappeared behind the green and rocky surface. They must be close to the top he thought, or at least that was the hope that grew in him when he witnessed the stranger vanish over the cliff. “Hey, if we walk a little more, we might reach the end soon.” “Alright, let’s go!” Footsteps approached the end of the trail until they reached a small tomb a few meters ahead with an epitaph that read “My Eternal Love lies here.” A cartoonish heart stamped to it, fluttering as if preparing for flight. “Hey there,” said the stranger to the stone, “This mountain ain’t so bad now.” He sat down next to the stone. “I have some good news. I finally got my IT certificate, and I have an interview soon. Thought I would share that with you today.” He looked at the sun rising up and an orange diamond glistened on his cold cheek.


I questioned her once more: “Wait, what do you mean you cursed me to be loved by all.” “Just that, from now on every human you cross paths with will adore you and kiss the ground you walk upon.” Her deep evergreen eyes glinted in the flicker of the candlelight that rested on the countertop. Her straight ginger hair fell below the palm of her hands which was rubbing her cheek as I spoke. “Well that isn’t very sanitary now is it?” I ask sarcastically. “Actually I was joking about that last bit, but still.” I peer around the shop, taking in more details from the relics with price tags and the vials of various colored liquids, some even appear to be swishing around inside. The closed sign was up as the darkness took over. “Can you reverse it somehow?” A blonde-haired woman, seemingly in her late 20s yet with the vocabulary of an ancient historian. “There is no cure for the curse,” she chimed in, “at least not in-store,” I lit up at that last bit, which was quieter than what she let out before. “Wait what did you say?” “Nothing. Look, I am terribly sorry but you missed your payment. I meant to stick you with a Rain Day curse. You know, flat tire chased by rabid dogs, minor occurrences like that. I wasn’t looking and grabbed the wrong vial,” the ginger-haired woman behind the corner explained. “I was late on one payment, and it was my last payment. I bought that spell from you guys nearly a year ago.” “Margaux’s right, if you made your payment on time, you wouldn't be stuck with Cupid’s Curse,” the blonde-haired woman added. “Cupid’s Curse? Can you at least tell me what exactly you cursed me with and why you hushed your sister when she mentioned a cure that, ” I slowly make quotation gestures with my fingers, “is not in-store?” “Pearah, did you activate the barrier for the front door?” Marguax shouts to her sister who retreated to the back of the store. “I think so, I’ll check,” Pearah shouts back. “Come back tomorrow, with the money for your last payment and we’ll discuss this further.” I sigh sharply, but with no other rebuttals worthwhile I head out, rubbing my hands through my spiked hair intensely. As I walk out the two watch me closely as I start my car and then head home. On the way, my phone rings incessantly. Everyone I seem to know calls, messages, emails, and even inboxes me. Occurring so rapidly I don't even get a chance to respond, though knowing it has something to do with this curse, I turn off my phone and then turn on the radio, attempting to drown out the swirling thoughts racing my mind. On the local top 40 station, I hear my name, I stare at the radio for a moment, shaking my head. I turn up the volume to find I’ve gone viral, yet I haven't posted anything in weeks. They announce today to be the official “Seymour Adoration Day”. I yell every curse word that comes to mind, slam my palm on the steering wheel, then turn off the radio. When I get home I take a brisk shower and then go to bed, taking two melatonin gummies to ease my mind enough to drift to sleep. It didn’t last long as I toss and turn all night long. The next day I head back to the Bartholomew’s store bright and early. The parking on the street is filled so I head around to park behind the store. I pull my hood over my head and keep my head low as I make my way around to the front. Just as I bend the corner I’m spotted. “Seymour! He’s right here!” A woman with a toddler shouts loud enough for the dwellers outside the storefront to pick up on. She pulls out her phone and then pushes it in my face as I hurriedly make my way inside the store. I’m cut off by people screaming my name and grabbing me every which way. Some offer me money, others beg for attention. I yell inside my head and then make a run for the door. Refusing to look back, yet hearing the pumping crowd behind me, I quickly shut the door and twist the look which seems to have been collecting dust for ages. “I’m here,” I shout, with a morning croak and annoyed crack in my voice. I’m met with Margaux, who’s clothed in the same color palette as yesterday. I set the money down on the corner, to the last cent, with an agitated thud. She stashes it away, mumbling the exact amount under her breath, though she didn’t bother to count it. “Now what questions do you have?” She takes a seat behind the corner while fidgeting with a small glowing orb. “I pretty much figured it out for myself, no thanks to the Bartholomew sisters!” She chuckles loudly, her entire body heaving. “My phone won't stop ringing, the city gave me a holiday in my honor and I was nearly trampled on the way inside.” My tone is sharp and my words shoot out quickly. “Calm down now child. I’ll tell you where you can find the antidote.” Margaux heads to the back for a quick moment, then after a shuffling noise and a quick comment to Pearah, she returns with a journal of sorts. She breaths on its spine gently then lets out a quick enchantment. With that, a click resounds from the relic. She flips a few pages, quickly reading the title of each. “I found it Pearah, I nearly forgot!” She pulls a chunk of hair behind her ear as she takes in the contents of the page. “That’s right. In order to make the antidote and reverse Cupid’s Curse, you must sacrifice something you adore.” My head drops low, a part of me expected a fairytale response like that. I pushed down the first thought that came to my mind then asked Margaux about another option. Pearah rounds the corner: “Well there is an escape clause, but you would have to carry it out yourself.” I implore her to go on. “Cupid’s Curse will reverse itself, if you will, after you’ve done something so agonizing, so crudely vile, everyone will be forced to hate you.” After Pearah reveals the escape clause Margaux lights up as if she genuinely forgot that part of the curse, I didn’t question it as I was eager to get this all over with. “That’s it?” I ask. They both look at each other and seemingly share a quick remake or two with their eyes. They then nod their head in unison. “I’d rather be hated and left alone than gawked at constantly, consider it done.” The two look at each other, then at me, confused. “You guys ever heard of cancel culture?” I pull out my phone then head to Twitter and begin typing away.


You might be wondering why Morac, the Mother of Realms and All Creation, is coming to you of all places for advice. That’s because I am at my wit's end with my adopted daughter, Daisy. You see, when I adopted her about 98 years ago, I didn’t know her full lineage. She was abandoned, and the only paperwork related to her was the name Daisy. I mean babies between the mystical races of the realms often get left behind, turned over to Nowhere. But I had heard her cry and when I saw herthose big black eyes filled with the gleams of nebulas yet bornI couldn’t help but be moved. So yes, I, Mother of Realms and All Creation, adopted her without knowing the full extent of her parentage. For decades, that was fine. I taught her about conjuring magic and realm exploration. Showed her all the millions of worlds that I designed. She even took to designing a few herself! Then, about her sixtieth, the kidnappings started. She was princess of the Nether where we lived, a place with portals to all the realms I birthed, so naturally, unscrupulous sentience were tempted to kidnap her. There’d been dragons, orcs, robots, demons, and angels, to name a few that succeeded. I was running out of bodyguards for her as soon as I made them. Not to mention the few bodyguards that also decided she needed to be whisked away from my Keep of Eternal Passage in the Nether. I mean, once was reasonable. Four times in a decade is a lot, but they kept coming. More and more of them each passing year. So I went to God (with a G) the middle management of realms who ran Nowhere, to sort out this whole kidnapping surge. They were devastating, to say the least. I feel like that’s a common theme when meeting God. I go, “You’ve got to help me understand why she’s getting kidnapped left, right, and even in non-euclidean axises.” They go, “You adopted Daisy right?” I go, “Yes” They go, “Well of course sentience will go after her. Her father was Asmodeus, she’s irresistible.” I go, “Her father was Asmodeus? The Incubus, and Supreme demon of lust!? Why in the realms didn’t you tell me?” I might have been shouting when I said that, shaking more than a few singularities into a bang. They go, “I did, we gave you her name - D.A.I.S.Y. - Daughter of Asmodeus and Ignoble Seraphim of Youth.” That, unfortunately tracked because the girl didn’t age. She looked perpetually like a 21 year old, but I was outranged, “Those are her parents?!” They go, “Don’t blame me for your misunderstanding." It should be noted that while I’ve birthed hundreds of realms, it was all done asexually. I never needed another entity for more than companionship and friendship, which is probably why I never noticed little Daisy unconsciously sending out all those magical luring desires across the multiverse. My fierce asexuality made me blind to how she’s come into deity-hood pulsing with the yearning of a thousand lifetimes. This wasn’t her fault, it never was, but I have no idea how to help her. Her power will only grow in the next two years before her centennial. Once that hits, she’ll come into her full powers and threaten to send the multiverse into a convulsing, delicious sexual frenzy. I really can’t let that happen, so as soon as I got home I locked her in her room and I do not know what I’m going to do when she turns one hundred. Should I keep her locked up forever? Or at least until she learns to control her powers? What do I do with all those kidnappers that keep popping in? I could seal the Nether, but then entire worlds might die from the lack of magic. This is so frustrating! Asmodeus is not answering my DMs, and the Seraphim is off on holiday, whatever that means. I swear the avatar of youth has no concept of responsibility. **TL;DR Locked up my adopted daughter before her centennial to prevent her from saturating the world with her magic. It's not her fault. I’m just not sure what to do about the fact she got her bio parents' powers.** \ I’m a new aspiring mix-genre-romance author. Please give me a follow (u/SevWagoner) and join my subreddit (r/SevWagoner) for updates. <3 Looking for advice on how to improve as well as my writing niche.


(I wrote this as a spur of the moment idea let me know if it's worth continuing/fully fledging it out.)  This summer was forecasted to be the hottest in California history. The sun beat down on the 108 degree sand as a tall, thin, man shouldered a rifle and fired a few shots. Unfortunately for the man on the receiving end of the shots Jonathan was a talented marksman. The sound of bullet ripping through flesh was a unique one at that, the wet slap of the target being hit followed by the projectile planting itself in the sand with a hard thud. The wounded man clutched his chest as he fell to the ground, praying that this not be the end for him. He flipped himself over just in time to see Jonathan walk up to him, the M16 rifle still fully attached to his shoulder. “Spill it, samuel.” He barked at the wounded man, pushing his weapon further in his face. “You and I…” Sam took pained breaths as his hands shook uncontrollably. “Both know that can’t happen.” “I don’t want to do this to you Sam!” Jonathan held onto the barrel of his gun like his life depended on it. He didn’t want to kill his friend, that’s the absolute last thing he wanted out of this. “Just do it Jon! Do what you have to do! Get it over with!” Sam knew he wasn’t making it out of this desert, he knew he was never seeing the hollywood streets again, he was okay with it. This city has taken more out of him than he could have ever predicted. “Jonathan!” Sam screamed at him, sitting up to put the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “C’mon just talk! I don’t want to do this, Man!” Jon had tears in his eyes as he took his finger off of the side of the gun, placing it firmly on the trigger. His hand was shaking. He didn’t want to have to be the one to pull the trigger, responsible for the death of a dear friend. “It has to be you.” Sam spoke quietly. “You know they won’t let me–” Sam’s words were cut off by the ear piercing sound of the rifle finally relieving the tension in the air. The sound of the soul being removed from his body and smacking against the sand was all that Jonathan had left. He threw the rifle to the ground and dropped to his knees, unleashing an awful, painful scream into the hot air. Several minutes went by before he brought himself to his feet, picking up the rifle and walking back towards the old blue truck they came in. He slung the rifle into the bed of the truck before opening the door and driving off. The car witch once carried two men started up with a rumble and Jon began driving away from the man he once, called a friend. As he disappeared into the horison, the sound of vultures could be heard above the scene of the crime.