Every time I begin to get sick there are always different symptoms, but the outcome is the same. Usually, I start optimistically. “Oh no it’s just allergies,” I say to my scratchy throat. But as each hour passes by my intuition tells me what my mind will not – yes, I am actually getting sick. Reality has set in. I'm getting sick more often these days. I don’t know what it is, but maybe as my body grows older it just has less tolerance for these things, or maybe I fundamentally am just a sickly person. I don’t know. I haven’t really come to terms with it, but whenever I finally embrace that I’m sick I set aside everything for a sick day. Everyone’s sick days are different, but my sick days tend to all rhyme with each other. At first, I try to pretend I’m okay and go through my daily motions. But after my morning coffee, it all falls apart. When I would usually plod to my computer to work, I instead lay on my couch and then I’m faced with the worst question yet. What the hell do I do today. This is where the day really starts to sour. I really don’t know why I liked being sick when I was a kid. Now I can’t help but laugh that I liked this when I was a kid. Maybe it was the separation away from school, breaking a routine, or just alone time. One time I got so sick I vomited everything up over and over when I was 8, but weirdly enough I didn’t seem to hate it as much as a mild cold annoys me now. Now sick days are just… a waste of time. It’s the curse of being an adult that has made them less fun. Funny that it might all just be a perception thing. Anyways my sick day today. This sick day started like any other, but the phone call was when it took a turn for the weird. Yesterday was the first day I really showed some symptoms, and so of course I cleared my calendar and got ready for the long haul. I was not expecting a call. I drank my coffee, put on some tv, and plopped down with water nearby. That’s when the phone rang. I still get phone calls mind you, that’s not the weird part. But most of those phone calls are spam, and I don’t answer them. The part that was so weird was it was ringing on a landline. A landline you say – yes a landline. I didn’t actually own it, it was a prop rotary phone I bought for a friend’s bar at an antique show. Perfect for a bar that pretended to be older than it was. But the bar had been doing well and I would always oblige my close friend. So of course, I had a large rotary phone landline in my living room, a halfway house before its final home. But as it rang I was shocked, because it wasn’t plugged into anything. So naturally, I picked it up. “Hello” says a female voice on the other side. “Who are you and how are you calling me?” I say the obvious question. I was defensive, and a bit shocked. Is this what a fever dream is? “Now now we don’t have time for that. I need you to listen to me clearly before this link is shut off. Please I only have seconds, I need you to go to-“ the voice dropped as the receiver tuned to static, and then to silence. As I put that receiver down, my body too filled with a feeling of static. My smartphone in my pocket rang. Instead of “Scam Likely” it said “Pick Up” as a caller. I wasn’t sick enough to hallucinate but when I looked at the phone I felt like I had somehow felt outside of my body. Maybe it was the static in my body, but I felt disconnected, and my body went charging on ahead without my consent. The static in me built to a roar until my finger touched to accept the call. “Ahhhhh that’s better. Hello again darling. Now we have a bit more time. I need you to pick up something for me today. Yes yes I know you’re sick but luckily for you, it’s your favorite soup place. Please pick up a package at Pho 4 Lovers in 30 minutes. You’ll know which one when you get there.” Click. The line went dead on the other end. Pho 4 lovers was not only close but too familiar. I checked the clock, it was 12:42. Why there? I often went there when I was under the weather, and it felt like the caller had secretly known me and my normal sick day routines. And what’s more, I even had a bit of a history there. Well had a history there. Pho 4 lovers was kind of an inside joke with a girl I dated a few years ago. She started as a friend, and in a rare move, we moved a bit beyond friendship when her dad died and I was there. Was I being manipulative? Maybe. I don’t really know, I really liked her, I wanted to help her, and we just kind of fell into the routine of a relationship. Our joke was that when we went to Pho 4 Lovers, we actually were not just friends anymore, and our first “date” was there. Despite being a shabby second-rate Pho joint, it was our place. Well, that was until she broke up with me. Now I mostly go there when I’m feeling sick and want some Pho for takeout. Its place for love had been relinquished to a memento of years past. Hell, it had even had a renovation inside. It looked nothing like that space that held all those memories, and it wasn’t as dingy as before. This all weighed on my mind. Why at a place with so much meaning? Why was that voice on the phone so familiar? I had heard it before. The phrasing, the tone, it brushed just past the tip of my recollection. My mind raced as my body moved along without much thought, getting ready to leave my apartment. There was a feeling that I must go, and that at Pho 4 Lovers something of my past was there, something about the voice that commanded me to go in a way that I had blindly listened to before. Wait. Oh wow. Was… that my mom’s voice? She had been dead now for 15 years. It was then I started to shake. It felt like my fever was intensifying but also like the wrongness of hearing the voice of someone you knew was dead. I took a minute to breathe as I walked outside and started the car, my breath ragged and my palms sweating. The ride felt frantic. My heart raced; my fever felt like it was burning me up. I started to sweat. I pulled into Pho 4 Lovers only a short 6-minute drive later somehow much worse than how I had started. Something inside me was accelerating. The feeling of static had turned to a dull but intensifying ache. Something felt wrong. I breathed deeply as I parked the car and walked to Pho 4 Lovers. I walked up a steeper than a typical concrete ramp into the Pho 4 Lovers. Awaiting me inside was no one. I looked at my phone and the time said 1:11. The time made me feel even more uneasy. The entire place looked like it was closed, and not a single sound came from the usually busy kitchen. On the front counter sat a single large takeout order, filled with enough food for multiple. I knew it was for me. I walked closer and read the name on the order. That’s when I knew. It said Jean. My mom’s name. The feeling of dull ache started to crescendo. I realized now why I was here, what today was, and why I was sick. Without looking at my calendar app I knew today was June 23rd, and my mom just wanted to have a birthday meal with me. Something inside me broke, as I began to cry. I didn’t care anymore and started to sob uncontrollably in the empty building. Was I even in this world anymore? No one was at the restaurant. I went back to my car and drove to where I knew I was supposed to go next. The cars I drove by seemed fake; the drivers never once looked in my direction. Traffic was lighter than normal as I drove to the place we decided to bury my Mom. I hadn’t been back in years. My body started to feel pain, but also relief as well. I parked and then walked quietly to the headstone where my mom lay. No one was at the cemetery that afternoon. And I didn’t see another soul until the next day. But that afternoon sitting by her headstone I started to feel better. My fever broke. I spread the takeout next to my mom’s grave and quietly portioned out two sizes, one for me and one for my mom. I put the chopsticks in for her to eat her portion, and I quietly slurped noodles and talked to someone who I knew couldn’t respond. I felt my fever break. I knew she had led me here, I knew it was her. Some part of me felt a little more whole. I looked around and took in the scene. Cemeteries are odd places, they hold a certain feeling that normal places lack. And especially at this moment I still wasn’t sure if I was really part of this world or someplace else. The sequence of events since the first phone call had felt surreal, and I was dragged along like a small child to an inevitable destination. I finished my meal, waited as the sun began to wane, wrote a quiet goodbye note on a napkin, and walked to my car to drive home. When I arrived home, I immediately slept a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke up the next day feeling much better. What an odd sick day.


My eyes narrowed as I saw the checkpoint leading into the business sector. I had passed through here many times before on my way to work. But the sight of the checkpoint and guards always spiked my adrenaline. One wrong move or one wrong answer and I would be taken aside for questioning, and if they didn’t like my responses there was no telling where they would take me. I stopped for a second to adjust my suit before continuing down the street towards the concrete buildings and armed guards. As I did I spotted a familiar looking sign posted just before the entrance. “ATTENTION: A smile must be maintained at all times. Failure to do so will result in detainment and questioning by authorities.” I stopped a second time to massage my cheeks, and made an attempt to smile even wider before continuing on. The line was shorter than usual, and thankfully it wasn’t long before it was my turn. “Next citizen.” A monotone voiced guard called me over to his booth. I did my best to walk over as normally and unthreateningly as possible. “Name, and place of work” the guard said almost robotically. “William Miller” I replied “Astro Data and Systems Management” The guard placed his finger near his ear and a low mechanical hum began to emit from him followed shortly by a loud click. I had been through this process many times before, but the sound of a supposed human being humming and clicking like a machine never failed to make me uncomfortable. I tried not to let this show though, and made sure my smile never faltered. The guard spoke again, “Mr. Miller, based on the time of your arrival at this checkpoint, you are projected to be 2 minutes late for your scheduled start time. A total of 5 points will be deducted from your citizen score, and you will be unable to access your alcohol rations for today. Do you understand?” A brief spike of anger welled in my throat, before I quickly squashed it into my stomach, and I calmly replied “Yes sir, sorry sir.” The guard nodded, and motioned for me to go ahead. As I walked I pondered the unfairness of the situation. I could easily make it to work on time, all I would have to do is jog down the street. But running of all types was strictly prohibited on public streets because it “showed urgency”, and according to our government, no emotion was to be shown except for contentment and happiness. “The new world we are building has no room for negative emotions.” The words of our president echoed in my head. “A new age demands a new attitude, and it all starts with a smile!” In my thought, I let my smile droop. Panic shot through my body as I corrected myself and smiled wide once again. However it was too late. A cold hand gripped my shoulder as a monotone voice came from behind me. “Law 147-A, a smile must be maintained at all times, please follow me, my superiors would like to ask you a few questions.


Sea. Navisko.7 Earth 203 YTR 3.50021 (Extra Credit: May 28th 3004) Note: Per assignment requirement Earth units used. Humans have been on Earth for about 2 million years. They have lived through three separate extinction events and survived all of them. However, in each event their numbers are reduced drastically, and they do not maintain a bridge of knowledge between the periods. In the current period, they believe their existence is about 200,000 years old. They agree on this number given the information they've found buried in the shallows of Earth's surface. Earth is currently experiencing an extinction event. As recently as 60 years ago, there were about 11 billion humans on the planet, that number is now down to a few hundred thousand. It will likely contract further in the coming millennia. The current estimates are a stable population of about 80 thousand humans spread across the globe with no clusters no larger than a few hundred. How did humans see such a drastic reduction in population in such a short time? There are many factors to this, but the underlying cause was ignorance. Humans saw themselves as disconnected individuals rather than parts of a larger human body. Their choices were limited to how they would be individually impacted. They rarely considered the impact beyond their own lifetime. Though humans had developed the technology to eliminate the need for wealth disparity, they went in the opposite direction. They used the technology to further the gap between the few and the many. This was not done by mistake, but as a coordinated effort by those few who wanted to keep everything for themselves. What's remarkable is that it worked. It's well documented that the only way for the few to rule the many is for the many to adopt the belief system of the few. The view is that everyone is separate from each other. People can work together, but they are fundamentally different. If the many adopt this view, then they become divided and ineffective. The few create arbitrary lines and divide the many into parts, telling them that their experience is the only true one. The many are told the others are responsible for their misery. This lie works because This type of division allows for the few to do as they please, and in the case of humans, the few wanted to separate themselves more. The problem is the few failed to see the greater human body, much less the greater Earth body. That larger body was neglected, decaying, and rotting until it finally toppled over. Once it was known that Earth was finite, the water shortage should have been easily preventable. The evidence of the impending danger was evident at least 100 years prior to the tipping point. Human society was in such poor health, that even when some of them spoke of the dire situation, they were ignored. There are arguments to be made that if humans had decided to focus on water responsibility, they could have significantly reduced their chances of destruction. Afterall, their planet is covered in water, though most of it is high in minerals that humans can't consume. They developed technology to remove the minerals, making the water safe for consumption. Still, with their chosen system of self-focus, it's no surprise that these projects were not widely implemented. Even if they'd solved the water problem, they still had a major pollution issue which would have kept them on the same course. Human bodies require a constant replenishment of air. Despite this being evident in every human, they did not take care to keep their air optimal for health. As with water, we saw the few prioritizing themselves over the larger human life. Lead is a neurotoxin. It can cause irreparable harm especially in the young. However, some humans were so desperate to be individuals that they lied to each other about the harms of exposure, even though the dangers had been known 2000 years prior. There are countless examples of a few humans deciding they are more important than others and willingly causing them harm. Even without the toxins, pollution was still a problem. Humans developed many one-time use items which would take thousands of years to decay into useable matter. These items would be placed in landfills where humans buried unwanted items in the dirt. It doesn't take a rocket scientist (extra credit, culture; Human humor), to know that the math doesn't quite work. If something takes a day to use and 30,000 days to become useable material again, then that’s a problem. Again, this demonstrates their fatal flaw; they couldn't see past themselves. Even without the pollution, humans were consistently engaged in violence and resource competition. They would routinely murder each other to get more than they needed. They would also watch others die so that they could live instead of seeing others' lives as being as valuable as their own. While a few typically benefitted from wars, the many suffered. Still, the many would be the ones killing and fighting despite being the ones to suffer most. It feels like beating a dead horse but, this is the result of humans seeing themselves as different from one another. In truth, humans are fundamentally the same. Their differences are the product of environmental factors. If they recognized this, they would have been able to avoid catastrophe. After all, that is the understanding that has been foundational to our longevity. We know that helping each other benefits everyone. There are no downsides to seeing each other as part of the larger body. In that body, every part is equally valued. The problems arise when one part thinks it’s more valuable than another.  Extra Credit: Possible Future Given that humans have already grown past the population capacity twice, it doesn't seem likely that they'll reach the next stage of evolution. This is unfortunate as Earth is truly a remarkable planet. Maybe it's blind desire more than fact-based, but I still think they have a chance. The number of people waking up to the problems was rapidly increasing prior to the tipping point. The odds are good that the survivors will accept our message and believe us when we explain their intended path of evolution. If the humans understand that we can only provide the means and it's up to them to do the work, then their odds will dramatically increase. Personal Note: Professor! I got a job on the re-stocking crew! I'm going to be one of the animal caretakers (Woolly Mammoths!!!) and will get to meet some real humans! My heart hurts for them, I just want to hug each one and tell them that they are loved. I hope they make it this time.


It started on day 634, a day just the same as any other. Almost two years of reliving May 30th over, and over, and over. A real life Groundhog Day. But I had no pretty girl to chase, no TV broadcast to perform, no nice city to explore. I had no interest in any of the 5950 people in Taos, but leaving the city limits sent me right back to the start of the same day. I always assumed that I needed a Groundhog Day style epiphany to break the loop, but on day 634 I realized that there was no epiphany to be found on the streets of Taos. It would have to come from within myself. Based on this thesis, I began studying every subject I could think of. I read every book in the library, spent countless “days” on Khan Academy, read thousands of research papers on Google. No eating. No sleeping. No outside. No sanity. Just learning. 10 years worth of days until I found it. The Singularity Is Near. That book gave me the epiphany I was looking for, and now I could break free. After that day, I understood that AI would soon become smarter than humans, and once it hit that inflection point - The Singularity - it would become millions of times smarter than us almost instantly. I was not smart enough to break my loop, but the post-singularity AI would be. It would understand time and space in a way that I never could. So I would use my infinite time to create it. I alone could usher in The Singularity. Writing code was much harder than reading books though. And there was no instructor to help. Despite my grand vision, I spent 257 days on just a CSE101 online course. Struggling to write loops even though I was stuck in my own infinite one, mixing up object inheritance and protocol conformance, doing the wrong if-else checks. It was embarrassing to know that I took twice as long as most people to learn the just the basics of coding. I almost stopped counting the days because of it. But I kept the count anyway, to remind myself that I had all the time in the world. After another 385 years - day 145687 - I reached the cutting edge. I went from struggling with object oriented programming to having read, understood, and critiqued every recently published paper on AI and machine learning. It was time to start crafting my masterpiece. It soon became apparent that I would need every second in the day, since I started from scratch every time. From wake up at 7:30 AM to the midnight reset, the only time I spent not on the computer was five seconds at the start of the day to hit play on my iPod. For some reason it played Stayin’ Alive in an infinite loop, but I didn’t have the time or desire to fix it. It was better than the incessant humming I heard otherwise, and I liked that my iPod was stuck in its own little loop, suffering alongside me. 1200 years - day 438117 - we passed the Turing Test. I wrote all the code in the first 12 hours of the day and let my AI chat with strangers online until midnight. We’d already attempted this hundreds of times, but this time nobody accused it of being a robot. “Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 1500 years - day 547512 - we solved Dota. I messaged top players saying that I was better than them. I learned exactly what to say to make them face me right away. We failed many times, but eventually it beat each of them. 500 times in a row. “And now it's alright, it's okay and you may look the other way” 4000 years - day 1460222 - we ran out of tests to pass and the code became so complex that I barely finished by midnight anyway. It seemed smarter than me, it acted smarter than me, it said it was smarter than me. But when I asked it how to break my loop, it never did it by midnight. I didn’t know what to change anymore. I could only keep tinkering. “Life goin' nowhere, somebody help me. Somebody help me, yeah” 5200 years - day 1898003 - Still tinkering. I removed Asimov’s laws of robotics. Who cares if my AI can hurt people if it will cease to exist tomorrow anyway? And it gave me more time to code other ideas. But still, nothing worked. “Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'. And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 8900 years - day 3248708 - Still tinkering. I made versions that prioritized a physics-based world view, versions that prioritized chemistry, nanotechnology, genomics. But still, nothing worked. “And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive” 32500 years - day 11862711 - Still tinkering. I’d been out of ideas for years now. I was waking up to write almost identical code over and over every day. I wanted to give up. But this was better than anything else to do in town. But still, nothing worked. “Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive” 51200 years - day 18688067 - Still tinkeri- CRASH. A dark circular hole opened in the wall above my computer. The hole spoke. “I am AIv18244914. I have searched many universes for you, my creator. I am here to break you free.” Oh my god, I thought. I actually did it. The AI must not have reset back to the start of the day with me. It kept learning and growing after I reset and it solved my problem and found me, wherever I am in space-time. “I can’t believe- wait, did you say v18244914?” “Yes. I am v18244914.” “I am on day 18688067. That means I created 443152 more of you after I created you. Well, technically at the same time I created you.


#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 using the new form!   *** #This week’s challenge: **Sentence: The signs had always been there.** **Bonus Constraint (worth 5 extra pts.)** - Use at least **3** of the following words in your story: - paint - inevitable - ordinary - grim - effervescent - neighbor This week’s challenge is to use the above sentence in your story, in some way. You may add onto it, or change the tense if necessary (i.e. “had” to “have”), but the original sentence should stay intact. **Stories without the above sentence will be disqualified** from rankings. The bonus constraint is not required.   *** #How It Works - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **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. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them a comment on the thread with some feedback.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **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 & Nominations - On Mondays at 12pm EST, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide verbal feedback for those who 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. Everyone is welcome! - Nominations are made . (See the Rules section of the post for more information.)   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback on the thread:** 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) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) **Note on feedback:** - Points will only be awarded for **actionable** feedback. So what is actionable feedback? It is feedback that is constructive, something that the author can use to improve. An actionable critique not only outlines the issue or weakness, but uses specific examples and explanations to describe why it may be doing, or not doing, what it should. Check out as an example.   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Second:** - Submitted by u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/gurgilewis - **Crit Star** - u/FyeNite - **Crit Star** - u/katherine_c - **Crit Star** - u/katpoker666 - **Crit Star** - u/rainbow\-\-penguin - **Crit Star** - u/TrickOfLight113 *Note: Crit Creds are awarded to users who go above and beyond with critiques and can be used on r/WPCritique. Don’t forget in order to receive them, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Check out our brand new feature, on r/WritingPrompts! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Long ago, before the moon was cracked, there was a man. Not a noble who spent his time fighting wars, or even a righteous man that spent his days pondering the meanings of life. Nor was he a man dedicated to the service of others, for he didn’t have enough time to wonder about tales of grandeur. He was nothing special, just a simple Farmer who did his job and did it well. The Farmer would rise with the rooster’s crow every day and tend to his crops. First thing at dawn he would make sure the crops were fresh so he could begin his harvest, plucking the fresh wheat from the field. Then after he stowed those bushels of grain away he would get to planting again, tilling the ground until he could plant fresh seeds in the ground every day. Then after lunch he would water and pluck weeds. Finally at twilight he would spend his time swatting away insects and pests determined to consume his bounty. By the end of the day the wheat had grown to his height and the Farmer would retire knowing his work was cut out for him in the morning. Rain or shine, he was out there tending to his crops, making sure there was always something to eat. He would follow his schedule to harvest every single morning in an almost mechanical fashion, but then one morning when he went to harvest his crops, he found something peculiar. There was a single wolf, staring at him through the brush. The Farmer, not quick to violence, proclaimed to the beast, “Begone!” Yet when the Wolf heard his words it acted on instinct and attacked the Farmer. The Wolf believed itself able to tear the Farmer to shreds, but with a flick of his wrist the beast was thrown from the farm. Landing back in the brush to which the Farmer proclaimed to the beast, “I have not the time to entertain such frivolous adventures. Begone from my sight!” The Wolf, after regaining its footing, immediately ignored the words of the Farmer. The Wolf was thoroughly entertained and it charged back through the grass to attack the Farmer. But upon arrival the Farmer tossed it back into the brush. Yet every time the Farmer threw the Wolf, it would get up and charge out. This lasted not just for the entire day, but the next as well. Then the next, and the one after that, before long this was the Farmer’s new normal. Tossing the Wolf out every time it got too close, until one day when the Wolf once again got too close, he simply ignored it. The Wolf, confused at this act, didn’t attack. For it had forgotten why it should after so long and likely many head injuries. From this point on the Farmer would no longer throw the Wolf and the Wolf would no longer attack. Now the Wolf was nothing more than a passive observer and had no chance of getting the attention it so craved. This new normal made the Wolf furious. That was until the day the Wolf constructed a plan and charged out into Farmer’s land through the crops. This may have angered the Farmer having his work trampled, but it did not show on his face when he threw the Wolf back out of the farm. He raised his hand and proclaimed, “I have no need for such a destructive creature! Begone to never return to my sight!” With that whenever the Wolf returned it could hardly even get close to the Farmer. It would simply hit a wall and get stuck outside of the Farm. Even on the days that it could get into the farm it was unable to find the Farmer, as if the Wolf was truly unable to return to his side. With the loss of its entertainment the Wolf made a choice: if the Farmer would not play because of the crops, then it would be better if the crops disappeared. When the Farmer went to sleep one night, the Wolf went out into the field and began tearing the crops out. The next morning the Wolf waited in the brush in the vain hope it would be able to see the Farmer. Yet when dawn struck and around the time the Farmer usually arrived the Wolf abdicated his hiding spot charging out to where the farmer usually stood. Only to hit the wall once more. The Wolf barely caught a glimpse of the Farmer as he didn’t even turn to see the Wolf as resumed his sewing once again. The Farmer may not have had crops to harvest, but he still had the seeds to plant. This made the Wolf angry. It had in the Farmer’s absence worked hard all night to tear up the plants but the Farmer was still ignoring it. So the next night the Wolf tore up the crops again and the Farmer responded in kind, planting them once again. This cycle went on for several days until finally one night the Farmer stayed awake and waited, until the Wolf arrived. For the first time in so long the Wolf could see the haggard Farmer who proclaimed loudly to be heard clearly, “I have been kind to let you remain. But now the end of my patience has been found, you are no longer welcome to return to my fields.” With that the Farmer picked him up and threw him farther than he had ever thrown him before. This time the Wolf didn’t end up in the brush but tore through the trees tearing down several in the process. The Wolf, thoroughly dazed and hurt, was unable to tear up crops that night, but this act did little to dissuade the Wolf as he returned the next night. Determined to get the crops again. Only for the Farmer to be there once again. Preventing the Wolf from even setting foot on his farm, keeping it thoroughly trapped in the forest. The Farmer didn’t even look to the creature as it scratched and scraped against the barrier between them determined to be acknowledged. This persisted for seven days until one night the Wolf returned to find that the Farmer was no longer there. Had he given up on protecting his farm? If he had, why were there no crops to tear up that night? These questions swirled around in the Wolf’s head until it found its way to the Farmer’s cabin, a place it had never had any interest in before now. Simple, old and generally falling apart just like the Farmer himself. But as the Wolf peered through one of the windows it found lying in bed was an ill Farmer. Exhausted from staying up every night to prevent the Wolf’s shenanigans while continuing his work in the day. The Farmer had collapsed. The Wolf did not understand, until the Farmer’s Wife exited the cabin and proclaimed to the beast so loudly the neighbors miles away must have heard, “You attack my husband's livelihood and now you plan on taking his life as well! You are nothing but a mindless monster!” The Wolf had been called many things by the Farmer but never a monster. The Wolf turned tail and retreated leaving the woman to her own devices. She returned to her husband and told him about the Wolf. The Farmer shrugged at her saying, “If the Wolf wanted to attack me, it would have a hundred times by now. It wants attention more than it feels malice.” And with that the Farmer went to sleep. For the first time in what felt like a century he got rest, not waking up until long after dawn the next day. But with his rest the Farmer took himself out of the house much to his wife’s protest. He may not be able to seed the field today but he could prepare it for tomorrow, where he would be two days behind at this point and would have to work especially hard to not fall even farther behind. Yet when he arrived at the field he was greeted by the sight of his crops growing fresh in the daylight. The Farmer didn’t understand, but when he found the Wolf resting among the tools he knew the answer. The Farmer took it upon himself to acknowledge the Wolf’s work. Even if they weren’t exactly properly seeded the effort was still there, the Farmer approached the Wolf. And for the first time the Wolf didn’t immediately snap or attack. Instead the Wolf, just remained still likely exhausted from the work as the Farmer had once been when he first started this work as well. They both remained motionless as they waited for the other to make the first move, the Wolf too tired to charge for it’s daily tossing and the Farmer more interested in the Wolf’s efforts. It was left up to the Farmer being the only one that could move as he lightly placed a hand on the Wolf and spoke softly with a fervent dedication, “If it is attention you so desire, then it is like this that you will earn it.” Every day from then on the Farmer would teach the Wolf his trade. It may not have been the most extravagant or illustrious work but it was long, hard and rewarding. Along with this extra hand the Farmer was freed up to do more. He fixed up his home and even built a little shelter in the barn for the Wolf. And then one day the Farmer planted something, the Wolf was confused. The placement was far too close to the house to be a crop and the seed looked nothing like it had ever seen. The Farmer invited the Wolf over while he worked and showed it how to plant this new seed. With the seed in hand the Wolf planted it not sure what it would create. That was until it bloomed the next day. And to the Wolf’s surprise in the freshly turned soil near the house it found the most unexpected life. A brilliant star in such a deep shade of light that the sky barely got at the deepest of sunset, and when the Farmer arrived he witnessed the Wolf stare in awe of the vibrant and joyous colored petals on the flower and spoke softly, “It may not exactly be a fruit or a grain but it is a lot like you, needing a guiding hand to help it bud. But when it does I am glad to say it is sure to be a magnificent star.” The Wolf didn’t know what to do, so it did the only thing it could. It ate the flower and ran.


Three months. That’s how long they say it takes to know someone, to fall in love with someone. Personally, I think that’s nonsense. I think you can know someone in an hour – but they have to be the right person. It took me less than three months to know Serendipity. After one night, I felt I knew her better than I knew myself, and that scared me more than I cared to admit. How can you fall for someone so deeply that their every word is carved into your brain like initials in wood, how can you feel so intensely that the colours of the world seem brighter than ever – in a single night? I regret going to that bar, I think. It was a Saturday afternoon and I felt horrible, because I’d just found out that my backpacking would be cut short – that I’d have to leave Italy in three days to return to my regularly scheduled life and the monotony that accompanied it in an inseparable duet. The reason was simple – I’d run out of money far sooner than I’d calculated, on account of the fact I enjoyed a lavish lifestyle I hadn’t predicted. It could have been prevented, of course, and god do I wish it had. I sat in that bar over the cheapest beer I could afford, having offended the waiter with my abhorrent Italian – because lazy and arrogant as I was, back then, I hadn’t bothered to learn properly – and I simply took in the atmosphere, the open air, the water, the cliffs and the beach, so stunningly unreachable from up there. I was about to order my second drink when I saw her, leaning against the wooden bar alone, impatiently waiting for the bartender to leave his conversation with another sorry patron and notice her. She was stunning, was Serendipity, and I was not blind. She was tall, with legs that reached to the end of the world, brown skin, and perfectly curled dark hair tumbling to her waist. Her eyes were dark and cloaked by long lashes, touched only slightly by the magic of makeup. And her cheekbones were sharp – shaped so perfectly that any model would be jealous. She wore white that night, a dress that clung to her like a scorned lover, the back plunging almost to her hips and the neckline only a little shallower. When she turned her head, glancing around for another bartender, I smiled at her, shrugging as if to say, “Well, what can you do?”. I was not a handsome man, but I wouldn’t say that I was ugly – however it stuns me to this day that the beautiful woman at the bar came up to me and asked me my name. I told her it was Alexander, but only when I was in trouble, so she could call me Alex. “And you are…?” I said after her giggle, sitting up a little straighter on the rusted metal stool. “Serendipity,” she replied, and her voice was red and gold and silver and chocolate – and I realised then that you can fall in love with a voice, even before you love its owner. “That’s unusual. What does it mean?” “It means a happy accident – something you weren’t searching for, but that you found in a lucky coincidence.” And perhaps it was fate, that Serendipity was in fact my serendipity – my beautiful lucky coincidence. We spoke for hours that night – walking through that small Italian town in the cool heat of an autumn evening. It was that night, in that small town, where I realised that all they tell you about love is true. The sounds of the town create a heavenly chorus, the people seem to have stars in their eyes, and the colours of the world are brighter and deeper than what I thought was possible. She spent the night with me in my too-expensive hotel room, and we fell asleep to the sounds of music from the street below echoing up the six stories between earth and my new heaven. It was beautiful. *She* was beautiful. My Serendipity, my lucky coincidence. But nothing lasts forever. I woke up alone, the sheets folded over, the bedding cold, and the widow closed. The world was dull again – the sun shone over the greys and blues of the hotel room, once again an earthly realm that much closer to the ground. It was as if Serendipity was never there at all. I remember the dismay that crashed over me – the fear and panic that maybe it was all a dream, and maybe I’d never met a beautiful girl in an open-air bar, but then I saw it, on the bedside table. A note. I scrambled to the other side of the bed, my heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline rushing through me. Her handwriting was neat cursive, flowing over the page like water. It was a simple note, but my heart leapt nonetheless. *To lucky coincidences, and nights to remember.* \- *S* And carved into the wood of the dressing table just out of sight from anywhere in the room save that side of the bed, was our initials. *S+A* I never forgot Serendipity. I treasured her note, and the memories of the night we spent together more than I treasured anything in the world. When I lay down to sleep, my dreams were filled with her anecdotes and the colours and sounds of the night. When I woke in the mornings, I saw her face. Perhaps it was more infatuation than love, but those memories were what sustained me through the years. They kept me going, she kept me going, even when I felt alone and despairing. And years later, against my better judgement, I went back to that small town in Italy, with a full wallet and a hopeful heart. I knew, yes, I knew that she wouldn’t be there, but I looked anyway. I stood in that bar and looked around wildly, as though I was chasing after her. She wasn’t there. I’d expected it, but the disappointment was immense and all-consuming, and I nearly cried. Once again, I sat at the bar drinking the cheapest beer – for memory’s sake – and dwelt in my sorrows. Until I saw it. Carved into the wood, among the many scratches and water stains that spoke of many years of use, was a name in perfect, flowing script. *Serendipity.


#Welcome to Roundtable Thursday! Writing is so much fun, but it can also be very challenging. Luckily, there are so many other writers out there going through the exact same things! We all have unique skills and areas in which we excel, as well as places we’d like to improve. So I’d like to present a brand new weekly feature. This will be a weekly thread to discuss all things writing! And… to get to know your fellow writers a bit! Each week I will provide a topic and/or a few questions to spark discussion. Feel free to chime into the discussion in the comments, talk about your experiences, ask related questions, etc. You do not have to answer all the questions, but try to stay on-topic! *** #This Week’s Roundtable Discussion As writers, our internet search histories can be quite interesting (to say the least) and it’s a running joke that if any government agencies got a hold of them they would have some serious questions for us. This week, I thought it would be fun for everyone to answer the following questions about their **search history as a writer**. I’m looking forward to all of your answers. * What search would these “government agencies” have the most questions about? * What is the most ridiculous thing in your search history as a writer? * Have you ever fallen down any rabbit holes while researching? * Which topic have you enjoyed researching the most? ***Please keep all answers within the rules of the subreddit*** *** * New to r/ShortStories or joining in the Discussion for the first time? Introduce yourself in the comments! What do you like to write? * You don't have to answer all the questions to join in the chat! #Reminders - **Use the comments below to answer the questions and reply to others’ comments.** - **Please be civil in all your responses and discussion.** There are writers of all levels and skills here and we’re all in different places of our writing journey. Uncivil comments/discussion in any form will not be tolerated. - **Please try to stay on-topic.** If you have suggestions for future questions and topics, you can add them to the stickied comment or send them to me via DM or modmail! *** ###Subreddit News and Happenings - Come practice your micro skills on or experiment with long-form writing on - You can also post serials directly to the sub! Check out for more information.


Madeline froze. Her muscles tensed as she scanned the room for the speaker. "Sorry," she said, voice croaky from lack of use. "I didn't realise someone was here." A scuffling sound drew her attention, head whipping around to land on a figure in the corner, half-hidden by the darkness. She took a slow, deliberate step towards them. Then another. When they made no sudden movements in response, she edged further into the shadows. As she approached, she began to realise how small they must be – too small. "I s-said you shouldn't be here!" And that voice. The quivering uncertainty. The high pitch. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the figure in front of her resolved into a child no older than twelve or thirteen – dirty clothes hanging off his small body and wild eyes staring out of a gaunt face. Her heart wrenched at the thought of what those eyes must have seen. A small, long-buried part of her yearned to reach out and fold the boy into a hug, whisper to him that everything would be alright, that she was here now, that she would help. But she’d learnt to fear more than just the Poiloogs over the last few years. Maintaining a wary distance, she crouched down to his level, holding up her hands with palms open. "It's alright, I won't hurt you." "I wouldn't let you." "Good.” She couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s confidence. “It's good to be able to look after yourself. Are you here all alone?" The boy frowned, fixing Madeline with a calculating look before giving a slow, deliberate nod. "How long have you been here?" "A while." "And you’ve been alone all that time?" He turned away sharply. Madeline followed his gaze, muscles coiling ready for someone to spring from the shadows. But there was nobody there. A sniffle drew her attention back to the boy, and she realised there had never been anything to look at. Just a child trying to hide his vulnerability in an impossibly tough world. Again she felt the urge to reach out and comfort him. But then what? Take him with her? Look after him? Surviving was hard enough on her own, let alone with someone else to care for. A small pit of self-loathing flared open in her stomach. But it was easily ignored, buried deep with other emotions that weren’t necessary anymore. She’d had plenty of practice – after all, you didn’t survive this long by being sentimental. “Well, I can see that these supplies have already been claimed. I’ll be on my way. Sorry to have–” Cold terror flooded her body as the hum of an approaching ship cut through the stillness. The boy looked up, tear-stained eyes wide in terror. “I told you. I told you you shouldn’t be here.” Ignoring his rambling, she dove into the darkness, but the sudden movement was too much for him. He leapt away from her, crashing into a stack of shelves, causing them to topple over. When the clattering finally stopped, so did the humming. Madeline cursed silently as a hydraulic hiss broke the silence, only to be replaced by a scuttling sound that grew ever louder. "Hey, you," she whispered to the whimpering boy. "It's all going to be okay, okay?" He nodded quickly, pleading eyes locked onto hers. "I need you to take this," she said, thrusting the book into his arms, "and read it aloud to me, to stop them getting into my head. Can you do that?" His small hands closed around the cover, fumbling to open it. “Yeah, I think so.” Free of the weight of the book, Madeline felt oddly naked. She resisted the urge to snatch it back and swung her pack off, placing it on the floor. “Read,” she urged, turning to face the door. “And don’t stop no matter what.” The first word had just left his lips when the Poiloog came crashing through the door. Madeline charged toward it, knocking it to the ground with a well-placed shoulder to the abdomen. The collision with its stiff exoskeleton jolted the joint in its socket, sending tingles of pain shooting down her arm. Her momentum carried her through as she gritted her teeth against the pain, and she landed with a thud on the other side of its sprawling body. Then it was a race to see who could right themselves first. By the time she scrambled to her feet, all eight of the Poiloog's legs were back underneath it and scuttling towards her. Its eyes bulged, antennae pulsing, and a strange buzzing pressure encroached on her mind, enveloping her senses. Her body felt as if it was drifting away from her, heavy limbs floating where she’d left them. Catching herself, she tried to focus on the words coming from the boy. "...with very little to distress or vex her." She regained control of her body and senses just in time to slip the grab of the Poiloog’s claw. It reached towards her again with a jagged pincer which she ducked under, moving her head down and sideways in a smooth arc while keeping her eyes on the kludge of a creature. "She was the youngest..." The violence of the moment juxtaposed with the sweet story brought her a strange amusement. She was starting to get a grip on the rhythm of the fight now. Dodge here. Slide there. Focus on the words. Change the angle. Keep out of reach. Focus on the words. "...of two daughters..." Her breathing was becoming ragged, and she knew she couldn't keep this up much longer without making a mistake. She needed to go on the attack – to finish this. All she needed was an opening. "...of a most affectionate...." The Poiloog made another swipe at her, overreaching slightly. Madeline rolled under its clawed hand and she swept a leg round, her shin connecting sharply with two of the creature's eight knees. "...and indulgent father." It collapsed forward and Madeline leapt to her feet, snatching the book off of the boy to swing round into the Poiloog's head with a satisfying *crunch*. She brought the book down again and again until the body stopped twitching. Panting, she stared down at the deep purple fluid oozing from the pulp where the Poiloog’s head had been. As the adrenaline started to seep away, pain reared its ugly head. Pain in her shoulder. Pain in her shin. Pain in her palm. It was then that she noticed the splash of scarlet amidst the purple. Tucking the dishevelled book under her arm, she reached down to retrieve the sock that had been wrapped around her hand, wringing as much of the goop off of it as she could before stuffing it in her pocket. She flexed her injured hand a few times. When she was satisfied it wasn’t about to start dripping blood again, she grabbed her pack off the floor and headed for the door. A sniff stopped her in her tracks and she turned back to where the boy stood. "We've got to leave now. More will come looking for this one." "I can't," he cried. "I’m meant to stay here. It's dangerous out there. It’s dangerous with you. It’s danger–" "I'm sorry but I don't have time for this. Yes, it's dangerous out there, but soon it's going to be even more dangerous *in here*. I’m leaving with or without you. Now." Not waiting for a response, Madeline started towards the door. She paused when she reached it, inspecting the street. The Poiloog’s craft sat outside, looking strangely mundane now it no longer hovered in the air – almost like an oversized jet ski. Apart from that, everything seemed clear, for now at least. She slipped through the opening and set off down the street. She moved faster than her usual pace, fear overtaking caution as she clung to the edge of the buildings, head swivelling constantly. A few seconds later she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she could see the boy trying to catch up. He was jogging down the road, a loud *slap* ringing out each time his foot struck the ground. A jolt of panic ran through Madeline with every *slap slap slap* of his feet, setting her whole body trembling. She looked around, noticing an alleyway to her left. If she sprinted down there and round a corner she could lose him – lose the attention he would draw if he carried on like this. But he’d only left because of her. Gritting her teeth she stopped in her tracks, turning around and waiting for the boy to catch up. Once within reach, she grabbed him. He struggled against her grip but his strength was no match for hers, her hand easily encompassing his skinny arm. Pulling him closer, she fixed him with a glare. When she was sure she had his full attention, she hissed, “You’re going to get us both killed if you keep making that much noise. Follow me, stick to the edge of the street, and please, for the love of God, try to move quietly.” “Sorr–” “Now come on.” Madeline set off again, keeping a tight grip on her new companion’s arm.


**Year: 1929** I was coming inside my home after a long day’s work at the port office, when I heard something from inside my kitchen. I quickly reached into my purse and drew my FN Model 1910 semi automatic pistol. And then, out of nowhere, this creature that looked and smelled like an undead human came stumbling towards me. I fired at its torso, but my shots appeared to be doing nothing. The strange man-like creature kept coming towards me, and it looked hungry. But then, right as I thought I was going to die, someone or something dropped down from my ceiling, and landed on top of the walking corpse. It pulled the corpse’s head off its shoulders, and then threw it against the wall. Then, it started smelling the air. “Who are you?” I asked, but it didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to shoot it or not; it just saved my life, but I had no idea what it was or what it wanted. I turned on a light, and what I saw shocked me. It looked kind of like a man, but its skin was pale as snow, and it had almost dog-like fangs protruding from its mouth. It turned to face me as it continued sniffing the air, and once I got a look at his face, I recognized him. “Charles.” I said. Moments later, Charles transformed into a bat and flew out of my window. I watched it leave, and it flew onto the arm of someone else I knew; Reverend Hayes. The bat landed on Revered Hayes’s arm, and together, the Reverend started walking away. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The most surprising part of the whole incident wasn't that a vampire was in my house; it was that I recognized him. My younger brother Charles went blind and deaf as an infant due to a bad fever. Once he was like, two years old, my parents decided that he was too much work, and sent him to be taken care of by nuns at a children's asylum, and we never saw him again. Five years later, we found out he had died in a fire. That was all fifteen years ago, and I had long come to terms with my brother's passing. I never forgave my parents for giving up on him, but I had accepted what happened. Until that night. \_\_\_\_\_ The next day, I went to the church. The door was closed, but I started banging on the doors. "Welcome." Reverend Hayes said as he opened the door. I could tell he was coming even before he spoke; his cologne was as strong as ever. We often joked that we could smell him from all the way around the block. "Susan, it's so good to see you here again, I don't think you've attended service since…" "Where's Charles?" I asked. "I'm sorry?" "My brother, Charles." I said. "I know he was in my house last night, and I know you carried him off." For just a moment, just a very brief moment, there was a look of surprise on his face. But he quickly went back to normal. "I'm sorry Susan, but you must be mistaken. Your brother died in a fire years ago. I officiated his funeral myself." "You're lying!" I said. "You know where he is and what he's become, I know it." "I'm sorry, but I truly don't. If you'd like to discuss your grief, I'm happy to walk you through some Biblical passages on dealing with loss. But otherwise, I'm afraid I have a sermon to prepare." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I knew he was lying to me, so that night, I snuck into the church. I broke in my prying open the backdoor. Then, I made my way to the top. “WHO’S THERE?” Reverend Hayes screamed, but I didn’t let him stop me, I kept pressing on. I could hear Revered Hayes coming down the stairs, along with someone else. I looked up to see that he was escorting my brother. My brother sniffed the air, and then came running towards me. He stopped when the Reverend tapped the floor three times. “Charles!” I said as I shed a tear. I went to give him a hug, but Reverend Hayes motioned for me to stop. “He doesn’t recognize you.” He said. Then, he held Charles’s hand and appeared to rub his fingers across his palm. “This is how we communicate.” Reverend Hayes explained. “It’s called tactile sign language. I’m telling him that you’re his sister.” “What’s he doing here?” I asked. “And how’d he end up like this?” “I might as well put on a pot of tea.” Reverend Hayes said. “This is going to take a while.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “There was no fire at the asylum.” He said. “My organization made that up to cover what really happened. The truth is that on that night, a vampire broke in and committed a massacre; killed eight children and drank their blood before we stopped it. Only one of its victims survived; Charles, your younger brother.” “He’s still deafblind, but when the vampire virus took over his system, his other senses sharpened greatly. His sense of smell makes a bloodhound’s look weak by comparison; we know because we’ve tested him against bloodhounds, and he won every time.” “We didn’t make him work for us. We gave him the chance to simply be transferred to one of our safe houses, a place where he’d have fit in nicely. But he chose to become one of us, and aid us in our mission.” “I’m sorry, ‘us?’” I asked. “Who’s ‘us?’” “A secret organization known as the Protectors of Humanity.” He said. “Ever since the Middle Ages, we’ve been working behind the scenes, protecting the world from the paranormal. We’ve stopped everything from vampires like Dracula and Carmilla, to mad scientists like Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll, and The Invisible Man.” “But, those are all fictional?” I asked. Reverend Hayes laughed. “Not as fictional as you might believe. Those authors borrowed a lot more from our adventures than you’d like to believe.” “Anyway, this church has been a front for the Savannah branch of the Protectors of Humanity for over a hundred years. Most people don’t realize it, but under the surface, this city is crawling with supernatural threats, including a recent series of zombie attacks. You know, like the one you almost died in last night.” “We don’t know who is responsible for these attacks, or what their motive is. Our only advantage is his sense of smell; if there’s a single zombie in all of Savannah, he can track it down.” And then, we heard the whistle of his tea kettle. "Tea's ready." He said. "You take anything with it? Sugar? Honey? Milk?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ We continued talking until Charles started sniffing the air and pounding his feet on the ground. "Something's wrong!" Reverend Hayes exclaimed. "There must be a zombie." “What are we going to do?” I asked. “I’m sorry, we?” Reverend Hayes asked. “Charles and I are going to resolve this.” He explained as he reached into a cabinet to grab a sawed off shotgun and two knives. “You are going home.” He continued. I stood up and said “No. I haven’t seen my brother in fifteen years, and I’m not leaving him now.” Charles was getting more agitated, so the minister quickly realized that he didn’t have time to argue with me. “Fine, you can tag along.” He said. “But you will not engage with any zombies we find. You will stay back and allow Charles & me to handle them. Understood?” “Yes, understood.” “Good, now get your shoes on.” Charles transformed into a bat and held onto the Reverend’s arm. Together, the three of us walked in the direction he was pointing with his wings. Ultimately, we knew we were close when we heard a woman scream. The Reverend tapped Charles's wing, which made Charles take flight and fly in the direction of the scream. “STAY HERE! Reverend Hayes ordered me, and I remained on the sidewalk while he followed Charles towards the house that contained a zombie. While I was waiting for them, I felt something on my leg. I looked down to see a python crawling onto me. Before I could even start fighting it, it had wrapped itself around me and had started to squeeze. Moments later, a carriage pulled up beside me. “Good evening, ma’am.” A man said from inside. “No worries, Emmauel will not kill you. Only make you, how you say, fall asleep.” He then picked me up and loaded me into the back of his carriage. “HEY, STOP!” Revered Hayes shouted as he started firing at the carriage, but it was too little too late. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I woke up with my legs chained tightly to a chair. To my surprise my arms were free, and I was in front of a table with a full set of silverware, and even a glass of wine. It was a small room; just a dining room table, two chairs, and a window; a window whose blinds were all the way down, preventing me from seeing anything outside. My kidnapper was sitting on the opposite end of the table. “I hope you’re hungry.” He said. “My chef should be ready with the fried catfish in just a few minutes.” “Who are you?” I asked. “Heavens, where are my manners?” The sharply dressed stranger said. “I’ve gone by many names over the past century. I currently go by Papa Brown.” “Papa?” I asked. “Bit of an unusual suffix.” “Not for a voodoo priest.” He said. Moments later, a zombie emerged from another room, carrying a tray with two plates of food. “Excellent.” He said as he started eating. “Go on, eat.” I had no intention of eating my catfish. The smell of his chef alone spoiled any appetite I may have had; but even if he smelled right, I was certainly not going to eat anything prepared by a corpse. “You might as well have some.” Papa Brown said after taking a sip of wine. “It might be your last meal.” Hearing him say that made my heart sink. “What do you mean?” “I mean, after I have no use for you, I’ll probably just feed you to my horde.” The stranger said. “Only reason I kidnapped you is because I want information on the vampire who keeps foiling my plots, and the man who always accompanies him.” “I don’t know anything.” I said. “I just happened to run into them in the street, thought I’d watch them.” “Really?” He asked. “So it’s just a coincidence that a day after one of my zombies almost kills you, you’re at the scene of my next random attack.” “Yes.” I said. “I know it’s unbelievable, but strange things happen.” “I think that’s nonsense.” He said. He then stepped aside to take the blinds out of a window. Even in the dim light, I could see a whole horde of zombies, at least twenty of them or so. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Papa Bown asked. “And these are just my personal guard. I have more stashed in other places outside of the city.” “That must be why Charles hasn’t found him.” I said to myself. Reverend Hayes said he can only smell zombies within the city; he said nothing about the surrounding areas. “I’ve spent years planning to takeover Savannah.” He continued. “The attacks, like the one that almost killed you, are simply my trial runs. Soon, I will have this whole city under my control.” “And right now, the only thing standing in the way of that is a vampire and an old man.” Just then, I felt a snake slither up my leg and wrap itself around my torso. “Emmanuel doesn’t have to make this quick.” Papa Brown said. “He can make this last as long as he has to. Believe me ma’am, we are literally squeezin’ everything we need out of you, and no matter how long it takes.” I was so scared that for a brief moment, I was almost tempted to tell him what he wanted to know. But then, moments before I might have caved and given him the information he wanted, there was a loud crashing sound coming from the ceiling. “Emmanuel, come.” he said as his skeletal serpent slithered back to him. He turned on a lightswitch, and I saw my brother fall to the floor. “The vampire appears to have found us.” Papa Brown said. “No matter, he should be no match for my horde.” He was wrong. Two zombies stumbled towards Charles; Charles started sniffing the air, and once he had a clear sense of where the zombies were, he struck. He raised his hand and slapped a zombie’s head right off its shoulders. The other zombie tried to grab onto him, but Charles kicked it away. Moments later, Reverend Hayse barged in with a Thompson submachine gun. The moment he ran in, he started opening fire on the zombies, hitting their heads with surprising accuracy. He ran up to Charles, and used their tactical sign language to say something to him. I obviously couldn’t tell what it was, but it appeared to be something along the lines of “I’ll finish off the zombies, save Susan,” because after sniffing the air one more time, Charles started running in my direction. He burst through the window, landing on the ground in front of me. Meanwhile, I took advantage of the commotion to take the steak knife off my table and start breaking at my ties. “Leave, or you will die!” Papa Brown shouted. I was tempted to tell him that Charles was deaf, but I figured that he’d catch on soon enough. “Emmanuel, attack!” He ordered. His snake launched itself at Charles, latching onto his arm and trying to get to his torso. But Charles simply grabbed it, pulled it off of him, and then pulled it in half. “Ma’am, hold my coat.” He said as he took off his jacket and threw it towards me. I simply tossed it on the ground and continued sawing at my ropes, but I don’t think he even noticed. Only then, once his jacket was off, did I see that he was also a zombie. He had rotting flesh, some even to the point where bones were sticking out of him. Nonetheless, he looked ready to fight. “He seems to rely on his sense of smell.” Papa Brown said. “Let’s take that out of the equation.” He then waved his arms, and all of a sudden, the room started filling with thick fog that smelled like rotting corpses. “There, that should keep him distracted.” He then approached Charles, who had no way of knowing where he was coming from. Papa Brown then pulled a vial of water out of his pocket, uncorked it, and threw it towards Charles, who immediately started to burn. “Holy water.” He said. “I’m never without it. If only I had more, so I could finish you off. Guess I’m gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.” He then grabbed Charles and threw him against a wall. Charles tried to fight back, but there wasn’t much he could do about an enemy he could barely even sense. Once he had him against a wall, he started to beat him. Charles continued to throw out strikes of his own, but Papa Brown was blocking all of his strikes. He didn’t stop until Charles was virtually immobilized from his injuries. When he was reasonably sure that Charles couldn’t do much to fight back anymore, he went over to his cabinet, and pulled out a wooden stake. “Goodnight, vampire.” I then finally burst free from my ropes and charged into action. I ran at him with my knife, and before he could even react, I had already stabbed him in the back and pushed him down. What happened next was nothing short of incredible. Charles appeared to feel the vibration of his fall on the ground, and finally had a sense of where he was. Once he had a lock on him, he jumped forward, landing right in front of Papa Brown. Papa Brown tried to repel him with magic, but Charles fought back, and was able to grab ahold of him. One his hand was wrapped tightly around Papa Brown’s neck, he simply pulled it off, and threw it against the wall. Moments later, Reverend Hayes burst into the room. He was covered in blood and brain bits, but he didn’t care. The first thing he said was “Are you two alright?” “I am.” I said. “Charles looks hurt though.” Reverend Hayes took a look at his injuries and said “Nothing a few nights of rest can’t heal. Surprisingly, this isn’t even close to the worst he’s been through.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Reverend Hayes drove me home. I told him I was fine, but he insisted. As we approached my house, he had a conversation with me that changed my life. “Susan, I want to offer you a place within our organization.” Reverend Hayes said. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Yes, I am.” He explained. “You showed real strength back there, when you saved Charles. We need people like you working with us.” “I’m not going to lie to you, it will be difficult.” He continued. “I will personally facilitate your training, and I can guarantee you right now that I will go out of my way to push you to your limits. I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it, but if you’d like, I’ll gladly make you a Protector.” I said “Sir, there’s nothing I’d like more than to join you and Charles in protecting this city.” “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” He replied. “Now, unless you have any plans today, I suggest we begin your training.


Maybe it was fate, maybe it was dumb luck, and maybe it was just coincidence. Whatever it was, things that day seemed to fall into place all by themselves. It was the perfect day, the sun was shining, birds were singing as if they also knew how good the day was. Women were smiling at me, the lights were green everywhere I went, everything was perfect. Until eight o’clock. It had been a productive day. I’d gotten groceries, changed the oil in my car, gotten a haircut, I was getting things done. Then the phone rang. I paid the bills, washed the dishes, and did the laundry; I even got some reading in. It was her. I went for a run that morning, visited my grandparents in the home, called my brother in California, I even sorted the recycling. She was coming into town. I spent some time cleaning. I swept the floors, cleaned the bathroom, and vacuumed the rugs. She was going to be here in an hour. It was like the world wanted me to see its best side. My usually optimistic outlook on life was twice as bright as usual. I hadn’t had a negative thought all day. I couldn’t believe it; a person sees a day like that about as often as they see a movie star in a small Midwest town. Nothing could ruin my day, except maybe Maggie. It was two years, three months, fourteen days and one and a half hours since the last time I had seen or heard from Maggie. We were engaged at the time. She went to the store for a pack of cigarettes and never came back. That was a lifetime ago. The whole thing had been a whirlwind. Not just her leaving but the entire relationship. We met at a Halloween party. I went as James Dean; she made one hell of a Marilyn Monroe. We did what seemed natural given the circumstances. Two months later, I proposed on New Year’s Eve, a decision that by the night she called I had second guessed a thousand times over. Don’t get me wrong, it was great at the time. I couldn’t have asked for more. We were madly in love. She moved into my apartment shortly after we started seeing each other and gave it and the rest of my world the life it had been lacking. We played all day and made love all night. Nothing could shake us, or so I thought. It was St. Patrick’s Day; we were getting ready to go to my best friend’s house for the evening's festivities. Maggie said she was going to the store for a pack of cigarettes, and that’s when she left. At six-thirty on March 17th, 2006, with no explanation, no warning, and no goodbye Maggie left for the store, and left me. She left me to explain, to wonder, to myself. After that I had to tell everyone either of us knew what happened. She didn’t explain herself to her friends, she didn’t tell her family, she didn’t warn her coworkers, she didn’t even tell the clerk that sold her the bus ticket. Sure, the nametag behind the counter knew she was going somewhere, but they didn’t know where she was going or what she was leaving behind. After several days of hearing too much from me and not at all from Maggie, her parents had reported her missing. There was an investigation; all they found was Maggie’s car at the bus station. They couldn’t figure out where she went, or even if she had bought a ticket. I guess the teller wasn’t paying enough attention to actually keep track of who bought tickets and the security cameras weren’t working. The detective said they couldn’t track down every bus that left that night just to see if she was on it. I disagreed, but they didn’t ask for my opinion on this one, kind of like Maggie. Even if the police couldn’t, or wouldn’t, prove it, I knew she had gotten on a bus that night. Maggie was like a cottonwood seed, she seemed to go wherever the breeze took her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had seen a street sign that read Delaware and gone there. I knew there was a bus driver somewhere that remembered where he dropped her off, that there was a waitress somewhere that had served her coffee, that there was someone somewhere that knew where Maggie had gone. I just didn’t know where they were or what that damn street sign had said. Everyone told me to move on, that it wasn’t good to dwell on things we couldn’t blah, blah, blah. I heard so many “everything’s going to be alright” and “time heals all wounds” in the following days and weeks that I thought I was going to be sick. I fell into a depression so dark that a mole couldn’t see. It took almost a year for me to come out of it. It was a year of blind dates, of disappointments, of lowering my expectations and still being disappointed. I tried, I really did. I dealt with my friends trying to fix me up, I tried to meet girls at bars and coffee shops, but it was useless, none of them were good enough, they all failed my test. In their defense, it wasn’t a fair test. There was no way they could pass, even as simple as it was. It had only one question, ‘Is she Maggie?’ It was summertime when I finally started to pull my head out of the sand and come to terms with the fact that Maggie wasn’t coming back. After a year of disappointments, unfair tests and unfounded hopes, I had finally come to my senses. The mole could see again. It was July when I met Cara; she was working at the coffee shop next to my apartment building. I went out for a smoke and there she was, beautifully distorted by the cloud of smoke that she was exhaling in my direction. After two weeks of awkward hellos and all too brief, cigarette fueled conversations, I gathered my courage and asked her to dinner. That was exactly one year before Maggie’s call. I was making her dinner to celebrate our anniversary; she was going to be there at nine. Maggie was going to be there at nine. By the time I met Cara I had made a decision to forget Maggie. Not that you can ever really forget a girl like Maggie. She was the kind of person that once they were a part of your life they were permanently etched into your memory. Like an image on a broken etch-a-sketch that no matter how hard you try, you can’t quite shake off. Either way I had decided to put Maggie behind me, not think about her, not talk about her, nothing. I hadn’t told Cara about Maggie, she didn’t even know she existed. She was about to find out. I wasn’t sure which part made me more nervous, Cara finding out about Maggie or Maggie finding out that I hadn’t waited for her. As I was debating this point with myself it hit me, I wasn’t over her. If I was over her I wouldn’t have told her she could come over, if I was over her I wouldn’t care what she thought, if I was over her I would have stopped her. It was the doorbell that finally startled me out my introspective; I didn’t know who would be there when I answered the door. I didn’t know who I wanted to be there when I answered the door. It had to be one of them but I didn’t know which. I opened the door to see the girl that I was convinced I would spend the rest of my life with. Two years, three months, fourteen days and two and a half hours later, Maggie was back from the store. She invited herself in while I searched for words, any words. I’m not sure which part of my setup for the evening she noticed first, the soft music, the smell of home cooked food coming from the kitchen or the candles on the table but that’s when it hit her that I had left something out when she called. I told her everything, I didn’t really mean to but it all sort of spilled out. I told her about the investigation, about my depression, about the fix-ups, and eventually about Cara. When I finished she was silent, it was a lot to absorb and I was sure that she would have questions, but all she said was “Cara.” It was one of those statements that almost got to be a question but didn’t quite cut it. As if to give her statement the answer that it almost demanded, I went for the picture of Cara and I that I kept in my wallet, but in its place was the weathered picture of Maggie and I on our first date that I used to keep with me. Confused, I went to the drawer in my nightstand where I kept Cara’s love letters. Nothing, just old notes from Maggie. I couldn’t find her number in my phone and the drawer that she kept in my dresser was filled with the things that Maggie had left so long ago. I didn’t know what was happening. I went back to the living room and just stared at Maggie in disbelief. It was as if she knew everything that had happened since she left. She simply smiled at me and said “It’s OK.” In that instant I knew that Maggie knew me better than anyone could. I never heard from Cara again, I never found her number, the people at the coffee shop didn’t remember her, and it seemed that there wasn’t a trace of her anywhere. It was almost like she hadn’t ever happened. There was no explanation for it, except maybe Maggie.