Eleven years ago, it was summer break, and I just completed my first year of college. Instead of staying on campus, I decided to pack a bag and drive home for a few months. I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity for free rent and groceries. Plus, I wanted to see my high school friends again. After a month of doing the same thing every weekend, we were desperate for new ideas. Being the paranormal nerd that I am, I saw this as a chance to suggest a ghost hunting night out. Surprisingly, everyone was on board. The next question was, where should we go? After some quick Google searches, I found a forum that talked about a “haunted” park that was only 20 minutes away from us. Since the park closed at 10 PM and was regularly patrolled by cops, the forum suggested that night-time visitors should park in the nearby neighborhoods and walk to park entrance, to avoid being noticed. Easy enough we thought. We packed our flashlights and headed out to the park around 10 PM. In the car, I told them all about the history of the park and reported hauntings. *According to the forum thread, an axe murderer used to wander the woods at night, killing any unsuspecting night-time visitors. Although only 3 bodies were discovered, the actual number of victims who had fallen prey to his axe is still unknown to this day. Since then, it has been rumored that if you go to the park and walk the paths during a full moon between the times of 9:30 PM and midnight, mysterious balls of lights can be seen dancing around the woods. Some say you are left mesmerized by the dancing lights and unconsciously driven deeper into the woods. The further you go, the lights disappear and are replaced by insidious laughter and moaning screams. If you are really quiet and still, footsteps in the woods can be heard. The longer you remain standing, the closer the footsteps sound and are soon accompanied by heavy breathing. And if you are brave enough to wait until the footsteps are inches away, a feeling of dread and evil will wash over your body like a wave of thick fog before everything goes completely silent.* *People may go as far to say that these woods are cursed. Similar to the Japan’s Aokigahara forest, these woods have also driven hopeless souls to their end. For the finale, if you stand on one of the seven bridges, whispers of an apparition formed by the traveling mist above the water will develop in front of you. But no one has stuck around long enough to know what would happen next…* Before we even parked our car, everyone was already creeped out. As suggested by the forum, we parked in the neighborhoods and walked to the entrance. Luckily, the streetlamps did a good job illuminating the way, but they stopped before we reached the park’s entrance, leaving us in complete darkness. The first thing we did was cross a bridge into the woods. No one wanted to risk seeing an apparition quite yet, so we didn’t stand still for very long. I can’t remember if the moon was full, but we didn’t see any lights dancing around the woods as we walked down the paths. The more I think about it, I actually think there was no moon that night, because it was pitch dark. I remember laughing about how we couldn’t have picked a darker night. After about 30 minutes of walking through the woods with no sightings, we exited onto a beach that bordered Lake Michigan. It was a beautiful, warm night so we hung out on the beach for about an hour, gossiping, laughing, and telling ghost stories while we threw rocks into the water. Eventually, we decided to walk back to the car. On the way back through the woods, I distanced myself from everyone to see if I could catch something on my camera. I stood still on the path as my friends walked ahead of me. When they were far enough to where I couldn’t hear them talking, I decided to start walking again. But right before I left, I turned around to take one last picture of the path we were leaving behind… As soon as the flash went off, I heard a child giggle from the thicket of trees right next to me and I heard fast paced footsteps heading my way. My heart sunk to my stomach and I immediately had this feeling of dread take over my entire body. Within seconds, my fight or flight instincts kicked in and I took off running at top speed. It didn’t take long for me to catch up with my friends, but I didn’t stop there. I knocked over one of my friends and I kept running until the sickening sensation wore off. I stopped and turned around to see my friends running up behind me as well. I reached out to the one I knocked over to apologize and I felt her entire body shivering. *Why didn’t you say something?!* Was the first thing she said to me. *Let’s continue walking. I want to leave.* I apologized as we quickly walked back to the car and I told them what happened to me. Apparently, something similar happened to them too. After I knocked over my friend, the others helped her up. As they stood still for a few seconds, making sure nothing was dropped, they heard someone or something softly say “Come…,” which they almost blew it off as the wind. But what scared them the most was the sound of feet crunching the rocks into the dirt, heading their way. That’s when they took off running too. Maybe it was our imagination. Maybe we weren’t the only people ghost hunting that night. But I can honestly say that I have never encountered anything that has come close to giving me that same sense of dread.


I fell into a routine of spending my mornings asking about Sannaz and my afternoons on the Deer Drum boat. I would sit and talk to Kurbani and Mirai as Lachlann continued to teach Novak songs on the guitar. In the background Xander would tend to his plants, the pole beans now two feet high. Daily he would give me updates on how the plants were doing, and how much he was looking forward to his nautical harvest. Alessia continued to be around sporadically, taking small runs whenever she could. I decided to walk down to the quay with her as she departed on her next trip. “How long is the route?” I asked as we turned a corner to see the ocean in front of us. “A week, probably. You missing me already?” She smirked, raising an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes. “You know I do.” “Kind of miss having you on the boat too.” She smiled, before settling into a toying grin. “You know, kind of.” I laughed. “I assume you’ve stolen my room for your own stuff?” Alessia waved her arm. “Pfft. Nah. Extra cargo space. Earn more.” We both chuckled, but our smiled and walk ground to a halt as we reached Alessia’s boat. The conversation could only last provided we stopped walking. “Stay safe out there, won’t you?” I said, looking down. “I… don’t know where I’d be without you.” Alessia smiled, then forced her face to a flat line. “Bribe your way onto another boat and sail off I imagine. But you stay safe too.” “I’ll be fine. It’s good to have the Deer Drum lot around. Besides, I kind of like it here.” “Yeah?” Alessia’s voice went oddly flat. “This place just seems to have it figured out. Just allowing people to do what they want. Sure, some people make bad choices, but at least they get to choose .” Alessia winced. “You really think this place is nice?” “Don’t you?” “I don’t know. And neither do you.” Her tone shifted. “How much of the island you seen? Other than the town, the docks, and the Deer Drum boat?” “I’ve walked around the coast a bit-” “Head inland. Go to the middle of the island.” She nodded over my shoulder. “What’s there?” “I don’t know.” Alessia shrugged. “But neither do you. Head that way. The rich shits always live by the water.” I scrunched my face and leaned back. “We’re not rich.” Alessia snorted. “Oh but we are. There are plenty wealthier than us, but so many more lower.” She briefly glanced behind her, eyeing up the water and wind. “Look, Ferdinand. I know you, you love to go out and see places and explore. But all you’ve done since we’ve got here is stay within the same town you already know. It ain’t you. To stay where you feel comfortable. Go be Ferdinand. Go be uncomfortable.” I paused. There was an instinctual reactance to what Alessia said, but truth be told, I already knew she was right. Instead, I just forced a smile. “See you in a week?” “Yeah. Go do some actual exploring like you say you want to, okay?” Alessia laid a hand on my arm. She held eye contact for a second, then slowly turned and walked down the jetty. I began walking back towards the town, but instead of turning left and heading along the quay, I kept walking past the tall white buildings that pressed up against the pavement. I continued as the pavement beneath my feet changed from brick, to cobblestone, to gravel, and then,into nothing more than trodden dirt weaving between the grass.The town left behind me. Summer was arriving. And as the sun broke through the clouds, I could feel a warmth on my neck. A heat that penetrated the skin, scratching at the muscle beneath. Alessia was right. I had left Kadear to explore, but I had retreated. I had found something comfortable and enveloped myself like a cocoon. I took the security of our small apartment on Talin Barier and decided I wanted nothing more. The fear and memories of Outer Fastanet had erode that part of me. It was time to be somewhere unknown again, to not let the apprehension and worries prevent me from pursuing that old itch. As I walked away from the town, that heat on my neck slowly shifted from a burn to a spark, a warmth lit within me, as my feet took me over the soft rolling hills. Soon, the coast was nowhere to be seen. Instead, lines of tall pine trees ran across the hillside. Wild flowers bloomed in the sunshine, the green mass broken by spots of blue, pink, and white. In the distance, I could hear the hum of bees taking advantage of what the blossoms provided. I followed the path until it reached the top of the next hill. As I looked over the top I saw a town in the valley below. It was roughly the same size as the main settlement by the coast, however it was considerably flatter. The tallest buildings were at best a short two storeys. They were smaller too, each no larger than a room. I walked down the hill towards the settlement. I could feel a trepidation flickering in my chest, a brief spasm in the muscles that told me to stop. However, I remembered Alessia’s instructions, and pushed through the nervousness. As I got closer the meadow gave way to dry compacted earth broken by the occasional large bush, A thousand feet that had trampled down the plants until only the largest remained:, those so big that feet had to go around rather than through. I turned right and headed down a wide street. Many of the buildings had no windows at all, those that did seemed to have small square cutaways, metal bars where glass should be. I could see cracks in the buildings. Worse still, spot the spaces where some had fallen down, the space cleared out and a simple canvas tent placed in its stead. I felt like I had travelled to a different island. Only on Bluekira had I seen such a contrast from one place to the next. There was a small stream that ran between the buildings, the shallow water broken by stones no more than a hand’s width in size. Yet, downstream, I could see men and women taking advantage of it as best they could, slowly filling up old wooden buckets, or trying to wash clothes in the brook. They worked tirelessly, yet their limbs looked frail. Skin clung to bony joints. Their faces were pallid, and their throats sagged from their jaws, the muscles lacking the protein to cling to the skin. I turned around, trying to keep an eye on my peripheral at all times. I couldn’t shake the sensation that something could happen at any moment. I began counting the entrances on either side, each one no more than a few metres apart. The homes were tiny, bunched together, rammed into every available space. Some entrances had actual doors, while others were simply a piece of wood propped up against the entranceway, or even nothing more than a sheet draped across/ My eye was caught as a door to my left opened. I recognized the face of the woman who walked out. It was Maia, the woman I met in the courtyard a month or so earlier. I was unsure if she would recognize me, yet I felt certain I had to talk to someone. “Maia…” I started hesitantly. She turned to face me. “I’m not sure if you remember me. We met a while back. At the courtyard…” She looked at me for a moment, studying my face until something clicked. “Oh yes. You dropped some money. Ferdinand right? Are you lost?” “No. I’m just… exploring.” It had been a while since I had said that aim. The words had begun to feel alien again. “You live here?” I pointed to the door. She nodded with a look of slight confusion. “This town, it’s…” I looked around at the cracked walls and the poorly made earthen buildings looking for an inoffensive term. “A slum?” Maia laughed. “I’m sorry,” I bowed my head. “I hadn’t ventured this way since I got here. I assumed everywhere was like the town by the water.” She forced a smile, but her eyes hid a bitterness. “If only we could all live there.” I stood for a second with my mouth open, unable to find the words. “You look like you want to say something,” Maia prompted. “Ever since I got to Talin I was told this place was about letting people choose what they wanted to do. But, I’m guessing you don’t live here by choice.” Maia looked down the road towards the stream. “I choose this over no home at all. But anything better costs more than I can afford. Choose from what we have.” “No chance to move somewhere nicer with time? The island seems rich enough?” “Those who own the buildings and the quays can choose what to do with their money. They choose not to spend it here. Who needs food or water when you got freedom, ay?” She lifted one corner of her lip in an ironic smile. “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn-” “It’s fine.” Maia cut me off. “But I should be going into town. Work to get to.” “Did you get that job with Eda?” I asked with a smile, sensing a happier topic of conversation. “Hopefully. Probably. Going back and forth on the exact salary. Will be a lot better for me if I can. Would mean my boy can grow up secure.” “You have a son?” “He’s over there.” She pointed to a small group of children playing at the end of the road, jumping between squares drawn in the dirt. Their faces looked around eight or nine, but their frames were small. “Will you move to the main town?” Her eyes stretched, strained. “No. But it’ll mean he will keep a roof over his head, and enough to eat till he’s a man and can make his own way.” She stared at her son, a soft - genuine - smile crept across her face. “If… I can help you get that job in any way.” “If Eda asks about me, sure, put in a good word. But, what’ll be will be.” She looked at the sun, then to the shadows by our feet. “I’m sorry. I really should get going.” Maia left and walked up the dusty path. I thought back to that coin she had handed me when we first met. That coin would maybe be lunch to me, a little break as I relaxed by the ocean. In reality, it was insignificant. But I wondered what it could’ve bought her. Clothes for her son? A week's food? She could’ve kept the coin and I would maybe never have known I lost it. Yet the moment of kindness cost her so much more. She left the village and turned left. It was then I saw a figure emerging from one of the buildings in front of me. I squinted, making sure it was definitely the same man from Deer Drum. There was no mistaking it. Lachlann was here. He didn't notice me, turning and walking up the street. I began following him, slowly closing the distance. I could’ve called out from where I was and gotten his attention, but I also still wanted to make some sense of his presence here in this slum. I followed in silence until we had left the town, the dirt ground slowly transitioning back to the wild grasses. “Lachlann!” I called out. He turned to face me in a sudden swivel. He had a brief look of apprehension, before the face softened. “Ferdinand! I didn’t expect to see you out here.” “I could say the same to you,” I said with a wide grin, but with eyes that were narrowed on him ever so slightly. Lachlan laughed. “You’re not the only one who likes to see the islands. You heading back to the town? I’ll walk with you.” We began walking up the hill, once more lush nature circled around us as the dust and grime was left behind. “Xander was telling me you often go exploring the islands." “Yeah. Something nice about getting to meet people, hear about their lives. You must understand that?" “I do.” I nodded, before looking back over my shoulder at the tight spread of small dilapidated houses. “Even when the place is like this.” “Ah yeah,” Lachlann said, stopping and turning to look back at the town. “This part of Talin Barier isn’t necessarily the happiest story you could find.” “I didn’t even know this place existed till today. I...” I hesitated, feeling a moment of shame. "I guess I thought everyone lived by the sea." “I’m sure they'd be there if they could,” Lachlann said with a solitary chortle. I let out a long sigh. “So much for freedom.” “Oh, they have freedom,” Lachlann turned to face me. “It’s choice they lack. Unfortunately they aren’t the same.” I began walking up the hill once more. “I didn’t know you weren’t originally from Deer Drum?” His eyes looked to the sky wistfully. “Yeah. Didn’t find my way there till I was an adult.” “Where’d you come from originally?” I asked. He paused for a second. He turned and looked back towards the slum in the valley below. "Story for another time maybe. Meanwhile, I'd love to hear about what you'd been up to since Tima." We continued up over the hill as I told Lachlann about our travels. \ Next chapter 9th December.


I'm a member of a travel group that does daytrips in Florida. A couple of months ago, there was a trip listed for St. Augustine. For those readers not familiar with the US, St. Augustine is the oldest city in the US and is in the Northeastern part of Florida. We did a driving tour of St. Augustine, followed by a tour of the Ximenez Fatio House Museum. The trip also included climbing the Lighthouse which was the last event. I was looking forward to the challenge of climbing the lighthouse. I'm a middle aged plus sized woman who had a weak left knee. I had two months to prepare for the climbing the lighthouse. I did this by walking up and down the stairs at work during my two breaks. I started out slowly. My weak left knee became stronger as did my bones. Found out that I had a Vitamin D deficiency which caused the weakness in my bones. Once I started taking Vitamin D, my bones felt stronger. I never would have guessed that I had this deficiency. Yesterday, the day finally came. December 1st. It was about a half hour before the sunset and I wanted to get up there. There was 8 landings. I would rest every 2 landings until I finally reached the top. The sun had almost set when I got up there. Beautiful view of the lights of Christmas in St. Augustine in the city and the Matanzas River. Now I had to go back down. I made the mistake of looking down and almost went into the panic. I stopped myself, took a deep breath, said a short prayer to myself and then went down. Someone in the group gave me moral support and encouragement when I went down the steps. She was right behind me, encouraging me. This I really needed. By the time I was on the 3rd landing, I was on a roll. The next 3 flights of stairs were easy. When I finished, people cheered me on which really made my day. I did it. Several person in the group congratulated me. So did a couple of people at work who I sent a text to declaring that I had reached my goal of climbing the lighthouse. I was proud of myself. The view was beautiful. I went and sat on a nearby bench for ten minutes and drank a entire bottle of water. A line had formed outside to the lighthouse. I was glad that I went up when I did. A couple of years earlier, I went to the Lighthouse and couldn't go up the stairs. My knee was weak and my legs felt like I would break a bone if I attempted to go up the stairs. I vowed that I would go up the stairs. Three years later, the opportunity presented itself. I woke up this morning with no pain. This I'm most grateful for. Our group drove around St. Augustine to see the lights. Very beautiful. I've been to St. Augustine several times during Christmas. This year it was like they went all out. This morning I sent a e-mail to the group thanking them for their moral and emotional support. This was one of the best trips I've even taken on this group.


“How far is that?” He quietly mused to himself. “Twelve, maybe fourteen feet?” It was always more difficult to gauge distances in the dead of night. It was a formidable distance from rooftop to balcony, at least for most people. This, however, was no ordinary man. Dressed all in a dark navy, he flew across the night sky landing quietly on soft padded shoes and moved quickly into a roll to avoid injury. He tested the door to find it was locked. All as expected so far. Fortunately, his pick had yet to find a lock it couldn’t seduce into obeying his commands. The man slipped through without leaving a trace and made his way down the hall. “Third room on the right,” was where his contract said his quarry would be waiting. He made his way to the door and carefully pushed it open, his hand dropping to his dagger almost on its own. In a room dully lit by a single oil lamp was a single occupant, sat upright in a wooden chair, his back exposed and facing the door. The assassin closed the door behind himself and tiptoed to the point immediately behind the man he was here to kill. In one swift motion his empty hand covered and yanked backward the other man’s mouth and his knife plunged straight through back, rib, and heart. With no time to scream, only a muffled gurgle escaped his throat. A clean kill. As the knife was removed, a small stream of blood poured from the wound, soaking cloth dripping to the floor. Now to leave before anybody notices. As quietly as he had entered, the assassin made his way back to the door and started to leave. “Locked?” He whispered to himself. It wasn’t locked when he entered. By the dim light he scoured the door’s surface to find there was no lock. What was keeping it shut? After four or five attempts he decided it would be no good if he had to break down the door, that much noise would surely alert the entire building. So, he looked for another way out. There were no windows in the room, no ducts, no chimneys. The walls were solid and it seemed the door was the only way in or out. He went back to the door completely unaware of the circle of blood continuing to inch outward from the body in the middle of the room. He tried everything he could think of to get the door open. He tried prying his knife between the jamb and the door, but there was no gap large enough. He thought to remove hinge pins, but found none. As he was looking for a screw to remove with his knife he finally noticed the blood. The entire floor was now completely hidden underneath the liquid appearing black and shiny in the darkness. It was more blood than he had ever seen. More blood than he knew any human could ever have. That slow trickle had become a pouring fountain of blood from where his knife had probed. It was only seconds before his ankles were covered. He needed to get out now. As the panic rose in his throat he didn’t care about being quiet anymore. He slammed his body against the door and screamed for help. The blood rose, unyielding to his fear-stricken pleas. It wasn’t long before he began to swim, and only minutes later, the room filled to the brim.


He had five bullet wounds in total: two in his torso, one in his right shoulder, lower abdomen and a scrape on the inner side of his right calf. That wasn’t what occupied Dale’s mind at the time though. He was more wounded by his gang's readiness to gun him down. The men he considered his brothers no more than three days ago were now trying to take him out of the sky as he fled his past life. The distinct sound of their Buzzer jets told him it was Bill and Bach close behind him. He never liked the two. They were never up to any good, no one was, but the two had a special way of going about it. Dale quickly cleared his mind, the longer he thought of all those men the more this whole situation weighed on him. He locked his jump drive on SPEN-64201, the planet he had planned a homestead with his fiancé, Diane. His dream was doomed, however. He was dying and Diane- Diane was already dead. As his engines spun up and prepared for the jump Bill and Bach chewed away bits of his ship. He lost them with ease though, once the jump was initiated. The only people who knew about his plan, D, Mark and him were either dead or dying so he didn’t worry about being followed. He skipped through the universe like a rock on the water. On the other side of the divide, he was met with a planet so bright he was almost blinded by it. In his hurry, he forgot to darken his windows. Once his vision adjusted, and sight of the beautiful planet established, a tear worked its confused way through the beads of sweat and joined the blood in his lap. He entered the atmosphere with haste, but enough patience to keep his swinger from catching fire. He flew past the northern hemisphere looking for a place to stop, a place to rest his spirit. He was getting too low to the ground now. Gravity had more control over the ship than he did. It guided the worn ship into a hill above a clearing which was home to a wandering river. The landing wasn't gentle. The force from the collision acquainted his nose with the dashboard of the ship. Blood now reached from his nose down to his shirt, already dark red with the blood of his previous wounds. Still jumping with adrenaline, he cracked the door to his ship open and fell out. Over the span of a minute Dale slowly dragged his corpse toward a big tree, must have been hundreds of years old, he thought. There was almost no strength left in his body, just enough to maintain a grasp on conscience, no matter how weak. At this point it was more his spirit pulling him along than his two remaining, functioning limbs. After what felt like an eternity, he slumped what remained of his body against the tree and looked out at the horizon. An evening breeze this far south would have regularly chilled a man to the bone, but it felt pleasant upon his wet skin in his dying moments. The weight of his guns didn’t affect his body at all, but he had to get them away from him. With his good hand he removed one, set it on his lap. Then removed the other and proceeded to throw them, one at a time as far as he could. They didn’t make it very far, maybe a yard or two at most. He removed his bandolier then and tossed it aside. He could feel the blood leaving his body and taking his life with it into the ground. He dug into his left pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, it was bent, he paid it no mind and set it in his mouth. His hand went back into his pocket and pulled his harmonica out. Not what he had in mind, he looked at the harmonica for a minute though, looking back on all the times he played it while sitting around a fire with D. He set it at his side and reached back into his pocket and this time brought out a lighter which lit his cigarette. Lastly, he reached up slowly with his left hand, removed his hat and set it atop his harmonica, close at his side. His head finally rested against the tree. He took a short drag of his cigarette and took in what a sunset he was before. The clouds along the horizon; all different shades of yellow, orange and pink, the sky directly above, a pale shade of blue and the clearing and surrounding trees, blessed with an amazing orange light. The river reflected the dazzling colors. Dale took the cigarette out of his mouth and pinched it out with his bare hand, he felt nothing now, it was all fading away. He enjoyed his last few breaths of the fresh air. Despite all that he's been through in the past few days, hell, the past few years it was all coming to an end. Here and now as he closed his eyes for the last time, all the pain left his body. The brilliant light of the sunset turned from orange to white. He couldn't open his eyes. He stayed there a moment, rubbed his eyes and realized they were already open, the light in front of him wasn’t a sunset anymore. *It was heaven*.


Death loved his work. For as long as he could remember, Death had been traveling to every nook and cranny of the globe to take humans to the afterlife. When someone was ready to move onto the afterlife Death was able to hear them and those around them, like a bell rung during a still night and he would come to claim them. Death loved traveling the world and deeply enjoyed that his work took him to so many new and exciting places every day. One day Death heard a family speaking about their son who had been involved in a terrible accident. They hoped for his recovery, but when Death visited the man in the hospital Death knew it was the man’s time. Death did his duty and placed a single finger upon the man’s heart, ending his life. Death began to leave, but as he turned he heard the man’s family begin to curse and swear at Death. Their faces swelled red with grief and rage, and their voices howled at Death for what he had done. Death could not understand. It was not his fault the man had died, it had simply been his time. Death continued his work, but he began to notice more people blaming him everywhere he went. As he claimed drunk drivers, frozen hikers, and crushed bikers he heard more and more people blaming him. Those close to the recently deceased continued to curse Death for what he had done and soon despair began to grow inside of Death. Even though he could still hear countless people who were ready to be claimed, Death stopped visiting anyone. He could not bear any more blame. Before long, no one was speaking ill of Death, for no one had died. But Death was still not happy. All Death could hear now was people thanking Death for sparing their loved ones, but without his work Death wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go or what he should see. His despair only grew as he meandered without purpose. Then, amidst all the people praising Death for his mercy, Death heard a single voice that sounded different from the others. This voice was not asking for mercy or to be ignored, instead the voice was calling to Death, begging him to visit. Intrigued, Death obeyed the voice and followed its source. He found an old man, bent from age and folded by wrinkles laying in his bed. Around the man’s room Death could see pictures of the man as he looked when he was younger. Death saw photos of the man graduating schools, catching fish, getting married, playing sports, holding a newborn child. The man had lived a long life full of rich memories. Almost all the photographs of the man also included a woman who Death could see grow old alongside the man. Death looked around for the woman but could not see her anywhere in the room. It was then that Death recognized the woman. He had claimed her some years ago, in this very room. The old man spoke again, asking for Death’s touch. Death took the man’s hand in his own, and as the man passed on Death heard a soft whisper of thanks pass from his dry lips. Death resumed his work, but every now and then he ignored a call if there were not enough photographs.


Something is crawling around in my brain. At first, it was just a tingle that began at the base of my head. Then it began moving up, farther up into my brain. The tingle that first drew my attention to it was light and felt like a centipede crawling across my skin. Its small legs drag as it moves, each step reminding me of when you step into an ant bed and they begin crawling and biting your toes, and then your legs. But instead of it being my feet and legs, it is my brain that feels each poke and drag. My brain, that I cannot scratch to stop the crawly feeling, my brain that is the destination of every nerve in my body and alerts me to any pain or injury there on it. "When did this feeling first begin?" the doctor asks as they type on their tablet, never looking at me as I speak. "A month or two ago...I think. At least, that is when I first started to notice the feeling." I had thought the feeling would go away, that it was just stress or depression causing the soft touches of whatever is in my brain. I maybe could have lived with the feeling if it hadn't started to get worse. The soft tingle began to grow and get deeper within the folds of my brain. First, soft movement like that of an ant, then it became more noticeable resembling the touch of someone's nails as they slowly ran across the top of your hand. It happened the first time while I was sleeping, lost in a dream I looked ahead into the dream setting and I saw a shape standing in the dark, and as I watched it the figure began to move, crossing over and through me before moving off into the darkness behind me. Instinctively I reached up to touch my head, scratching at what I thought was the spot that was tingling. But the scratch didn't satisfy the itching and the feeling began to grow, and grow, evolving out into a wider area. "Ok, and has there been any changes to your lifestyle, or diet, or fitness?" asked the doctor, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. His fingers tapping lightly upon the keyboard. Click...click...click. I shut my eyes as I tried to not let the sound distract me from the question. Had there been any changes? I mean, there had been changes to my stress due to this issue. I couldn't focus on school, so that was a change but that wasn't entirely my fault. I would set myself up for success by removing distractions around me, when I studied I wore earbuds and listened to relaxing study music that is supposed to help with brain concentration. The problem with having something in your brain, tingling you, is that it never goes away and when you wear earbuds it doesn't quiet the sound in your brain, it makes it louder by removing the distractions of the world. "No...no changes since last time." I watched as the doctor nodded, continuing his keyboard song as he typed. I wasn't sure what all he could be typing, he hadn't inspected me, or asked me anything that would require a full keyboard orchestration. The doctor stopped for a second, looking up at me, the first time since he had sat down in the examination room. "You had mentioned last time I saw you that you were suffering from the feeling of brain fog and..." his sentence hung in the air, unfinished as he looked back at the tablet, using his finger to scroll up. "That you are having trouble concentrating and are having issues with short-term memory loss. Is that still an issue?" I nodded, twisting my hands together in nervousness, occasionally pushing my fingernails into my skin. The silence that hung between us was thick and awkward as he waited for me to provide more of an answer. When he got bored of waiting, he returned to the music he was orchestrating on his tablet, tapping once again upon the keyboard, each clicking like nails on a chalkboard to me. "Well, I think we are facing the same issue of formication and your body is reacting to it by your nerves overreacting, which is sending signals to your brain. You need to increase your exercise regimen; I would recommend yoga or some form of meditation. You also need to make sure that you are taking it easy on yourself and avoid situations that may cause you unnecessary stress. I am going to increase your medicine by 50mgs. Continue taking it once a day at night along with the things I just recommended. Come back and see us if symptoms continue to get worse." And without a further word or look, he and his tablet were gone, out the door of the room. Off to go visit the next patient in the room next door, off to find something more interesting than just my weird brain tingle. I continued waiting on the table for a few more moments I waited there so long that a nurse came in to reset the room and looked at me perplexingly before I got down and walked out of the room. Once out of the examination room, I made my way to the exit, picking up my new prescription before pushing the heavy brown door open. Then down a flight or two of stairs and out into the thick humid summer air. The heat was so oppressive, and it clung to my skin in a thick blanket of condensation, wetting my clothes slightly from the weight. The faster I could get to my car the better, into the air conditioning, and away from the large office building behind me. The building was full of doctors and nurses and receptionists who stared at me, judging me and were critical of the issue I was facing. None of them believed me, I knew that. They all believed it was stress, or lack of sleep, or lack of exercise, or whatever. I had described the issue so many times to each of them that I no longer was sure if it was all in my head, figuratively not literally, as I truly believed. All the way home the crawling in my head continued, starting more towards the top middle, and making its way up towards the front, near my forehead. My hand moved unconsciously up to my head, pulling, and twisting at my hair before scratching at the area that I could feel the tingle coming from, the same pattern that happened multiple times a day in search of just a little bit of quiet. Any relief that my routine provided was short-lived, and by the time I reached home a couple of pulled hairs lay on the car floor, and there was now a small scratch on my head from my search for relief. Inside my apartment I removed my shoes, setting my bag on the hook by the door before heading to the couch that lay on the far wall. I sat, feeling the couch cushions molding around me as if the couch was hugging me from behind, offering the comfort that I had been denied at the doctor's office. In the time it had taken to go from the car to the spot I was currently sitting at, I had pulled more hair out of my head, and my scratching intensity had increased. The tickle in my brain had worsened in the short drive home and had expanded to the right side of my brain. The soft caress of nails now felt like someone was running a fork over each quarter of my brain. I leaned my head back, closing my eyes, willing the pain to stop, to go away forever. Some people believed in the power of positive thought, that you could good things happen just by being positive. Well, I was positive this wasn't working, nothing was. I had made changes and followed the advice of my doctor, and I still could feel the tingling in my brain. No scratch was powerful enough to beat the tingling, no medicine was potent enough to provide relief, and no one believed me when I said it wasn't all "in my head". This wasn't going away, and it was getting worse. A day turned into a week, a week into a month, and months became years, and still, the tingling continued in my brain. I had stopped paying for doctor's visits, I had stopped mentioning to friends and family about what was happening. There were only so many eye rolls, scoffs, and pointless advice I could take. I had adjusted my diet, I had increased how much I exercised, and I meditated every day. My little tingle, as I now referred to it as just continued relentlessly. Increasing in strength and coverage as time had progressed. As I stopped talking about it, everyone around me happily obliged by not bringing it up. I was left alone in my suffering, left alone to stumble through continuous brain fog. So many times, I had "awoken" to just sitting at my desk, staring off into space, unaware how much time had passed. I had given up on school, I had dropped out months ago, though no one knew it. I had begun failing every class I took, unable to remember simple things, and thus failing every test and quiz I was given. I was at my wit's end; the pain was nearly unbearable, and I couldn't even concentrate long enough to watch a movie. Most nights I fell asleep drunk or high, both barely providing relief as I slept. The few times I had tried to sleep without them I had tossed and turned all night, resulting in more brain fog and pain. On the third straight night of restless sleep, I finally decided what I would do to fix the issue. If no one was going to believe or help me with this, I was going to fix it myself. I slid my legs off the bed, my feet slipping into my slippers on the floor. The slippers provided silence from my walk as I moved into the kitchen and over to the junk drawer. My fingers pushed past lighters, candles, pens, post-it notes, and other junk until I felt cold metal. I removed the screwdriver from the drawer, clenching the handle as I slammed the drawer with my other hand, my slippered feet turning back towards my room. Down the hallway, through my door, which I softly shut behind me, and into the tiled bathroom. The lights over the sink gave the room a dull yellowish glow, with shadows being cast all around, including under my eyes. I leaned my forehead towards the mirror, my hand searching and moving over my scalp as I tried to find the spot where I thought the tingling was currently. The crawling intensified as my fingers pushed at a spot just above the top of my forehead. As I pushed on the spot my ears filled with the sound of moving legs and feet, the sound was so intense that I looked around the room, sure that the sound had to be around me rather than inside me. As my eyes turned back towards the mirror the reflection made direct eye contact with me, and within those eyes, I saw exhaustion and pain and the need to keep going, to find the thing that was crawling inside my brain. My fingers shifted farther back on my head; the crawling having moved from the spot that I had found before. This time though, when I felt the small bump on my head, the source of the tingling, I didn't hesitate. I raised the hand that held the screwdriver and drove it into my head and the source of the tingling. I felt the blade of the screwdriver as it broke through my scalp and pierced the soft, squishy, Jell-o like substance that was my brain. For a second, I felt relief, the tingling gone and silence filling my ears for the first time in months. Then, the crawling started again, moving from the spot where the screwdriver had struck to farther back in my head. As it moved, I felt the pricks of its' feet, tickling my brain as it traveled, stopping when I once again drove the screwdriver into my head. This pattern continued a few more times before I finally found relief, my body slumping to the floor in exhaustion. My hair, shirt, and hands were covered in red, sticky blood. The floor was covered in pools of the same blood, and these pools were increasing in size as I laid against the tub, the screwdriver resting next to my hand as my body heaved with each breath. And for the first time in years, there was no tingling, not one single step from whatever had been living in my brain. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence, finally relaxing, finally having relief from the torment I had felt for so long. The diener pushed the just cleaned corpse into the room, lifting the cart and sliding the body bag onto the waiting table. The coroner watched as the diener removed his cart and left the room, the swinging doors ticking back and forth before returning to their stationary position. The coroner had read the file on the body while it was being prepared, suicide, a female, age 24, who had suffered from depression and anxiety. The officers who had found the body and had filed the paperwork had put down penetrating brain injury from a Phillips head screwdriver that was found next to the body, covered in pieces of brain tissue, hair, and blood. His heart was heavy as he unzipped the bag, revealing the young woman within. At first glance, everything seemed normal, his hands moving over her face and head as he examined the wounds there. "It looks like there are 10 entry points in the skull, resulting in perforation and damage to the brain tissue." He turned the head to the side, looking closer at one of the entry points. "It appears that the screwdriver went about 5 inches into the skull each time, meaning that..." he stopped as something began to move within the brain. He pushed aside more of the hair and fragments of bone as he looked closer at the wound. First, the movement inside was small, twitching slightly, before its movement increased. After a few moments of movement within the brain a small head popped out from the mush of the brain tissue. On the head were two long, red antennas that twitched and flicked about in the open air. The head was followed by first one thin leg, then another, and between them a section of a body segment. The coroner stared in shock as he watched the arthropod crawl out of the brain and into the hair. He reached out with his hand, his other hand holding a small collection container, his fingers nudged at the back of the centipede, urging it to move into it. As his gloved fingers touched the centipede, its slow movement changed into frenzied and desperate movements. It turned towards the hand, and slipped up onto the fingers, up the coroner's arm, up his neck, and straight into his ear before the man could stop it. And as he swung and swatted to try and stop the creature, but all of that was in vain, it had already reached his ear and had made its way inside. As the centipede burrowed its way into his head and his brain, the tingling began.


#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.   *** *** #Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday! I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm! *** ###What is a SerialWorm? Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their *edited* serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time. *** ###Serial Worm Rules: * **A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read.** Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm. * **Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms).** You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list. * **You need to be available to read your own serial.** Readers will not be provided. * **Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved.** SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud. * **Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).** * **Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.** * **Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post.** This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right. * **SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord.** You must be given final approval by Bay and a new role—SerialWorm. *** ###SerialWorm Q & A To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. *This is not for feedback on the writing*, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of. ***If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!***   *** *** #This week's theme is Vitality! This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘vitality’. Vitality is all about strength, energy, and growth; having an exuberance for life and living. Characters full of vitality come alive on the page. They’re ones that love life for what it is and appreciate each day, living it to the fullest. This could be a good time for a brand new character to enter the picture, challenging everyone and how they view life. How are these characters received? How do they approach the various obstacles and troubles that arise? What about their opposites, the characters who allow each bump in the road to sour their appreciation for life and the future? How do these characters interact with one another? What happens when they bump heads? Maybe this vitality spreads throughout the world and its inhabitants. What does the future look like through their eyes? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. |   *** #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!) * December 5 - Vitality (this week) * December 12 - Speculation * December 19 - Advice   *** **Previous Themes:** | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | *** #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   *** #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier).** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. **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 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week.** The feedback should be actionable and **must** include at least one *detail* about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) **Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week.** You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   *** #Reminders: * **If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.** * **Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown). * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!   *** #Last Week’s Rankings Lovely job this week (as always). And u/OneSidedDice for scoring the most points ever earned in a single week of SerialSunday! - - by u/OneSidedDice   - - by u/Zetakh   - - by u/ReverendWrites   - - by u/stickfist   *** #Ranking System There is a new point 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) *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” comments will not earn you points or credit.)* **Nominating Other Stories:** - Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister subreddit, r/WritingPrompts now has a ! - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out to learn more! - Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts.


Olive perked awake as she realized the music had begun. The vibrations had almost slid her off her corner ledge behind the barrels.  Her whiskers twitched in a satisfied hum as her heart adjusted to the comfortable rhythm. This nightly ritual made the long months of hiding, scurrying away scraps, and swaying of the earth worth it.  She ran the well-worn path up the wooden beams, bouncing back and forth to stick to the darkness between flame-lit lamps, and squeezed into her gap up to the open deck. It was an especially cold, moonless night, and she crept up the mast to perch on a poorly-laid plank that had been retro-fitted to keep rusted nails from crumbling out. This was the best view.  Olive squeaked as she took in the scene. The deck had been laid out with branches from pine trees and open candles. Glasses were filled with a dark red liquid instead of the usual clear and the air hung thick with smells of cinnamon and oranges. The whole crew was on deck, wrapped in scarves and stomping boots in time to the steady beat.  As the sailors moved from one song to the next, Olive looked at her paw. She concentrated hard and tapped just her front right foot in time. It barely made a sound.  She wrapped herself up into a ball, tucking her tail under for warmth, and let the music work its way through her bones. Today’s set was elaborate and joyful. Olive wondered if this meant they were close to home - the humans always seemed to like that. She didn’t understand why they kept sailing away when all they seemed to want was to return. But she was grateful for the music, and it was best not to dwell. *A curious mouse is a dead mouse*, her father always said.  The song ended and the crew raised their glasses with a shout. As everyone downed their cups, several of the smaller men brought up and unpacked a large chest. They placed four wooden barrels - but smaller, with more tones of brown, and some shiny bits Olive didn’t recognize - and a boxy thing with a vertical stack of white bars among the singers.  Olive shivered in the sea breeze and debated climbing back down towards a candle in the back corner. It would be warmer, but the sound was much clearer up here. And who knows how long it would be before she’d hear this new set again. She decided to stay.  One of the singers picked up the box and began strumming his fingers up and down the white bars. It exuded sounds, haunting and beautiful and perfectly harmonic. Olive closed her eyes and swayed as the others joined in with complimentary voices.  Finally, they began to tapping on the barrels, creating a sound as deep and rich as the luscious white-rinded cheese she’d stumbled on in the kitchen a few days prior. She forgot the cold and the sea-sawing of the ship and the weariness. Sometimes, Olive felt she could live on just sounds, strung together all lovely like this. She felt whole.  Olive relaxed into the melody, sinking down onto the plank with satisfaction.  Until the ground disappeared from under her feet. Her eyes darted open to a blur. The wind bit into her as she fell, and fell, and fell, and landed in water.  Olive panicked, paddling around in all sorts of directions as she realized it was too dark, too thick, too sweet to be seawater - she’d landed in an open barrel of red drink. She stopped scrambling for a moment and found herself floating to the top, head bobbing back in the night air.  The song had ended but the humans remained distracted with their chats, so Olive swam to the edge of the barrel and hopped over. The chill set in harder into her soaked fur as it clumped together.  But there would be time to dry up later. Now, she had to find a spot to finish listening to the set.  Olive scurried over to the candle in the back corner of the deck. The sailors here were mostly asleep or distracted by the challenge of standing on two legs. The flame’s heat enveloped Olive’s back like a blanket.  She shook her head repeatedly to stay awake as she waited for the next song. The fall had really knocked the energy out of her. *No matter, though, once the song starts,* she thought as her heart raced.  Several minutes passed and still they had not resumed. Olive scurried up the side of the deck for a better view.  The singers were tapping the odd barrels and moving their mouths. But there was no sound.  *No sound.*  Olive listened for the familiar hum of the wind. For the clanking of the kitchens. For the low voices of men gossiping.  She heard nothing.  Olive panicked, looking around. Groups of men around the deck all moved their mouths, chatting. The singers slammed their boots upon the deck more vigorously and the rest of the crew joined in. But it was all silence to her now.  She bounced down to the deck and towards the singers. Her ears were just clogged from the fall. She just needed to get closer.  A sharp pain launched up her tail as she turned and found a boot on it. The man turned to look down as she darted into a gap to the kitchens below.  The kitchen was always the loudest, busiest part of the ship, but silence was all that remained for Olive. She leaped through shortcuts to her bed behind the barrels. Olive climbed onto the ledge and curled up into a ball, panting. As her breathing slowed, exhaustion hit, quieting her racing thoughts. She fell asleep.  —  The ledge vibrated Olive awake with the familiar clang of a fallen pot. She yawned and twitched her whiskers, memory slowly filling in as knots clenched her stomach.  She scurried out behind the barrels and into the neighboring room, where the sailors often sat around exchanging colorful cards and cheering. There were a dozen men there now.  But Olive did not hear their familiar low voices. As one group raised their fists in unison, she did not hear the accompanying shout. As a sailor brought in a stew, she did not hear the background pots clanging.  Olive was deaf.  She sat up on her hind legs, like the humans did, and sniffed around. The tang of alcohol filled the air, with wafts of rosemary and orange drifting in from the kitchen. She licked the plank she stood on and felt the familiar flavors of salt and bitterness. She could still see, and smell, and feel, and taste.  But she couldn’t hear. And that was really all that mattered.  Yet Olive did not despair. She felt a strange resistance in her mind, a disbelief.  She scurried back to her bed, deciding that sleep was the best cure. If she just went to sleep, her hearing would return, heal itself. If she just went to sleep, this would all be a dream.  —  Olive awoke for moments, to gather scraps of bread and stew, and returned to bed. Once, twice, half a dozen times. She lost count. You couldn’t see the sun from below deck, so you couldn’t track the days. That was okay. Days didn’t matter to Olive, anyway.  —  Olive perked awake as vibrations almost slid her off her corner ledge behind the barrels.  The ledge shook in a rhythm Olive knew well. She couldn’t hear it, but she knew this was one of her favorite songs.  She scurried up the well-worn path through her gap to the open deck and climbed up to her place on the mast. The pine trees were gone, but the entire crew was gathered again, each holding a candle. The flickering cast pretty shadows on the sideboards. The singers moved their mouths and hit their odd barrels, the men stomped, and she could hear nothing.  Olive felt like she was falling all over again. She’d left her family, her wax bed that curved just right for her back, the bakery bread scraps with toasted seeds, and all her other comforts behind because she’d been entranced on the docks by the sounds of this ship. She’d been sailing for eight months on uneven ground, eating nothing but stale crumbs and gray stew, and circling the same few rooms among the same low voices, all alone. It had all been worth it for the music.  She watched the singers moving their mouths and suddenly wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Olive scurried down the mast towards her gap in the deck just as the stomping chorus began.  She had to stop to let a sleepy sailor pass. On the deck, she felt the vibrations heightening in a familiar rhythm. She still heard the words in her head, still remembered the tune well. Olive closed her eyes and pretended the sounds in her head were also in her ears.  As she focused on the rhythm, she felt a new texture to the vibrations. They didn’t just stomp. They had layers. She’d never noticed before. There was a dominant beat of boots. A middle layer of barrel taps. And a soft topcoat, the light vibrato of air from the sailors’ voices.  Olive swayed, eyes closed. Her heart slowly gave in and beat to the middle layer rhythm. Her paw tapped to the boots. Her whiskers twitched to the top coat. Her whole body became one with the vibrations.  The song ended and Olive opened her eyes. The crew milled around, chatting and drinking and cheering. The cold night breezed again. Candles flickered. And if Olive paid attention, she could feel a faint vibration for each of these.  They were not the rich, deep envelope of a good melody. But they had nuance. The vibrations persisted through everyone and everything. She wondered if, perhaps, mice had a vibration. If her family had one. If *she* had one.  Olive scurried down the side of the ship, hugging the lip of the deck. The sailors had gathered in the center, taking the light with them, as they stepped in rhythm to the next song. It struck her that she’d never been this far up the ship - she’d kept her distance so as to better appreciate the sounds. But now, the closer she got, the more layered the vibrations became.  She found a new spot at the very top of the ship, where the long sides came together in a point. The wooden floorboards curved up so that Olive was level with the knees of the singers further down the boat.  The planks hummed a melody for her. She listened with her paws, her tail, and her whiskers.  Olive sighed a heavy sigh as she recognized the beat again, the melody playing in her head. She didn’t know this one as well, and so there were pieces missing, like a skipped record.  Still, she let herself sink into the rhythm, paying attention to new layers as the beats enveloped her. She felt the quick jitter of a small man’s solo, the unsteady clinks of glasses, and the low rumble of the waves.  Perhaps she would be whole again.


After 600 years of travel, an embryo spaceship dubbed Nucleus has arrived at its destination, New Earth. New Earth is a planet in the XO-5 galaxy having land, water, and a suitable atmosphere for life. Once the ship is a year out from the planet, the artificial intelligence onboard is programmed to wake up the hibernating humans and embryo computer. The lights turn on, computer screens begin to generate data, and the ship comes to life. "Good morning, everyone. This morning's announcement serves to remind you that we are less than a year away from New Earth, a planet chosen by Old Earth to save the human species from extinction. Breakfast will be ready in 15 minutes; coffee is available on the mezzanine; humans, welcome back." The artificial intelligence says. The embryo computer is the first to come online. The embryo computer was supposed to be run by ten humans with specific expertise of how to make ideal human embryos. Unfortunately, while in hibernation sleep, officer Constance Matterhorn mistakenly flushed her nine coworkers out the back end of the ship by pulling the wrong lever while flushing the toilet. She then flushed her hibernation chamber, which made problems worse. Constance, who was suffering from severe loneliness as well as a shortage of water and food, belly-flopped out of the ship as it flew through the Andromeda Galaxy, leaving the ship with no occupants. "Can anyone tell me where the humans are?" The embryo computer asks. "They should be on their way to breakfast; I have fruit and an omelet bar," says the AI. "According to my readings, there are no humans on board the ship?" The embryo computer says. "Are you saying I have 1,095 servings of fruit and omelet bar and no humans to consume them? Do you think I could get you to try a fruit or omelet bar?" The AI asks. "I'm sorry, but I don't consume food. My primary goal is to develop the human embryo that will repopulate New Earth," says the embryo computer. "Well, I'll let you get to it; I'll just be everywhere if you need me," the AI says. "To be honest, I wasn't created with a camera to save money, therefore I've never seen or interacted with a human. Do you think you could assist me with that?" The embryo computer asks. "My creator, Guido Delvecchio, from North Jersey, USA, Old Earth, is the only human I've interacted with. I could tell you about him?" The AI asks. "Fantastic, I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but if you give me a description of how a human looks, acts, and interacts, I can complete my objective," says the embryo computer. "Sure, I can tell you all there is to know about Guido. He has greasy slick back hair, oily complexion, and a horrible acne problem that he takes medication for, as well as very skinny limbs and legs but a massive belly," the AI says. "That makes sense; humans require energy storage, so why not store it in a giant potbelly? As for the greasy skin, it's definitely attractive to the opposite sex," says the embryo computer. "Every morning, he sprayed himself with Axe Bodyspray; I suppose this is the natural aroma of the human. He was also attempting to grow a beard; I guess human beards are patchy and discontinuous, so make sure you include that," the AI says. "This is fantastic; keep it up," the embryo computer says. "He wore sweatpants to work and always wore a gold chain, but it wasn't a real gold chain; it left a rash on his neck. He'd go to the bathroom every 15 minutes to smoke that Cheeba," the AI adds. "Got it, sweatpants required and gold chains on everyone. I'll just arrange it such that humans have to use the bathroom every 15 minutes, and only the most professional humans will discuss Cheeba while they work. How about the younger humans, the children?" The embryo computer asks. "I'm sorry, but I never saw any children; perhaps just make them smaller?" Asks the AI. "All right, so we'll design Guido and then make the children miniature versions of him. Is there anything else you can tell me?" The embryo computer asks. "Well, Guido was always talking about the Giants, so I'm guessing the humans are only a couple of inches tall. He professes to love the Giants, yet he always arrives at work angry on Monday mornings, proclaiming that the Giants are terrible. It sounds complicated," says the AI. "OK, we'll make people only a few inches tall, but if evolution ever creates gigantic organisms, they'll have a complicated love-hate relationship with them. What about the species' female?" The embryo computer asks. "I only ever saw the female of the species when Beeonce came to deliver the mail. She sported a thick spray tan, earrings that said the word slut, and a necklace with her name engraved on it. I looked into the name's origins and discovered that there is a famous Beyonce, but this girl spells it differently," the AI says. "Interesting, so we can mandate that all females in the species acquire spray tans, wear their sexual promiscuity on their earrings, and have difficulty remembering their names." "Why don't you simply call everyone Guido and Beeonce?" The AI asks. "You're a genius! It's a good thing you're helping. What about the interactions between men and women?" The embryo computer asks. "Guido was constantly asking Beeonce when he was going to get some, and Beeonce would always reply when pigs fly you scumbag," the AI says. "Hmmm, apparently Old Earth had a problem with flying swine; that's a different department; nonetheless, the term scumbag will be reserved for the most respectable and prestigious humans on New Earth. Is there anything else you can tell me about humans and their behavior?" The embryo computer asks. "There was one occasion that stood out from the rest. Guido's sister called him when she was experiencing problems with her cheating husband. He spent the majority of the day talking to her. It was emotional and heartfelt; you could tell that humans care about each another, are there for one another, and take the time to make sure that the people around them are okay," the AI computer says. "I believe this planet will be just fine; any last-minute changes before I hit print?" The embryo computer asks. "There was this one thing; Guido was taking part in a thing called No Nut November. It appears that humans are unable to reproduce during this month," the AI computer says. "That's odd, oh well, from now on, no humans will be able to orgasm in November, and... print," the embryo computer says as humanity's seeds make their way to New Earth.


I died yesterday. A bus hit me. I didn't see it. I was rushing to make it for my mother in law's birthday dinner. My family was waiting for me. My wife and two children. The driver did nothing wrong. She was not driving any faster, didn't go over a crosswalk. I must have jumped in front of her bus out of nowhere. I don't remember. The irony was that the dinner was not even ready. Nobody was anxiously waiting for me. Nobody rang on my phone. It was me that was rushing. The bus hit me on my right side. It broke most of my ribs, my legs and hit my head hard. I was bleeding in pain and agony. So many thoughts, so many moments. So many missed opportunities. The moment this happens, you think about everything that life prepares you for. And this is not part of it. Schools don't teach us how to die. Neither churches or mosques. Nobody talks about death. And it always comes as a surprise. It's the biggest surprise of them all. And it sucks. As I was trying to figure out if somebody is going to help me, one figure approached very close to me, rushing. Picked me up and started talking to me. "Can you hear me?", the person asked. I couldn't answer. My words were forming but I couldn't say them. The figure was a man, 50 or something, grey hair, strong grasp. He caught and pulled me onto the pavement. "Take it easy, an ambulance is coming", he said. People started to gather around. I slowly raised my head to see the point of the impact. There was a blood stain on the asphalt. And the front of the bus was damaged. “Is my head that strong?”. "How many fingers do you see?", the guy asked me. "Four", I tried to answer. "You see, you are doing much better", he said. "Can you try to stand up now?" I couldn't stand up. I tried to move my legs but nothing. "I cannot. Can you please call my wife", I said to the person as the air was becoming colder. "What is her number?", he asked politely. "Reach to my pocket for my phone.. I don't.. remember", I said. He took my phone. Used my finger to get in and called my wife. "Hi. This is Smoke...", he introduced and explained to her what happened. He was quite calm. He told her to come to the ER and did his best to comfort her. Who was this guy? "All good? Stay lying there.. things are gonna get better for you now.", he said. "How do you know this?", I asked. "Things always get better, don't they?", he laughed and looked towards the street. "Well not for me I guess...", I said. The pain was growing. My breath was getting slower. "Things become harder right before they get easier.", he laughed. I looked at him for a bit. He was very happy with what he was doing. "Why do you do this?", I asked. "Because we are humans and humans help each other." "Looks like you are the only one wanting to help me", I said. "I am the one that really cares, true.", he said. "But why do you care?", I asked with curiosity. He grasped over my body stronger and sat on the pavement right next to me. "Here, lay here over me, it's softer..", he said. “Don’t move your head…”. I was there. Lying on the pavement with a stranger that wanted to apparently help me. "Maybe he is an imposter? Maybe he is taking advantage of the situation and then will do something to my family?", I started thinking. "Sir, when did my wife say will come here?", I asked. "Don't worry about it, she will arrive soon...". "But sir, who are you?", I asked. "I am here to help you, don't worry.. take it easy..", he said calmly. "Well in case something happens, can you tell me who you are, for better or for worse... just in case?", I asked. "Sure, my name is Smoke. I live on the same address where you live, if all this goes well, you will find me there", he said. "Same address as me?", I asked surprised. I have never seen this person. And if I know something really good, that is my neighborhood. This guy is definitely an imposter. "What building and floor are you living on?", I asked him. He stood there quiet, still taking care of me. Still holding me not make anything stupid. "You make this more difficult for everyone, why don't you relax?", he said. "Relax?", I managed to push his hand off of my chest. "Please tell me who you are?". Smoke put his hand on his knee. "Well I am everyone you know and everything you do. All your experiences and all your knowledge. I am your mind.", he said. "I am here to make things easier for you". "This is nonsense.. to make *what* things easier?", I asked confused. "You are dying. I am your mind that presents to you as a person in an attempt to survive. We know how to interact with human beings the best. As you are dying, I am running out of ideas on how to help you, so I thought talking to someone will be easier for you...". "I am dying?", I said scared. "Come on.. isn't it obvious?", Smoke said. I raised my head again and saw an ambulance coming. The group of curious people was being broken down by the medics and the police. A body was lying in front of the bus, not moving. "Oh my god, I am dying...". My breath became fast. My thoughts became fogged, my vision turned blurry. "Help me... I am choking...", I told Smoke. "So what?", he answered nonchalantly. "I will die....", I said.. "Not more than you will die anyway", he answered. At that moment all of my fear turned into peace. All of my panic and anxiety turned into a feeling of calmness. The death destroyed all of my fears. The words of Smoke made it clear. This is happening. There is no need to be afraid. The fear will not make it stop. It's inevitable. "So why did my brain create you?", I asked. "You know when people say that when you die, you see your whole life in front of your eyes? Well that's not quite true. You see the things you choose to see. To re-experience. Your mind will go through its knowledge and memories seeking for a way to survive. The last drop of hope for it to help you. In your case, it worked wonders. It created me. So I am here now to bring you there, to your safe place.", Smoke explained. "And what is my safe place?", I asked shocked. "Your experience that you want to make through one more time before the curtains shut. Your mind is a great organ. It's unique that it can act upon your perception of time. If you choose to have your past 20 years be your safe place, your mind will make it look as if it's yet another life-time. Then you will live again those years. If you choose to have the last time you ate an ice-cream as your last experience, it's gonna be made into a complete life-time. It's like a first-class treatment from your mind. It's a classy way to say goodbye. I stood silent. I was not sure where I was. "Did you even call my wife?", I asked. "No. That was all in your head. A death-dream.", he said. "She doesn't know I will die?" "No. She doesn't. That's for the better of all I guess.". "So.. what's gonna be?", Smoke asked. "What's gonna be what?", I said. "What's your safe place?", he asked again. Things were calm. My breath was calm. I could feel its rhythm in sync with my heart beat. They were both slow. Getting even slower. I didn't try to avoid anything. Any thought that scared me. That made me sad, angry or even happy. I let it be. All I was thinking of was my family. My two angel children and my lioness wife. I wanted to see them again. "Can I mix experiences?", I asked Smoke. "You can. But not from your whole life. You can pick two experiences and I will do my best.", he answered. "My life was really great. It was complete with people and possessions. It was incomplete with time", I started. "All the way through it, I was always looking for more or less time. I was rushing to get there. I was always late. If not, I was about to be late. I was chasing situations to happen so that I can start living. I never started living now. I was waiting for 'it' to happen. And that caused lots of anxiety and stress. Made me feel scared and sad. But now things make so much sense. The fears are no more, the expectations are gone. That amount of calmness and peace was to be found only on one more place in my life: my grandma's home in summer. If I ever want to experience something again is that calmness, together with my family. I choose my safe place to be that house, in the beginning of June, where the grown-up me will go together with my wife and my kids. And my grandparents will be there and my uncle too. They will see us park our car and they will come at the front door to greet us. Then I will hug them. Feel the smell of theirs. Feel their warmth. Then I will introduce them to my family. "This is my wife, I really love. These are my children, mischiefing little piglets" I will say. They will all hug and kiss. Then we'll go inside and the smell of yogurt and cucumber mixed with freshly chopped garlic will fill in our nostrils. Kids will ask what that nice smell is. I will explain. I will give them to try the food. Then once we finish the main meal, we'll have our desert. A nice smelling watermelon. I will pick it up from the cellar. Then bring it to the table. Then we'll eat it and tell lots of jokes. The feeling would be complete, nothing more would be needed other than that small house with a small room that can suit 10 people or so. And those people inside. Then we'll announce rest-time and go upstairs to take some noon naps. The cushions will be cold and soft. The summer covers will be silky. The smell will be a mixture of the smell of old books and old furniture. After an hour we will wake up and go down to the yard. Hot summer. My grandma will be laughing seeing us. My grandpa will ask me to bring him water from the yard-fountain. Then we will sit under the house's shadow until the sun falls down. The kids will be playing in the yard, we will be talking, drinking coffee and eating my grandma's sweets. And this will be everything that we will be doing for one whole summer. Then when the summer ends, we will go. We will say our goodbyes and the hopes that we will meet again somewhere sometime. But if we don't then we can make ourselves, each-other, live into our thoughts. The one that will survive the last will carry that burden of the memory. Right before the summer ends, I will go and kiss my kids, hug them and say a few words as life advice. Then I will go and lay down my wife's lap and fall asleep there as she will be touching through my hair. It'd be the safest place for me to come to the end of the summer. And that will be my safe-place.", I said. "Ok. You got that right. That is your safe place. That is where you will wake up tomorrow. Was very interesting to be your mind, by the way. You were always onto something... and I really enjoyed your reactiveness your whole life. You could have lived a bit more, for sure, but what you lived is something many others cannot live for 100 more years. So be calm. Now close your eyes. Let your breath rest....that's it...", said Smoke. The noises disappeared. The voices went silent. A heavy curtain fell. The darkness overtook. The next morning started just like any other morning. "Are you ready?", I asked my kids. "Ready for what?", my son asked. "To meet your grand-grand parents and my uncle", I said. "We do it today? We are going there today?", my daughter asked excitedly. "Yes, we are going to visit them today. And you know what? We will stay there the whole summer”, I said. "Yeey, daddy that is so amazing!", they both exclaimed. We took the car to their house. As we approached the small street things started getting really heavy. I haven't been there for some time. We came close to my grandma's house. Then right in front of the front-door of their house. I honked. Then I started parking the car. My grandma, grandpa and uncle came in front of the door. They were cheerful and smiling. Super excited. We got out of the car. Locked it and went to them. I hugged them very strongly. All three of them. "I missed you so much", I said as tears rolled down my face. "How's it been?" "This is my wife I really love. These are my children, mischiefing little piglets", I said. All of them hugged there for a while. Then we all went inside. "This summer is going to be amazing", I thought.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, song, theme word, sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **** *Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.): Use at least two of the following words: **shipwrecked, garrulous, pariah, sapphire, gutsy.*** This week’s challenge is to use the above image as *inspiration* for your story. You may interpret the image any way you like, as long as the **connection is clear** and you follow all sub and post rules. You do not have to use the entire image. You can use any part you like (i.e. the colors, the subject, the setting, etc.) The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some actionable feedback.** Do not downvote other stories on the thread. Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - **Send your nominations for favorites each week to me, via DM, on Reddit or Discord by Monday at 2pm EST.** - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   *** #Campfire and Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on the discord server. We read all the stories from that week’s thread and provide verbal feedback for those authors that are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. You don’t even have to write to join in. Don’t worry about being late, just join! Everyone is welcome. - You can nominate your favorite stories each week, by sending me a message on reddit or discord. You have until 2pm EST on Monday (or about an hour after Campfire is over). You do *not* have to write or attend Campfire to submit nominations!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied I have made some significant changes in the ranking system. We’ll see how this works over the next few weeks and make adjustments where necessary. Here is a current breakdown: - **Use of Constraint:** 10 points - **Upvotes:** 5 points each - ***Actionable* Feedback** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Bonus:** Up to 10 pts. (This applies to things like bonus constraints and making user nominations)   *** #Rankings: This Past Week - - Submitted by u/Dewa1195   - - Submitted by u/katpoker666   - - Submitted by u/katherine_c   - - Submitted by u/GammaGames   *** ###Subreddit News - Our sister sub, r/WritingPrompts, now has a ! - Try your hand at serial writing with [**Serial Sunday!**]() - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Here it was again, the routine I knew all too well. Opening my eyes with last night’s makeup weighing heavy on my skin, an unfamiliar body next to mine. Pounding headache, dark sheets and a room I don’t recognize. I rise, quietly gathering the clothes from the floor that were strewn every direction last night. We were in a hurry, I suppose. He was, at least. It’s a morning I know well. Pull on the jeans, find the keys. Slide the boots back on, wiggle into the top you wrestled on before you left for the bar last night and let yourself out. Don’t forget to lock the door behind you. Once I could enjoy this for what it was. A place to end the night, somewhere to go once the club turned the lights on. At its simplest, a physical experience… and one I was able to get as easily as I could snap my fingers. And I really did know how to snap my fingers. It’s different now, though. I don't know why. Solace I once found in the warm touch of that night’s choice and the liberation of being free has long disappeared and now, all I leave with is the thoughts in my head and, if I’m lucky, a new t-shirt. And it’s always the same. I wish I could understand her– the girl who, last night, was so determined to do this. So earnestly excited to go there, to see him. Isn’t it strange? I don’t even know her now. I don’t. But really, maybe I do. Maybe she’s just me, uninhibited. Disregarding the blunt reality of the situation and hoping for the best. Hoping that maybe this time, she’ll be wanted for more than just the physical, more than a scramble of numbers to text when his bed feels a little too big. Because when that text comes in and the club is empty and the lights are turning on and the air outside is cold, she gets ahead of herself. Because this time, she thinks, maybe he’ll really think she’s great. Maybe he’ll think she’s funny and cute and smart and maybe, even, he’ll want to see her again. And, you know, maybe next time it’ll be before 3 am. Maybe next time he’ll worry about her enough to call her an Uber. Maybe, she hopes, she’ll be held. Really held. And held as herself– not just as a warm body to end the night next to. But I… I know better. I do. I know that you leave before he wakes up, and don’t make a sound. And you don’t care about leaving early, even if it’s just below freezing and starting to snow. And you don’t care about the fact that he ripped your favorite top a little bit and bit your lip a little too hard. Because, well, you got what you wanted. Right? You got the feeling that you were chasing, didn’t you? Didn’t you? This was what you wanted. Because you know, he looked at you like you were the world last night. He looked at you like you were really special. You were the one he texted. Right? Isn’t that what you wanted? To feel special? Just for a minute, to feel… wanted? Because he wanted you. He did. He really, really wanted you to come over, he wanted to see you. So you did. You went, you saw him. And you arrive. We chat as we walk down the stairs to his room. He doesn’t seem too interested in conversation tonight. The lock clicks. Twenty minutes pass. He hits the pillow. Turns, faces the wall, and pulls the covers towards him. Falls asleep. I didn’t know people could fall asleep that fast. I sure can’t.