Alone, Hannah journeyed space, travelling from world to world, gathering history to sell to those who shared her fascination with things as they were before. Some days were busy, either with customers or with finding items, learning their history to be passed on to those who purchased each item. They wouldn’t leave without everything she could give them. Others were quiet, often the ones where she was in space, making the journey from one place to the next. Then there were the more unusual days, when someone came in searching for something special. Special, however, was different for everyone. Hannah docked at one of the colonies she’d travelled to often. One of her regular customers there was always on the hunt for more. His interest wasn’t exactly the same as hers, but it was enough for her to choose to sell to him. Like always he stepped in the moment Hannah opened her shop, slowly making his way through the ship, looking at everything she’d bought. She waited. Patience was one of the most important things, giving them the time to search. They might find what they were looking for. He, however, kept moving, searching through everything she’d brought back, until he reached the counter. Their eyes met. Hannah knew a little about him, from snippets he’d shared of his family, and she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. How’s your family?” Smiling back, he nodded. “Good, thanks, and it’s nice to see you again.” He gestured. “Do you have anything to share with me?” “Always.” Hannah studied him. “Were you looking for anything specific today, or just once more on the hunt for the unusual?” “You know me well. The unusual.” He glanced back at the shelves. “From the looks of things you had a lot of luck.” “I did.” Running her tongue over her bottom lip, Hannah stepped away from the counter, to where she kept those things she held back, for those who were specifically looking for them. “Remember things aren’t always how they appear to be.” Fortunately it was a lesson he’d learnt before, during his times in the shop. Some of the others would get angry, believing Hannah was the reason for whatever happened, and when that happened she’d make certain they couldn’t enter again. It wasn’t something she would accept in her space. When a purchase was made she was always open. Honesty was the safest policy. Yet there were those who didn’t accept the truth. They didn’t understand what they bought might not fulfil their dreams. When the item they’d bought ‘failed’ them they’d return, wanting a refund, telling Hannah she owed it to them, when she didn’t. They knew if they tried to claim back their money through legal channels they’d be told they’d made the decision, and it wasn’t as though she made promises. Buyer beware, especially when it came to items from the old world, as it was so easy for lies to be told, before becoming the ‘truth’. On one of the shelves was a box. Hannah took it, walking back to him, placing it on the counter. He looked at the box for a moment, then at her. “What’s inside?” “According to the person I bought it from it’s an indestructible ball, found in the ruins of a lost empire.” Hannah opened the box, showing the ball to him. It was bright orange, and, from the beginning, it had been hard to believe it was truly indestructible. “From what I could tell they were passing on a story they’d been told, so I delved more deeply. “The lost empire was old. From what had been learnt, the archaeologists delving deeply into who they were, they had some very unusual technologies. Although it may not seem like it this may be connected with one of them. However there’s an equal chance it existed as a prank item. “Other balls similar to this one were found. Some were in places they believed would have been hidden away to be found by someone within their family, but it’s not something they chose to test. For them these items were important to keep hold of. There was one accident, where the ball was poked, and it cause it to break.” “What was within it?” “Unfortunately for me they didn’t say.” Hannah shrugged. “I can’t even be certain this was originally created by that empire. This may be a recreation by those who came later.” Nodding, he studied the ball, knowing better than to touch it. He could pay for it, and then touch it, but he knew better than to think he was going to get his money back, as Hannah told him everything she knew about it. Finally, nodding, he reached into his pocket, taking out his card, because the other thing she’d learnt about him was that he had money to be able to buy whatever he wanted, even if it ended up being nothing. Passing it over to her, not asking how much it was, his eyes stayed on it as Hannah took his payment. Then, when it was through, she placed the card close to him, so he could take it should he wanted to. It seemed right then as though he didn’t. Carefully, he took the ball out of the box, rolling it in his hands. Hannah watched. She leaned back against the wall slightly, seeing what he planned on doing with it. Was he going to see if it truly was indestructible? Bouncing it on the counter, something she hadn’t tested herself, he then ran his fingers over it, poking it slightly. Maybe he thought it was one of the prank balls, hoping he might understand it. Finally, it happened. He found the right spot, and the ball didn’t burst, but instead seemed to completely disappear, leaving them with nothing more than a smell and a sound. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at Hannah. “Was that what I think it was?” “Yes, I think it was. There are those within every civilisation who find farts amusing.” Laughing, he nodded, picking up the box. It went into his pocket, potentially as a reminder of what he’d spent his money on. That wasn’t something he’d ever get back. At least he didn’t blame her for not warning him he might be entirely wasting his money on nothing. He knew that. There were never any certainties. “Do you have anything else?” “I always have something else. Are you looking for anything specific?” “No, I don’t think I am.” He slowly looked around. “You always seem to have something I haven’t thought of, and I’d like one of those.” With a nod, Hannah stepped into the back, where some of the larger items were, drawing the person-sized wax figure out through the door. “You may be interested in this.” “From Earth?” There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, until she shook her head. “It’s not one of the wax celebrities?” “Oh, it’s a wax person, but not in the way you imagine.” Hannah placed it beside her, choosing not to look at it. There was a time when she’d kept her eyes on it all the time, just in case, because she knew what was meant to happen. “I can share the story with you, if you’re interested.” There was a moment when she thought he might say no, but then he nodded, eyes on it. “Would this be a piece of interesting history?” Hannah smiled. “It would.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, trying to find the right place to start with it. “The person who sold it to me was old, much older than both of us, choosing to finally give up on the possibility he might be able to find a way to save the woman he once loved. Even if he did find a way it was likely she’d be the age she’d been when she was first transformed, so there were never going to be able to have any kind of future.” “So, you’re telling me this wax figure was once actually a person?” “From what he said it was.” Hannah glanced at the figure. “I have no reason not to believe what he said, as Rebecca was a member of a research colony, sent out to explore a world they believed had never been inhabited.” She sighed. “There is a chance it wasn’t. From the records it seems like there were possible sites, but they may have been groups sent like the researchers before anyone truly settled. “Journals he shared with me while I was there, he was unwilling to part with due to him wanting to be able to remember Rebecca, especially as he hoped to be able to pass them on to a museum at some point. I don’t know if that will happen. He seemed… well, broken, to be honest, which is understandable if the story he told me was true.” She breathed in deeply. “There were regular messages sent back for a time, as the researchers learnt more about this world, talking about certain strange flora and fauna they’d come across. “Exploring other worlds was something Rebecca loved doing too much to settle down, which was why the two of them hadn’t yet married, but it was something they’d talked about being a possibility in the future. She wanted him to go with her, only he wasn’t quite ready to give up everything to do that. “I think it’s a choice he regretted, after what happened. He was angry and disappointed with himself for not being there when it happened, because at least then they would have been together, although then they’d have both ended up in the same position. Being honest with him didn’t seem like the right thing, considering how emotional he was. Having been in love myself I can understand the emotions.” Blinking, her customer looked at the figure, shaking his head. “If that was my wife…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Letting her go would have been impossible, even as a wax figure.” “Yes, I think I might have felt the same way.” Hannah stared at nothing for a moment, trying not to think too much about what was lost to time, before returning to the story. “No one’s quite certain what did happen. There were records kept, as things slowly started to change, and Rebecca’s journal held the most information, something he thought might help him to be able to save her from this fate. “The others… well, they were wax.” She reached out with one hand, touching Rebecca’s arm gently. “Some were lost, while others ended up in the hands of people who did everything, without knowing if everything was actually going to be enough. The problem came from understanding how it happened. “When the time came there were no more messages they sent out a group to find out what had happened to the researchers. At first there was nothing. Had things stayed that way it’s possible we would never have learnt what happened to them. Instead there was suddenly a flicker of heat, like someone was down there, which led to them making the journey down. “Reaching where the researchers had settled there were no other signs of life. They walked into the main building, which happened to be right in the middle of the small settlement. Hearing him talk about it, what it was like to enter that building, when they had no idea what had happened to anyone within. Had they died? Was there some other reason for them not sending out messages any longer? “Honestly, this isn’t something I imagined could have crossed any of their minds. Why would it?” She looked at Rebecca once more. “At first they didn’t know what they were looking at. Some of the figures were standing, the way Rebecca is, while others were sitting, although we can’t know if that’s the position they started off in. “One of them became flesh and blood in front of their eyes, something that only happened for a second, a sigh that something entirely unexpected had happened. Their first task, they knew, was to understand what exactly had happened, because they were worried removing the figures from the settlement might affect them in some way. He explained it as wanting them to be safe, an understandable choice, with each of them having once been people. “People who had families, and those families needed to be told what happened. The reason he was there, searching for her, was due to him having made the decision he couldn’t stay away. He had to be there to learn the truth, however complicated it might be. Seeing Rebecca standing at one of the computers, finally putting all the pieces together, the first thing he did was start going through everything she wrote. “Little by little he was able to piece together the story of what happened to the group, and why they didn’t leave when they first worked out what was happening. They did have time when they could have left. Instead they stayed, believing they’d be able to find a solution to what was happening to them. By the time they realised it wasn’t going to happen it was too late. “Anyone who could have got them to safety had been transformed. Rebecca kept trying to learn more, in case someone did start looking for them, trying to explain the experience - and told them it was best for all of them to leave the world before anything happened to them. There was no way of knowing how long it would take for it to happen to others.” “She was the last to change?” “By her own words she did everything she could to fight against the transformation, even though there was no doubt in her mind it was coming. Not after she watched everyone she made the journey with change into wax, slowly losing their bodies, all of them doing anything they could to cling on to normality.” “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” “Neither could I, but the choice they made to stay in order to learn might have ended the same way.” Hannah raked a hand through her hair, leaning back to make it easier to look at Rebecca, feeling closer to her than before. Being given a chance to share the story changed everything. “It wasn’t something they realised straight away, the same way the researchers hadn’t. They, I think, expected there to be something that transformed them, only that didn’t seem to be the case. “There’s a chance it might have been the planet itself, although I don’t believe it was the case. Rebecca didn’t either.” Hannah studied the figure, thinking of the pictures of the woman she’d once been. “She didn’t ever come to a conclusion, possibly because her fight ended before she could, but there were a couple of theories she had, with one of them being linked to certain food they were eating.” “Food somehow transforming them all into wax?” He shook his head. “I’m not certain I would agree with the theory, but then I wasn’t there. How am I to know what happened to her? Has she moved at any point?” “Although I’ve never seen it happen he had, which might have been wishful thinking. He wanted her to still be in there somewhere, and there’s a chance she is, listening to us talk about her now. Only she has no way to speak to either of us, because she’s trapped within this wax form. Maybe in becoming one of them she even learnt how it happened. “While I was making the journey back here I talk to her occasionally, wondering if there might ever come a time when she talked back, but it never happened. I didn’t think it would, and there were never any signs she had moved. There’s a chance she might when she’s with you, should you wish to make the purchase, unless you’ve made the decision you’d rather not.” “Share the rest of the story. I believe I will purchase Rebecca, even if she never moves, because the story…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to put the feelings into words right now.” “Neither do I.” Hannah smiled. “I understand what you’re feeling, which is why I made the choice to add her to my shop, rather than walking away. Normally I would have done. Something like this feels a little closer to slavery than I’d like, but then I thought about the possibilities for her. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll end up in the hands of someone who’ll do what they can to help her, or she’ll find herself somewhere what was done to her is naturally undone.” “Is that something you truly believe is possible?” “Anything is possible. That’s an important thing to keep in mind. Rebecca was young when she transformed, a woman who believed she had her whole life ahead of her, but it didn’t happen. Instead this was her fate. Yet there’s something more to it, I’m certain of that, and at some point in the future everything is going to change for her.” He looked at Hannah, and she could see the doubt in his eyes. Why would he think someone who’d become wax had any chance of a different life? “If someone who had his entire life to find an answer couldn’t what makes you think anyone else will find a different solution?” “Our understanding of the universe is changing all the time. This may well be another case where someone finds the solution. I don’t know whether they will, but I think it’s worth giving those who are still here a chance. The others… well, that’s one of the more complicated parts of the story.” “They melted?” “Seems to have been the case. Rebecca, and a few of the others, were protected from that, while the others… well, they didn’t get as lucky, unfortunately. I hate talking about this around her, in case she can hear what we’re saying. They were her colleagues, her friends, and the people she did everything she could to help, but I don’t think they ever truly stood a chance of finding the solution. “Like I said when the others arrived the first things they found told them they should leave. Gather everything they could, and get off the planet before anything bad happened to them, but they didn’t truly believe it was possible the same thing would happen to them. Had I been there I’m not certain I would have done either, because it seemed like an impossibility to begin with, only to find themselves in a position they couldn’t possibly understand. “Neither could the researchers, and they were the ones who had a better chance, considering the things they’d done before. Rebecca, and her colleagues, had been on multiple planets in the past where unusual things had been found, but it was never like this. They’d never found themselves in a position where they became something else entirely. “As she was flesh for the longest she did see the others as they occasionally became flesh, something that happened more often in the early days, until it only happened once a day at most. Even when it was happening more often she didn’t have a chance to speak with them, to ask what they were going through while they were wax, because they weren’t flesh for long enough. “What she could share was the slow transformation she went through, hours passing before she wasn’t able to type any more, but she kept talking, trying to hold on. Trying to find something that would help. I know they didn’t send out any requests for help, because they didn’t know if simply stepping onto the planet would be enough to change someone. Rebecca wondered more than once in her notes whether they were lost from the beginning, so they never had any chance of being able to leave the planet. “Due to those who saved the researchers never transforming it appears that wasn’t the case. They did leave within weeks, however, when the first of the group transformed into wax, never mentioning they were feeling anything at all. Only that was probably because they had no way of knowing what was actually happening to them, as they hadn’t read Rebecca’s journal. “She did say the experience was slightly different for everyone, but there were some similarities. There were those who were worried being in close proximity to one of the figures would be enough to change them, something that doesn’t appear to be the case, as I’ve been travelling with Rebecca for several months now, and I haven’t been through the transformation. I believe it does prove it was to do with the planet, rather than the people who found themselves there. “It took months to happen originally, with the first transformation of the new arrivals happening much sooner, a sign the power of whatever it was that made it happen was growing. Potentially due to it changing so many people into wax, although, to be honest, I’m not certain this is exactly what we would call wax - simply a close enough word to use to describe it, especially as it does react similarly to heat and light. “The purchaser of Rebecca does need to be careful should they wish to keep her for any length of time. I made certain she was somewhere cool, but not so cold it might have cracked her, as that can also happen. I looked at some of the pictures of the others, who were affected by not being in the hands of the right people. “He did keep an eye on those he could, remembering stories Rebecca told him about each of them, how their lives had entwined through the years, until the time came when they were all transformed together. The first to go was the leader of the research expedition, mentioning a couple of days before it happened he wasn’t feeling well, but it wasn’t until later they were able to put the pieces together. “When he didn’t get up that morning they assumed he needed to rest, so they didn’t check on him until lunchtime, which was when they found him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d just finished putting his boots on. Rebecca’s entry from that day was terrifying. They had no idea what was going on, whether it would happen to anyone else, but they made the decision to stay to try to find help for him. “From there it passed on to the three people who were able to get them off the planet, who all had some experience with the spacecraft they’d used to make the journey. She couldn’t help wondering if that meant whatever was happening had made the choice to go for the four people they needed the most first, although that would mean there was some kind of sentience, and that didn’t seem to be a thought she liked much, although it linked in to something she found while she was out searching the other potential settlements. “None of them believed there had ever been anyone living there, yet there were signs of people at least having travelled there in the past, with one of them leaving something behind - the very last words of a note. ‘It’s not safe.’ There was no way of knowing what it linked to, but she held on to that memory, until the time came when she realised the world they’d travelled to wasn’t safe. “Arriving there, those were the first words he read, followed by ‘leave fast. Gather everything, and get away from here before anything can happen to you’, something they should have listened to. Making the choice to ignore it was the worst mistake they could have made, as it meant one of their group was also transformed. “It might have been more than one, a kind of disbelief having hit the group, not entirely willing to believe what was happening was real, something Rebecca also described. She was one of three people arguing they needed to get away from the planet sooner rather than later, because there was something strange going on. Only the others were focused on trying to find a solution, and the three gave up, realising they couldn’t make it happen. Instead they simply had to live with things are they were. “Unfortunately it was what Rebecca believes led to the loss of their pilots, and it was then the panic hit the others, as they realised how bad things truly were. He used that information to convince his group they needed to leave, no matter how little they might have wanted to, taking both of the spacecrafts with them in order to make certain they could get everyone off the planet. Otherwise they’d have had to leave people behind. “None of the wax people weighed as much as they would have done in their flesh forms, something that was to be expected. Rebecca talked about how the transformation changed them, how complicated everything was, and then the sensations she felt as she slowly became wax. It didn’t happen quickly, but as it started to happen she felt this lassitude sweeping through herself, enough to keep any of them from yelling for help. Had they done it might have saved them all.” Slowly, nodding, he stepped closer to the counter, looking at Rebecca more closely than he had done before. “I don’t understand how an entire person, every part of them, would become wax.” “There are no answers I can give you. Just shared the story with you, so you understand who she is, because I want her to end up in the hands of the right buyer. I want you to care for her. She is precious, even if there is no possible way to save her from this fate.” “Yes, she is.” He gestured at the card that was still on the counter. “I feel like there’s still so much to the story.” “Oh, there were pages of it, and I’ve barely been able to share any of it with you.” Hannah put her hand on the card. “I have to be certain. This is what you want to do.” “Buying Rebecca, a woman who has become wax, feels like something I need to do. Like I was meant to walk in here, to find her.” He shrugged. “Does that sound as stupid as I think it does?” “No, it doesn’t, because I felt the same way.” Her eyes met with his for a moment. “There are people I said no to before, when they said they were interested in her. I said I’d been travelling with her for months, and that’s the reason for it, so I found a person who had a similar connection to her. “She may not seem like it now, but she was someone, and she had people who loved her. At times I was uncomfortable around her, because I felt like I was using her for profit, when I’m not. What I want is to find her a home with someone who understands, especially with it being possible there might be a solution. I know there are people out there hunting for it, due to it being their father who was taken from them by the planet.” Hannah took a small booklet out of her pocket, putting it on the counter. “What is that?” “A way for you to connect with the others, should you wish to. It’s not something you have to do, but it will help you learn more about what happened to her, and potentially learn if they do ever find a way to transform someone from wax into flesh once more.” Nodding, he picked it up, slipping it into his pocket. “I assume she’s not going to be cheap.” “For her protection my price was set at a certain point. I believe you will make the right choices with her, even though it might end up being a mistake, so she will be a little cheaper. Please do what you can to keep her safe, to potentially find a way to help her, and make certain she’s passed on from one generation to the next.” “I will.” As she took the money from his card once more, Hannah returned it to him, before going to the exit to the counter, gently carrying Rebecca with her. “There is a chance she will move?” “Yes, there is, and some of the others even tried to talk. This may happen if she does move. I don’t know.” Hannah looked at Rebbeca one last time. “If it ever happens I’d like to know about it. For her I think it’s much less likely, due to the choice she made to fight for so long.” “Probably. She seems like the kind of person who gave up those moments in the hope she might find a solution for the people she cared about.” Just as gently, he took hold of her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. “You weren’t wrong when you said she didn’t weight as much.” “One mistake, and she could melt or crack. I’m trusting you with her. For some she’d just be another curiosity, but I hope you’ll treat her well.” “Both of you have my promise that I will do what I can to protect her, and, should it be possible, help her.” Watching him walk away with Rebecca, Hannah was almost certain she’d made the right choice. Before he stepped through the door Hannah was almost certain Rebecca’s human eyes met with hers, the gratefulness within them something she hoped she wasn’t imagining. Sighing, she stepped over to the door, closing up the shop for the day. Maybe her sister had finally found someone who could help her.


Lexi was your everyday child, she had everything she needed. Her family would get her whatever she wanted for her birthday and her friends would show up and celebrate with her. At school she would have singing recitals and dance recitals that her family would show up to. But there was one thing about Lexi that no one liked and that was how spoiled and entitled she could be. When she didn't get the right gift on her birthday she would throw a tantrum. And when her parents would try to console her she would cry all the more. Lexi never understood what it meant to really appreciate the ones who loved her. She always thought that they would be there for her. She always thought that she would have them around. But unbeknownst to the little girl she was being watched by someone very very powerful. This being would show Lexi how much she needed to change and if she didn't she would see the consequences for the choices that she made in the past and the present. For no matter the age, no matter the experiences you must always treat others how you would like to be treated. For that is the Golden Rule. One day while Lexi was playing with some of her friends in the park she was on the merry-go-round and told the other kids to get off because she wanted to be on it by herself. When the other children would not leave she threw a tantrum and forced them to leave. She screamed and screamed until she got her way. All the children left her to play on the swings since it seemed easier to just go elsewhere than be miserable around with her. One child in torn blue jeans and a beige color jacket with glasses on his face that were taped together, walked up to her. “ Can I get on this Merry-Go-Round with you?” “No, I'm on here by myself and that's how I want it to be. You can play somewhere else. You look like you stink anyway so don't come near me” , said Lexi The little boy put his head down and you could see a tear slowly come out of his eye. He walked away and back into the bushes and disappeared as the brush covered from behind as he passed through. Lexi didn't think anything of it; she just wanted to play on the Merry-Go-Round alone. It never occurred to her that maybe the way she behaved hurt others feelings and made them feel like an outcast. All she knew was that she wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Then suddenly a man with a funny looking hat that was red with a bull's-eye on the top approached Lexi. With him was his tricycle where he carried all sorts of things that look like they were from a junkyard. Children came toward him to look at his Contraptions that he built and to ask him questions. When he talked to them he gave away small gifts to make them happy. To David he gave a Rubik's Cube because he loved solving puzzles. To Nancy he gave needle and thread because he knew that she loved to sew up her dolls whenever they were broken or ripped. When Lexi saw that he was giving things away she immediately ran up and pushed other kids out of her way and told him to give her something. The man told Lexi to wait her turn and to be patient and she would get something but Lexi said “no I want it now”. While she began to throw a tantrum the strange man looked at her with a cold stare as he bent down on one knee to get on Lexi's level. “Remember Lexi that you should always treat people how you want to be treated.” “But I want something from the cart. Oh, it's not fair! Why does everyone else get a gift but me? It's not fair, it's not fair!” Exclaimed Lexi. The man smirked as he tipped his top hat. He turned to his tricycle and reached in the basket that was on top and pulled out a spinning top. He handed it to Lexi and told her to move out of the way so the other children could get a gift. As she looked at the spinning top she began to cry even more because all the other kids' gifts seem to be so much better than hers. “This isn't fair, why do I get just a small wooden spinning top that doesn't even do anything?! While they get all these different gifts thats great for them? I want something that's good for me. Why can't you give me something that's good for me?” “My dear Lexi, this is the right gift for you. All you have to do is make a wish and spin the top and your wish will come true no matter what it is no matter where you are.” The man gave a smirk that only you could see a cat give that swallowed a canary. Lexi though being so focused on what he told her did not notice the look on his face. She took the spinning top and ran home. As she came through the front door she didn't even say hello to her mother and father she just ran straight to her room and slammed the door. She paced back and forth wondering what she should wish for. “Maybe I should wish for a chocolate cake? Humm, or maybe I can wish for Jason to like me." She paused for a moment. "I think I should start with something small just to make sure he wasn't lying to me.” Lexi said to herself. She put the spinning top on the ground and took a deep breath and thought up a small wish. “I wish for a dress made of silk that's red and just my size.” Then Lexi spun the top and as she watched it spin it seemed to spin for minutes at a time she was almost hypnotized by it. As it slowed down and then tipped over she looked on the bed and saw a red silk dress. It seemed to shimmer from the sunlight coming in through her window. “Yes!”, she screamed. The dress looked beautiful on her as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her mother walks in and sees her and is amazed at how wonderful Lexi looks. “Baby you look gorgeous!” “Thanks mom.” “But who bought this for you, your Father?” “No mom, it was the uhhh….prize I won from an online contest.” Lexi smiled at her mother as she lied to her. “Well you look wonderful in it darling.” “I know I do. I think I’ll keep this dress on a little longer to see what everyone else says.” As Lexi went on with her day and received compliments from her neighbors and the kids in the neighborhood she began to notice the dress feel a little tight. But she thought to herself maybe it was her not being used to such nice clothes. Soon though after a moment walking back to her house she began to feel a little dizzy. “I need to get home and take this off.” As she got closer she felt the tight squeeze of the dress. Then she noticed, with every compliment she received the dress held her tighter. “Beautful dress, darling.” Said one neighbor. “Ah you look like your mother.” Said another. Lexi’s walk became slow and and as she looked ahead with her house in the distance her vision went blurry and the house began to turn side ways. Her fall to the ground felt like she was floating for a moment and in the distance she could hear what sounded like her father calling her name. “Lexi?! Lexi wake up!” To be continued…………..


Aphrodite, goddess of lust, lov and beauty, the very image of a blonde model, sat on the dais of Olympus. She was anxiously chewing on her thumbnail, staring down at the Earth below her, "That...stupid... internet. How could it say Athena's fairer than me? HOW DARE... AND 2 DAYS BEFORE MY HOLIDAY" Athena, goddess of war an intelligence, sporting a crew cut, digicamo, and heads-up-display, was smirking nearby. As gods gained power from the adoration of their followers and interest in their domain, the poll, combined with the tech-flaunting in some recent wars, had given her a boost, and she was literally outshining Aphrodite next to her. "Oh please, Aphrodite... you can't fight the ebb and flow of time. War always wins out over peace, and greater gods eventually consume the identity of lesser gods. It's only a matter of time until your power becomes mine." With this, Athena walked off, laughing haughtily. After she was gone, Aphrodite screamed out at the top of her voice, "CUUUPPIIDDDDD!!!" Shortly thereafter, her smaller son appeared, looking exhausted, "It's shortly before Valentine's day... what's so urgent you'd stop our most important time of year?" "This...poll... why would I, the goddess of beauty, love, and lust, lose out in a contest of fairness, to that... butch.... erarrggg... regardless. Let's cheat the system. I need you to shoot the entire Earth with an arrow. Direct it's love at me." "Mom... my power is a splinter of your power. Even you don't have the power to pull that off, what makes you think I would? And if we have to expend our power to get worship your way, it's just going to be diminishing returns. You'll drain yourself dry." "What about boosting the levels of lust again? Is there any way I can get any hotter?" Cupid shook his head, "Sorry, but your looks are an amalgam of all the hottest stars. There's really no way to get you to instigate more lust in individuals. You can raise it on an individual level by playing into fetishes, but that'd just turn you off to people who don't have the fetish. I'm sorry, but you're at max capacity." Aphrodite sighed, "How.... how did this happen? There's got to be something more. How could Athena pass me? I even tried to reduce her power when that poll started by getting all those tech workers fired." "I mainly just handle love at first glance, and you've got game, mom. I really don't know. I'm probably not the best to ask. Mind if I get back to work?" "Sure hun, thanks for the time." Cupid nodded and flew off, leaving Aphrodite to stew. Who to ask? Ask Athena what her secret is? No. Athena was too combative, she'd just take the opportunity to increase her power over her. There was her ex, Hephaestus... he was smart, so he'd probably have an answer. But... no... she had burned that bridge long ago. With her own dalliances. It had been forever since she had actually descended in person to the mortal realm, mostly relying on Cupid and Hermes to keep her up to date. So, she took a step from the dais, disappearing on her step down, appearing in the finish to that step in downtown Seattle. As always, her fashion instantly matched the time period, though she was a little surprised that gone were the robes and flowing garments of the past, and instead she was in some tight denim pants, and a short cotton top with a few strategically placed holes. The earrings were familiar, though. She had to test, though if she still had it. She walked up to a guy, and pointed at him, "You! Meet me in a nearby hotel for the night of your life!" The guy looked taken aback, "Ma'am, I have a husband who I am completely devoted to! And you simply aren't my type!" With that, he leaned over and kissed the guy next to him. The guy's husband looked back at her, "Get lost, Karen. This guy's mine." Aphrodite was taken aback. Being turned down wasn't a thing that happened to her often. To be fair, he was gay and she was plenty aware of gay men not being interested in her, for example, there were the Spartans (Oh, dear herself, were they gay.) But she should have picked up on it sooner. Her power *was* slipping. And what was that he called her? A Karen? Her line of thought was interrupted with a short balding guy in a suit tapped her on the shoulder, "Excuse me, ma'am, you're lovely, and I was wondering if I could get your number." It was a common occurrence for men to randomly flirt with her, "Oh, I'm the number 1 goddess of love." He blinked, "I mean your phone number." "Oh, I don't have a cell phone." She'd heard about that, never got involved. They didn't seem all that romantic, but if it was a part of modern human flirting, she'd have to learn, "...but I could think of a reason you might buy me one." One dalliance, hotel room, and one night stand later, she had her first, courtesy of a more-than-grateful businessman. If this was part of standard human flirting practices nowadays, she would have to understand it.


At first, I ignored the dripping sound. Figured it was just raining but the drip, drip, drip, just wouldn’t stop. No matter where I go, it’s there. I’ve searched the whole house by now for the source, but no matter where I stand it seems to be coming from just over my head. Called a plumber. They should be here between ten and two. I’m really hoping for ten. This sound is driving me crazy. I try to distract myself with music, but no matter how far I turn the stereo up, the dripping is still there, insistent and just loud enough to form a backbeat. Drip, drip, drip. The plumber shows up. His eyes are red, like he hasn’t been sleeping. I explain the problem and he goes to look. “I’ve been hearing dripping sounds for several days now,” the plumber says from under the sink. The leak clearly isn’t there, but I don’t say anything about it. He’s the plumber; it says so on his nametag along with his name, which I’m certain he told me, but I have forgotten. The plumber keeps talking. “I’m starting to think is some form of tinnitus because the dripping just follows me around.” “This drip does that,” I admit. “I can’t seem to narrow down where it is.” “Well, it isn’t here,” the plumber says, coming out from under the sink. His eyes look even redder now. “I got a few more places to check.” I follow him around the house. He’s weaving a bit drunkenly, and I start to wonder if that is why his eyes are so red. Just my luck to get a plumber who can’t find the drip because he’s been hitting a bottle of scotch! “Been getting a lot of these calls,” the plumber slurs. “You’re lucky we could get you in… seems like everyone has a leak they can’t find these days.” “Just find it,” I say. The tapping, dripping, dropping, clacking sound makes it hard to be patient or kind. Perhaps that is why the first thing I think when the plumber drops to the floor is, “I’m supposed to be thankful for this alcoholic showing up?” My second reaction is better as it clicks with me that something is seriously wrong with the plumber. I sink the floor beside him and reach out. I call his name, which I only know because it is on the nameplate on his chest. I’ve forgotten his name even as I say it. He doesn’t respond. A little pool of blood is spreading on the floor from his nose. The next bit happens in a whirl. I call 911 and paramedics show up. One of them has bloodshot eyes, and I find myself staring at that rather than at the corpse on my floor—because by then I know the plumber is dead. He hasn’t so much as blinked since he fell to the floor. They take the body away and leave me with a little pool of blood slowly congealing on the tiles in my kitchen. When I head to get some towels to clean up, I pass the bathroom mirror. My eyes look a little bloodshot too. It is probably the dripping… makes it hard to sleep at night. Though maybe it’s time to pick up a bottle of scotch. I’m not usually a heavy drinker, but something to help me relax sounds good. The next day I’m sitting in my living room with the tv blaring, in a doomed attempt to drown out the drip, drip, drip. A report comes on the news that catches my attention, mainly because I recognize the plumber’s face. The familiar plumber’s snapshot is alongside a few others on a split screen. The details of the report are hard to concentrate on. Drip, drip, drip, seems to wind in among the calmly states facts from the news reporter. But even with that, I manage to get the basics. The people on the screen, including my plumber, are all dead. That part makes sense, the rest doesn’t seem to compute properly, even with my limited knowledge of biology and how the body works, the findings in these deaths don’t seem right. When they brought my plumber to the hospital and examined him, there was no brain in his head. His entire skull was filled with blood. He was the first—lucky me to have the first die in my kitchen and leave a pool of blood. The others are the victims that have come in since his death. All dead now, according to the newscaster, with her perfect lipstick and wide blue eyes. The CDC has been called in, and the newscaster gives a list of warning signs of this new disease. I barely hear most of it, because it sounds more like a practical joke than a real thing. The only sign I really pick up on is the dripping sound. The dripping in my own head wouldn’t let me tune that factoid out. Apparently, all of the victims heard a dripping sound which the doctors and scientists are positing was the sound of blood dripping into their empty skulls, filling the place where their brain was supposed to be. I turn off the tv and head upstairs to bed despite it still being the middle of the day. People can’t live without brains. Even I know that. Despite being unreasonably exhausted, trying to sleep is hard with the dripping sound. I can’t escape the repetitive noise. I shut my blinds trying to blood out the sunshine outside and climb back under my coverlet. And I find myself mulling over the tv report. It can’t be real. How would they even know that the people had empty skulls prior to the dripping? Were people coming in to report this to them before dying? And who would ever have thought to look for such a thing? Outside my window the sound of a siren screeches by, fading into a keening sound in the distance. By the time I finally drift off to sleep, I’ve convinced myself I imagined the entire report. I dream that I’m trying to find a leak in an old basement that smells of mold and copper. I find blood dripping down the walls instead and realize I’m standing in a puddle of it. By the time I get back to the basement stairs it is up to my knees. Morning comes and the dripping sound seems louder, more like a plop of water into a full bathtub than droplets hitting the porcelain. Like my brain is filling up. Except that thought comes directly from the news report that I must have dreamed of. I go downstairs and turn on the tv again as I make breakfast. There is a dried pool of blood on my kitchen floor. I should clean that up. I’m gearing up to do that as I eat some dry toast for breakfast, but the news comes on and distracts me. Pictures of the local hospital and a new set of faces fill the screen. I see a number, but I can’t recall the death total a moment later. It must be hard to remember things without a brain, I tell myself. I don’t listen to the newscaster’s report this time. Instead, I pick up my smartphone and do my own research. The report I heard was real, or at least, the report really happened. Lots of people are calling the disease out as made up, or falsified. But I notice that everyone from where I live is scared. There are more reports of death, wives telling what happened to their husbands, children saying what happened to their parents… and every story starts with a drip that no one else could hear. I do some research on the doctors who are putting out the insane claims. They were all respectable before this. And their reports now chill me in a way I didn’t expect because all of them are saying exactly what I thought. This shouldn’t be possible. People can’t live without brains, but they are. That makes me study the reports carefully, searching for the underlying facts, even if those facts contradict logic. The body count is up in the hundreds now. Didn’t take long, the disease seems like it takes about four to five days in total. Now I’m sure of what the sound in my head is. It’s a drip, slow and steady, of blood into my empty skull, filling the space left vacant. Drip, drip, drip. No matter how much I study the reports, there’s no explanation for this phenomenon, nor why the person dies when the empty space is full. But they do and by inference, that means I will too, unless I can figure a way around the looming fate. I clean up the dried blood from my kitchen floor, overflow from the plumber’s brain. He should have drained it beforehand and bought himself some time. How full is my skull? I’m three days into this awful dripping. I go out to my car and consider driving away but the dripping would just follow me. When I go back inside, I’m thankful I didn’t try to leave. The tv tells me that the borders to the city have been closed. We are in full quarantine from the rest of the world. Another fact sneaks out to frighten me: over a thousand are dead. And that’s just the ones who have been reported and tallied. There are only two things the city is doing now, dripping and dropping dead. That strikes me as funny, and I laugh. I can see my reflection in the kitchen window as night falls. My eyes are a horrid shade of red. I wouldn’t mind some scotch, but I’m pretty sure that even if there are places open out there, they wouldn’t serve me. No one seems to know if this is contagious, but no one is taking a chance. We don’t know what causes this plague, but the quarantine has people thinking that if it can be contained, that means that we are spreading it somehow. No scotch in the house. I lock all my doors and bar the windows as the night deepens. There are bodies in the street. I can’t find a death toll online anymore. No one is doing anything akin to scientific recording. I find several places where people outside the city are discussing what’s happening. I try to leave comments, but my fingers don’t seem to want to type anything sane. I can locate a few like me typing similar comments. All we talk about is the dripping. Drip, drip, drip. But it has started to sound like a ticking sound to me. After all, that drip is my life ticking down to zero. In the middle of the night, I hear a gunshot fired. Then another. Someone runs by outside my house, and I’m pleased that they don’t fall down and die. There are enough corpses outside my house. If… no, *when*, I survive this, I don’t want those bodies to be my responsibility. No one out there is going to help me. Not those talking about this disease from their safe unaffected cities, and certainly not the dwindling people of the city around me. I stare at my kitchen floor and think about the plumber. Ending up just like him is hardly appealing. So I won’t. His problem, I decided, was that he didn’t have the information I do. He didn’t know what was happening to him, so he couldn’t address it. He didn’t know that he didn’t have a brain and his skull was slowly filling up. My leg up is that I do know those things. I wonder how we lost our brains and if we can get them back. But those are facts that I don’t have. The people who come after me may have them, but I have to make do with what I know. And what I know is that when my skull fills up with blood, I’ll die. A smile spreads across my face. I feel it stretching unused muscles. All I have to do in order not to die is to not let my skull fill up. I head into my garage and dig around in the tools there. I find my drill and bring it inside. Safety first. I wash and sanitize the drill bit. Then I leave my sink faucet on. I figure I can wash and rinse things as I go if it becomes necessary. Good thing I know my sink doesn’t leak. I giggle a little. I’m getting silly. It is all the dripping, I tell myself. It is hard to focus with the dripping. And maybe, just maybe, it is hard to think clearly with no brain. The best place to go in, I decide, is dead center of my skull. I don’t need to worry about hitting my brain, after all. I plug the drill in, put the bit back where it belongs, and picture the blood coming out of the plumber’s nose. Obviously, that doesn’t work as a drain before death, but I am smart enough to create my own drain. My head would never fill up. Nope. I’ll just let that pesky dripping blood drain out the front. The back might have been a better choice, not to mess up my face, but I can’t properly reach back there. Forehead it is. I turn the drill on and press it to my forehead. You’d think it would hurt a great deal to drill a hole into your head. But the truth is it doesn’t hurt all that much at all. After the first surprise jolt, it is more like a toothache—nasty but localized and the knowledge it would be over soon keeps me going. The drill bit pops through on the other side of my skull, I feel it because the resistance is gone and the drill just slides forward. I pull it out and tipped my head over the sink letting the blood drain out and get washed away by the flow of water. I wonder who else had thought of this as I clean up bone fragments and blood from myself and my kitchen. Then I wander into my living room. I don’t turn on the tv. Can’t hear it over the dripping anyhow. People are screaming outside. I feel sorry for them. I figured it out, I’m safe, but they are still out there in the worst of it. I go to the window to look out, peeling back the curtain. The world is fresh and new, vital. It looks redder than it did before. It’s actually a little hard to see. Oh. I should have thought of this. The blood is draining into my eyes. No dripping now, but there is a lot of red, more than a tiny drip should account for. I can’t see anything through the blood drip, drip, dripping over my eyes.


The meeting location they were bound for was a plaza in the city centre. Madeline and Billie set out as soon as there was enough light to see by, but with Madeline’s injury, their progress was slow. By the time they arrived, it looked like the rest of the group had already gathered. The others all stood spaced out around the square. She and Billie slotted into one of the gaps they’d left. Madeline recognised most of the people from last time, but there were a few new faces, and a few of the old ones were missing. She tried not to think too hard about why that might be. A few greetings were exchanged, and the man Madeline remembered as the group’s leader, Kelvin, nodded at them as they took their place. After a quick look around, he raised a hand for silence. “Hello, all. It looks like most of us are here, so I’ll begin. Is that okay with everyone?” Madeline joined in with the nodding and murmurs of assent. “Good.” Kelvin paused, glancing in her direction. “First off, I want to say welcome back to our newest member. After the last meeting I wasn’t sure we’d see you again, so thank you for making the journey.” Unsure if she was meant to respond, Madeline smiled in reply. When the pause extended slightly longer than was comfortable, she hurriedly searched for something to say. “Err… Thanks for having me,” she ventured. Seemingly satisfied with that response, Kelvin continued with his greetings. As in the previous meeting, the group went through reports on Poiloog activity, human activity, and any other observations that might be of import, all led by Kelvin and Kate. Madeline tried to listen attentively. She knew that having access to this kind of information, collected by numerous people, could provide a strong tactical advantage in survival. But her mind wouldn’t settle in the moment. Standing still was impossible with her injuries. She would think she had found a comfortable position, only for some other aching or stinging to rear its head. The result was a continual shifting and shuffling, with a portion of her mind permanently occupied with seeking a way to minimise the pain. What little focus she had left was occupied rehearsing hers and Billie’s proposal. Every possible scenario played in her mind. The group's abject refusal. Their enthusiastic agreement. Even the eventuality of Poiloogs attacking just as Madeline started speaking. She knew that none of this would help her now, but still, she couldn’t stop. Eventually, the usual business of the meeting seemed to conclude. She forced her attention back to what was being said just in time to hear Kelvin ask, “Is there anything else anyone would like to put forward?” Madeline glanced over at Billie to find their eyes already resting on her. She nodded, and they turned back to the group. “I— I mean, *we* have something,” they said. “Go right ahead,” Kelvin replied with a wave of his arm. “Thanks,” Billie said. “Mads and I have been thinking, it looks like our people were taken by the Poiloogs. Her friend, Liam. And my brother, Joe. And I’m sure the rest of you have lost someone too.” A few members of the group exchanged sidelong glances, but most nodded along. Billie looked over to Madeline and gestured for her to continue. “Well,” she said, “we were thinking that, seeing as the Poiloogs seem to take them somewhere, there’s a good chance they might all still be alive. So… we want to try and rescue them.” A buzz passed through the assembled crowd. Neighbours whispered to each other. Some voiced concern or dissent. Others simply stared on in shock. “We tried that,” Kate said from across the circle. “And it's not like we gave up on it. We continually observe the Poiloogs' activities in the hopes of discovering more.” Kelvin nodded at Kate’s words. “Billie, you know why—” “Please just listen,” Billie said firmly, raising a hand for silence. “You can at least hear us out.” There was a brief pause, where Kelvin looked on the brink of saying something. But then, he closed his mouth and nodded for them to continue. “Thank you,” Billie said. “We do understand that this has been tried before.” They turned to face Kate. “And we appreciate all of your ongoing work.” At a nod from her friend, Madeline took over. “But we just *can’t* wait any longer. I don’t know about you, but the person I lost… He’s just a child. I hadn’t known him long, but he was already like family to me. I looked after him. I took responsibility. I *have* to try and help him. Otherwise, I don’t see how I can—” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard, fighting back the burn of tears rising behind her eyes. With a deep breath, she used the forced pause to glance around, noticing some of the affronted glares softening — wrinkled brows smoothing out, tensed jawlines relaxing. She opened her mouth to continue, but the lump in her throat caught the words. Noticing her struggling, Billie resumed, “So we came up with a plan. Or at least the idea of one. All that we ask is that you hear us out and tell us what you think. If you don’t want to help, you’ll get no judgement or ill will from us.” They glanced over at Madeline, who shook her head, still struggling to hold back the flood. With a small, sympathetic smile, Billie turned their attention back to the group. “We can’t follow the Poiloogs when they're on their ships without drawing too much attention to ourselves. So the best way to find out where they take the people they capture…is to get captured.” Anticipating the reaction, Billie held up a hand to maintain silence. “We know that it’s a risk. And it’s not one we’re asking you to take. Only that you let me—” “Or me,” Madeline said quickly. “—take it. Whoever it is,” they glanced sidelong at Madeline with a wry smile, “will conceal a Bluetooth tracker on them. That will allow the rest of us to follow along at a safer distance. If we have enough of us in the approximate area, we should at least be able to get a sense of the trajectory they take.” Kate nodded approvingly. “A good idea. And I’m pleased you’ve given it some thought. But even if we could find enough trackers and receivers, the range on them is not that far. If we wanted to follow along it would still be tricky at the speeds their ships travel.” “Which is why the captured person would leave a trail of another kind as well, in case we lost them,” Billie said. “Yes,” Madeline jumped in. “We’re not sure exactly what yet. Perhaps they could trail oil behind them. Or drop lego bricks along the way. Or carry something that emits a signal we can track. Just something that the others can follow.” “And how will they do this without the Poiloogs noticing?” Kelvin asked. Billie nodded. “A good question. We figure that the Poiloogs rely on their mind control to keep prisoners in check. As long as the captured person can keep the Poiloogs out of their head, we doubt that they’ll have many problems dropping things off the side of the ship undetected.” “That’s a lot of guessing and figuring,” Kelvin said. “A lot of hoping.” “We know,” said Madeline. “But hope is all that we’ve got.” A long pause followed, leaving Madeline’s heart racing as she surveyed the assembled people, trying to judge what they were thinking from their faces. She glanced over at Billie, who seemed to be doing the same. Finally, Kelvin spoke. “It’s not a bad plan. In fact, it’s similar to one we’ve tried before. And for that reason, I cannot in good faith commit this group to its execution. We’ve lost too many to this endeavour already.” Madeline’s heart sank, taking with it the last of her resolve. The words left her weak and trembling, fighting the urge to sink to the floor and never get up again. “That said,” Kelvin continued. “I encourage everyone here to think for themselves whether this is something they would like to be a part of. And short of committing the group to assist you, I will offer any help that I can.” A modicum of strength crept back into Madeline’s limbs as she nodded in thanks to the leader. “Now if there’s nothing else…?” Kelvin said, turning back to the rest of the group. “I suggest those of you that would like to discuss anything further can do so before we disperse. And I’ll post the location and time of the next meeting. Thank you.” As the other members turned to discuss things with their neighbours, Billie shuffled closer to her. “Not a bad result then,” they said. “Could have been better,” Madeline replied. “Could have been worse.” “I suppose now we’ll just have to see how many people want to help.” Together, they turned to survey the people around them, watching and waiting to see who might volunteer.


Steadily my faithful horse trotted on, both of us tired and worn. Soon we would be back home, after four years of struggle. In my mind I already embraced my wife and son. It filled my wounded heart with warmth and drove away the cold inhabiting my body. Dark clouds above promised rain and I wanted to be home before that. I had been drenched enough to the skin the past years. Worry started to take hold of me when I passed through the devastated landscape. Surely they would be all right I told myself. Still I quickened the pace. A slow sinking sensation made its presence known in my stomach. And as I laid eyes on my burned fields and the ruin of my home farther away my heart grew heavy and wouldn’t stop dropping. Getting down from my horse I sprinted towards what once had been my house. “Lily! Johnny!” I yelled out while running. They certainly had survived and were just hiding, right? They had to be alive somewhere, right? I desperately listened for an answer, nothing stirred. Reaching what once had been the door, I examined the ruin. Half of the roof was gone, the rest caved in and splintered. Only one and a half of the four walls still stood, although scorched and soaking wet through the rain. I already felt the first drops of water falling from the sky once again. But in my desperate haste I barely noticed. Breathing heavily, I forced myself to look around and stand still. Everything had been devoured by the flames, furniture, clothes, books. In the corner of the two meeting remnants of walls, I saw what looked like human figures lying on the ground. No, it couldn’t be. Barely keeping my body from trembling violently I went closer. Two charred corpses, one in the size of a child. What had they done! What had the Goddamned Yankees done to them! What they had to endure before death only the almighty Lord would know. How long were they already lying like this? Falling to my knees I touched the dead, feeling the moistness from exposure to water for more than just a few days. I couldn’t take it. All this time I had dreamed, I had hoped for this moment. I had killed and survived just for this one moment to arrive. Unable to contain the pain, I screamed towards the sky. I screamed and I wept and I kept sitting there in the pouring rain and the mud. If it wouldn’t have been for the muzzle of my horse touching my wet cheek, I might have continued sitting there for eternity. Snorting, he woke me from my trance with the warm air from his nostrils. Instinctively I reached behind to scratch my friend between the ears. Gathering the strength, I got up. I had no shovel; everything was destroyed, but I would be damned if they did not receive a place of rest. Therefore, I dug with my bare hands, placing two makeshift crosses over each one’s head. It would be enough for them. This would be the first and the last time me visiting these graves. Standing there, I looked at what once had been my farm. What was I going to do? There is nothing left to do for a man, once everything is lost. The union treated us like criminals in our own home. To them we were naught but rebels and traitors. So I decided to be one. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* A figure in the distance caught my attention as I made my way through Virginia’s mountains. Careful not to be noticed I rode closer to the lone rider. Making out some vague details I concluded the traveller to be an old man on a white-grey horse. I usually avoided robbing old people, especially in the wilderness. But the vagabond life was harsh on me and I hadn’t eaten in days. Hunger persistently gnawed at me and although I was used to that, it started to impair my ability to think straight. With the promise to myself to not shoot the stranger I urged my tired horse forward. “Hands up ol’ man!” I said in a firm but calm voice once I was close enough to him to be a danger. The traveller signalized his own horse to stop and remained still. I waited for him to do something either to protect himself or attack me, but nothing happened. A bit taken aback but still cautious I dismounted and walked to face my victim. All the while the old man didn’t speak. The calm silence let me notice how graceful his bearing was. Was it possible? No. “You could have just asked, son.” There was no reproach in neither voice nor expression. And I was baffled by the gentleness he showed me, the one threatening him with a gun. But then the foolishness of his words struck me and I lashed out with a sarcastic answer. “Yeah, tried that, di’n’t work out.” “You fought for the confederacy.” The observational statement was enough confirmation for me. Causing me to lower my gun to the ground. A grey-haired man surrounded by an awe-inspiring atmosphere on a grey horse with black mane. I had never seen the general directly, only from a distance and in the midst of a raging battle. I swallowed as it hit me that I was just trying to rob that man who had led us into so many battles and out of them. It was true I fought for the south; my grey trousers probably sold me out. I had taken off the jacket, partly because it was warm and partly because trouble might be even harder on my heels. Yet I hadn’t discarded of my old uniform, I could have stolen some clothes. The thought had never really crossed my mind before now. Perhaps because the grey reminded me of the time before everything went down. A time when I still believed to know that my home was waiting for my return. Feeling myself drift away and into memories, I forced my attention back to the task at hand. Old manners taking over my bearing and speech. “Yes, sir.” “From Virginia?” “From Tennessee, sir.” “I recommend you go back home and help her flourish.” “I, can’t,” burning anger seized my soul at the memory of the day I went back home. “I cannot forgive the union. Nor can I accept it. I am sorry my general. No manner of punishment could change my mind. My days of discipline are long gone.” I tried to keep the sudden agitation supressed. I had never really hated the federals, not the simple soldier at least. Only those giving me a reason and the ones responsible for the war, I was prepared to shoot without remorse. But all that had turned to dust when I saw what they had done to our families. To our Dixie. “Our Lord has decided for us to endure and to spread reconciliation.” “Where was he when my family died? When my farm burned? Am I just s’pposed to forget and shake hands with their cowardly murderers?” The general said nothing, an invisible wall kept us from understanding one another. I felt at once guilty about addressing my commander with such lack of respect. At once I avoided my defiant gaze and stared at the ground. There I stood humbled, blinking away the oncoming tears. “I am sorry you can’t find a cure for your wounds.” I holstered my gun and took off the hat, looking back up. As always, he kept his composure, only the eyes revealed what he felt. I would have expected him to be angry or ashamed at one of his soldiers turning into an outlaw. But they were just sad. Sad for me? “I am sorry to have bothered you, sir.” I turned to go back to my horse when the general told me to wait. Taking money from his pocket he offered it to me. “I can’t take that, sir.” “You came to rob me, didn’t you? And you certainly are in dire need of provisions.” The general’s eyes glittered with a youthful smile which was faintly mimicked by his face. Hesitantly, I took it. “God bless ye, sir.” “I hope you will get well, son.” Tipping his hat, the old man continued on his way. Falling back into my old habits once again I saluted him as he rode on.


We gave them that nickname because of the star system they came from. They were also the first. Their arrival seemed to come out of the blue, but then again, how could you possibly prepare for the world to be upended like that? The ship was just shy of five kilometres wide, and according to our best measurements at the time, perfectly spherical , down to the micrometre. The ship descended impossibly slowly, a dark moon setting on the horizon. An anti-sunset. When they landed, the base stretched down to the depths of the ocean floor. It instantly became the largest structure the world had ever seen — Alpha One. Its impossibly clean edges give the illusion of two dimensionality; less a solid object and more a black hole punched through the canvas of sky. Of course I wasn’t there for its arrival. No one living today was. I’m told the world watched anxiously, fearing its own imminent end. After an edgy first few days after the descent, the world government still could not successfully communicate with the ship and its occupants, so we did what we always do — we launched destruction directly at it. A hundred or so missiles, in an assortment of sizes, from all angles, blasted from warships, subs and aircraft. Not one hit. About 50 or so metres from impact, each missile dissolved slowly in the air — each unpicked like a ball of thread, falling from the sky in small chunks. We learnt that Alpha’s used nanobots as part of their existence, and they could be deployed defensively. Too small to appear to the naked eye, let alone on scanners, Alpha One had deployed them to simply disassemble the missiles in mid-flight. Then, in the largest single display of power ever witnessed, the Alpha’s turned off the entire world’s power all at the same time, for exactly 1.34 seconds. And then they did it again, for the same amount of time. Then once more. Just to show it was neither an accident, nor an attack. In an instant, we knew we were completely, and utterly, unfathomably, outmatched. After no signs of a counter attack, military ships withdrew, and we now had uneasy but unmovable new neighbours sharing our planet. And then the first flotilla of Ogs replaced the military. Ogs, short for Omega’s, were the self-named super fans of the Alphas. After witnessing what became known as the Pulse, they realised that we were witness to a truly awesome new dominant force on our planet. They felt compelled to be as near to them as possible, so gathered boats, ships and floating structures and set up as close to Alpha One as they dared get. Packed into a tight grid, vast shanty towns were erected across the stationary decks, with ropes and bridges and structures erected to make the Omega’s stay as permanent as possible. Allotments, micro farms, water towers, solar panels and breweries kept the population fed, and soon the settlement became known as Omega City. The curious and fanatical amassed, with more boats added every week until the permanent population grew to thousands, with millions visiting to take tours and simply see the sphere up close. The residents painted signs, projected images, music and sound onto the side of Alpha One, day and night. It became a place of reflection, tourism, and zealous religious worship of the Alphas. That music quickly became the object of attention for the Alphas. You see, Alphas did not make any noise — they communicated through technological implants in their brains and had long lost the ability to make sounds. Expression for them was via raw thoughts, visual pictures. They simply had no cultural place for sounds, or music. This is why they showed interest in the music of the Omegas. To them, music was intriguing, novel, wonderful. As small groups of Alphas ventured out of their ship and to Omega City, they would stop and listen to the drums and bands playing day and night, animatedly twirling their tentacle arms in excitement, beckoning others to gather and watch. Alpha’s seemed to enjoy their interactions with Ogs, too. There was a sense that the music delighted these demi-gods. After each performance the Alphas would gift the Ogs trinkets, precious metals, food they had learned to make from scanning our brains, as well as capsules of chemicals that would release pleasurable endorphins in humans. Then, some Ogs were invited inside the vast city ship. The Alphas only ever invited in those that showed the most amount of enthusiasm for them — no sceptics or nervous humans ever got to go inside — there were rumours that they could scan our bodies and rejected those that weren’t calm, comfortable and committed. But there were plenty of enthusiastic volunteers. The zealous stepped forwards, and the world watched on as hundreds disappeared into Alpha One. The trips inside became longer and longer, until one day, the first Og never came out. It wasn’t that Ogs weren’t allowed to come out — most Ogs spent a few days at a time inside before going back to their flotillas — but after the first permanent resettlement into the ship, more followed. It didn’t take a civilization as advanced as the Alphas long to work out how to keep their new guests alive and happy, offering feasts of synthesised food enhanced with endorphin inducing chemicals. Entry into Alpha One quickly became a ticket out of the near permanent suffering most people were enduring on Earth. The Alphas may have been colonising our planet, but they weren’t destroying it — it was already crumbling when they arrived, but it didn’t matter to them. They had two sets of breathing organs, could get breathable oxygen from any source, and had sufficient technology to endure any climate based disaster. Their food could be synthesised from raw chemicals found in abundance on Earth, even in the collapsing ecosystems. Nanobots in their bloodstream could counter any disease or infection Earth threw at them. As their population grew on Earth, new semi submerged sub-colonies appeared across our oceans, avoiding the heat, storms and crop failures of our changing climate. As the human population dwindled and withered, the Alpha population boomed. The population of Omega City also stabilised. Those musically talented enough now lived inside the ship, and recruitment of people stopped. Many people lost their faith in the Alphas, and simply returned to the harsh realities of living in global catastrophe. Now, the only Ogs were the ones living inside Alpha One and amongst the colonies that were sprouting up across the world. Then the breeding programme began. Alphas, through a mix of selective breeding and genetic manipulation, bred Ogs that were more and more musically capable, Not just in terms of aptitude, but in their physiology. Genetic lines were chosen to play types of instrument. Wind instrument players were given larger lungs, double the number of fingers, which were also grown longer, and more dextrous. Violinists’ were given elongated arms, with double-jointed elbows, with cartilage ridges to better secure their instruments. Percussionists no longer had to use sticks, as their fingers were made to be as hard as wood, and more responsive to the skins of the drums. All were bred to have larger ears, perfect pitch, an intuitive sense of rhythm. After a few choked to death, they bred a second feeding hole into their stomach to prevent accidental death, covered with a fleshy flap when not eating. Legs became obsolete as Ogs were moved around on hovering plinths so they could more easily move around Alpha One. Any muscle not related to playing an instrument gradually withered and eventually didn’t grow at all, or grew as a useless stump, unused but seen as unimportant to remove entirely. It didn’t matter that Ogs became masses of soft fat, all that was needed were their mouths and fingers. Ogs didn’t even need to go to the toilet. They simply relieved themselves where they lay, and were cleaned immediately by small robotic helpers created to tend to any Og needs that Alphas didn’t want to deal with. Then the Alphas realised they didn’t need metallic instruments at all. Shortly after birth, instruments made from organic cartilage and bone were fused into the bodies. Ogs then *became* the instruments, playing tunes on their own bodies. Speech was deemed wasteful, so mouths were grafted directly onto the mouthpiece of their body instruments, with additional breathing holes to supplement the larger lungs meant they could hold notes for hours. Eyes shrank, noses closed up, skeletal strength degraded, motor function unrelated to musicality faded. Most Alphas loved their Ogs. They were purchased to bring joy to their homes, to fill them with wonder. They showered their Ogs with their version of love, draped them in cloth, gifts, and pampered them. They manicured them, styling grown out hair into elaborate platts that were tied around the body to match the fashion of the day. Others tattooed the skin of their Ogs with intricate patterns. They made them comfortable and gave them free reign of their living space, with some even sharing sleeping space with their Ogs. They held competitions to compete with their Ogs, showing off their musical talents in different musical genres. Thousands of Alphas came to watch, and the shows were streamed directly into the minds of thousands more. Ogs were bought as gifts for the Alphas offspring, who sometimes were clumsy with the far physically weaker Ogs, crushing a finger, or arm, or lung. Not all Ogs were this unlucky. For those bought by wealthier Alpha families, they bought sets of nanobots that would enter the bloodstream of their Ogs, keeping their internal functions operating healthily, allowing them to live well beyond normal human life expectancy. The oldest Og ever known lived to be 203. Some Ogs were not loved. Some were beaten and even killed if they could not please their masters. As trends and expectations changed, some Ogs that could not deliver on the imagined promise of Og ownership quietly dumped their Ogs into the remains of Omega City. There, a small but thriving black market emerged, with cages of Omegas, unable to speak, or walk or breath. Their poorer Alpha owners could pick up cheaper Ogs, some not bred to the high standards of the more expensive Og variants. Others were bred too far, over engineered. A sub-species of drum kit Og didn’t have the bone and muscle strength to support the weight of their bodily instruments, and their backs would often break. Others were bred so the breathing holes were too small (large ones being deemed unsightly) and would suffocate in older age, or after over-exerting themselves. These Ogs were disposed of quickly and quietly, often being replaced with a newer one within the week. Many reported seeing corpses of Ogs floating near Omega City, having drifted from where they were dumped from Alpha One. I don’t know why I travelled to Omega City. The elders objected after the recent loss of so many to plague. But I was young, and felt compelled to see first hand the newer creatures I had heard so many stories about, but never seen. I had to see it, if only for a moment. It felt like a calling. To see these creatures that had made a survivalist bet, and seemed to be winning. It took months to get to the Omega City. The rusted hash of boats at first seemed like a marvel to me, but the closer I got, the more I saw the filth of it. A corrupt, subservient monument to an oppressive force, filled with empty promises. Once docked, I was directed to a tanker ship and descended into its bowels. There, in the dim light, were thousands of cages, stacked twenty metres high, garbled musical notes filling the cavernous space, a cacophony of squeaky disjointed sounds. The first thing that hit me was the heat — thousands of bodies packed into a metal box heated by the sun created a wall of thick air. The smell of sweat and bodily fluids hit me next. I heaved, then vomited. Then again. Each cage was too small to stand in for a normal human, many of the Ogs’ flesh was pressed against the metal mesh, bulbous fat protruding through. There were streams of piss and shit flowing through the alleyways, occasionally brushed along by a sallow faced, frail attendant. As I wandered through the uncountable number of narrow paths, many had descended into madness, playing notes on a loop as they rocked back and forth, unable to stand, or move. Some sat frozen in place, staring through tiny eyes into an unknowable void. I wandered further, though I should have left. At a dead end, one Og rattled its cage and squeaked out a melancholic flurry of notes. I paused, turned and met its small, wet eyes and gazed upon its mutated body, huge, ebbing purple lung sacks and noticed sores on its underside. No mouth to speak of, it continued to blow flurried trills, showing me desperately that it was capable of impressing, worthy of love. At the edges where the body had become fused to the instrument, there was red and glossy scar tissue, dried blood on some. I did not know much about music, but could tell this was not the music to move the soul. This Og would never be bought by an Alpha, even the poorer ones looking for a bargain. As tears streaked down its reddened cheeks, I wondered how much humanity was left in this creature. Did it know that it was doomed? I should have felt pity. I should have been moved by the tragedy of the Ogs, and this poor creature’s plight. I should have wanted to tear down this whole place, to try and do something to stop this happening. I should have felt injustice, sadness, fury. Instead I felt disgust. *Authors note: This is a story about wolves, and domesticated dogs.


The Painter Cat  Casey didn’t want to take the job but she had to. She needed the money to pay the rent and selling her paintings wasn’t covering it. She’d never worked as a maid before. She seldom cleaned her own house but when a woman at the grocery store remarked how badly she needed a housekeeper and was willing to pay, Casey sucked it up and introduced herself, offering her “services”.  The woman’s name was Meredith. She was 77 years old. She had a modest home in a very nice neighborhood and had asked Casey to come twice a week. Casey would be paid 300 a week – which was pretty good. The first few times were uneventful. Meredith’s house was well maintained and the work minimal. All seemed to be going well and then one day Meredith asked Casey to come into the study. She had a gift for her.  The gift was a canvas, brushes and paint. Meredith wanted Casey to paint her. She would be paid 1000 dollars for the painting when it was finished. Casey accepted the offer immediately. Meredith only asked that Casey paint her as if she were 30 years old but wanted to sit as the model. Casey was confused at first. How to take an old woman and paint her as 30 without ever having known what she’d look like at that age. Meredith didn’t seem too hung up on details, just told her to paint what she thought. Meredith took a seat on a chair near the window. The direct light defined every wrinkle and crevice in her sagging skin. Casey laid out the supplies and set about painting Meredith as she might have been at 30. It wasn’t an easy task.  Casey painted the entire day. Meredith prepared them dinner and they resumed again shortly after. It got dark and Casey kept painting. The lamp light softened Meredith’s features and Casey found herself enjoying the task and took liberty, creating Meredith as lush and fabulous as the soft golden light made her almost beautiful. By midnight the painting was done. Meredith found it remarkable and was overwhelmed with joy. Casey was about to sign it when Meredith stopped her and asked if she would simply sign it “Reynaldo”.  Casey was confused. She didn’t want to sign someone else’s name to her work. Meredith insisted and offered no explanation. Casey, tired and confused, grew agitated with the old woman and insisted on signing her name – which she did. Meredith was so distraught she picked up the brush, set it into the black paint and set about destroying the painting. Casey tried to stop her but Meredith was determined. At last Meredith stepped back, dropped the brush and retreated into her bedroom.  Casey knocked on the door and could hear Meredith crying. She finally decided to let herself in. She said she was sorry and asked to be paid. Meredith slowly got up off the bed and went to a drawer where she took out a small box and counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. Casey took the money and left.  Casey now had the money she needed for rent and did not return to clean Meredith’s house. At the grocery store later that week the manager appeared annoyed with her. When Casey commented, the manager told her that Meredith had paid for a painting and that Casey had argued the directions to sign Reynaldo at the bottom. Casey was furious at the suggestion of allowing anyone else to take advantage of her hard work and talent – to which the clerk snapped - Reynaldo had been Meredith’s beloved cat and was a far better painter than Casey would ever be. He had seen the painting with his own eyes and thought it was a hideous disaster.  Casey left, angry. Weeks later she found herself without rent again and no prospects for work so she took up panhandling outside a coffee bar. When she had five dollars she went inside to purchase a bagel for lunch and was amazed to see several portraits of Meredith displayed on the walls, all of them signed “Reynaldo”.  Casey ordered the bagel and remarked on the paintings. She was told they were painted by a cat which belonged to a woman named Meredith who was heir to a whiskey brand fortune.  Casey took her bagel and left. She was bummed that she could have peen paid lots of money to paint and that her prideful refusal had left her worse off than she had been in the beginning.


Note: A Talking to Strangers - In Search of Human Connection Series He sits alone at the end of the bench overlooking the San Clemente pier. I ask if I can join him. He seems pleased. He has a gray beard and glasses, a cap with a name I don’t recognize. He’s maybe early 70s. His hands are in his lap, tan with age spots. They shake a little.  He looks down at the beach to a group of guys at a picnic table, says that was him a long time ago. Military. He was in ‘Nam in 68. Came back and spent time at Camp Pendleton. Met his wife and married, but it didn’t work out. He had issues. He wasn’t right. He didn’t blame her. It was his fault.  Says he later met Rose and remarried. Now he has grandchildren. A wide smile. He took them to Hawaii, where he was once stationed, and to San Clemente, where he and Rose visit three months every winter. He surprised the grandkids with plane tickets so they could join them - they were thrilled.  This summer they’re renting a beach house at Cape Henlopen in Delaware, where his granddaughter did an internship in park services. He worked in the same field after the military.  One day his granddaughter met Biden when he was out for a bike ride with his security detail. They chatted. No…a photo wasn’t allowed. Biden later crashed on the bike…did I remember? Vaguely.  He tells me Rose and her friend are down by the beach. They like to walk, but he can’t…his body is just…but that’s okay. In a couple hours, they’re having dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf. What will he order, I ask? Oh, he knew exactly. Shrimp and a beer, Modelo. He can already taste it.  His cell buzzes. Rose. He puts the phone to his ear. I can tell Rose is in charge. Issuing instructions about next steps. He says yes, okay…well, whenever…he’s fine.  He asks me about my life…education, where I’m from, if I was still working. I share my story about moving from the east coast to CA. Tell him I will retire in 24 months. First time I’ve said those words out loud to a stranger. It feels good.  A few minutes later, Rose arrives with her friend. Rose’s face is a little deformed…a large, swollen jaw. I tell Rose her husband has good stories. She grumbles, like, don’t get me started. She’s heard them all before.  He tells Rose I’m retiring in 24 months…music hearing him say that. I tell them when they return to San Clemente in a couple of years, I’ll be sitting on this bench, but on a Wednesday. We chuckle and say goodbye. Never exchanging names. I wish we had.  I wait a few minutes and start my trek back up the hill. I come face to face with them as they head down toward Fisherman’s Wharf. Maybe an earlier dinner is in order. I wave bye to him again. He smiles and waves back.  It was a human connection I enjoyed. A reminder that I really must talk to more strangers.


After I killed my boyfriend, I put his body in the basement, where he vanished into the stone walls and transformed into a shadow. He surprises me, even in death. I’ve awoken many nights to see him standing above me. He stares at me with glassy lidless eyes, and I can tell he wants to kill me. But apparitions can’t do anything. They bloom onto the walls like flowers and walk into light, begging to be seen. It’s never enough, but it’s all they have left. It’s all he has ever deserved. “It’s not too bad,” I say to his silhouette. “At least you’re never alone.” I am not alone, either. Finally, he entirely belongs to me. This is our forever. Killing him was a kindness. Many would call it fate. I did what was needed to save him. I did it because of how much I love him. He knows I love him so much. There is golden light streaming through the hallways. I dance in it. I press my fingers to the walls and caress the outline of him. I fit myself into his shape and imagine him wrapping himself around me. I rarely turn off the lights. I have gotten rid of all the curtains. I love him the most when it is night. When the moon is exceptionally bright, I click the lamps off, and I follow him around the house. I laugh at his frenetic movement, and I am awed by the shapes he turns into. He is quite the contortionist. He sculpts himself into the most surreal forms. I marvel at his creativity. Yes, he’s dead, but his imagination persists. It has been years since his transformation, decades. All that’s left of him in the basement are shards of bone and wisps of hair. Time has embedded them into crevices. They bore the fruit of what he has become. I am an old woman now. I’ve witnessed many sunrises and worshipped every phase of the moon. It’s become difficult for me to dance with him. My joints are too stiff and my eyesight has faded. Sometimes I do nothing but lie in bed and gaze up at the ceiling. He comes without my asking. He reaches for me. His arms are as long as snakes, and they crackle and hiss like fire. He hangs from the ceiling, sputtering into existence like static. He becomes more than just a shade. I don’t know when he started emerging from the confines of the surface, and it doesn’t matter. It’s ending. This tangible version of me is dying, but I am not afraid. I know he can close the distance between us. He can touch me as I have had him for many years. He needs me as much as I have always needed him, and now he welcomes me to the other side. I don’t have any regrets. I am glad I killed him. I cannot wait to adorn this space with him and dance in the light.


#Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and 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 provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: - **Prompt: Everything was upside down.** () - **Bonus Constraint:** Story includes an unlikable character. This week’s challenge is to use the above prompt as inspiration for your story. Feel free to **interpret the prompt as you like**, as long as you **follow all post and subreddit rules.** The bonus constraint is not required, but it is worth extra points. **Note: Don’t forget to next Monday!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **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 some feedback on the thread.** 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.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live 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!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. You can complete the following things for points. - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***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) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c *Crit Stars receive 1 Crit Credit to use on r/WPCritique. In order to receive your credits, you must either link your reddit account on our Discord, or have made at least one post on r/WPCritique.* *** ###Subreddit News - Check out the ! - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Check out the brand new over on r/WritingPrompts! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.