I wake up in a strange room. "Where am I?" I ask. "You're safe." a familiar voice said. "Elizabeth?" I respond “Yes you remember me. Good." " So where are we?" As I ask that I realize that I am tied to a chair, unable to move. "You're at my house. You are safe." "Safe from who? From what?" "From us being apart. I love you too much to let anyone have you so when you were alone I knocked you out and brought you here. Thankfully no one noticed. I know that seems crazy but-" I cut her off " I love you" I say. “What?” She says. “I said I love you. You’re the most beautiful and most amazing person I have ever met.” “You really do? I love you too. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Elizabeth goes to untie the rope holding me to the chair, as she does, I lean in and kiss her. God she’s so cute. Ever since that day, the day she kidnapped me. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She's so beautiful. God I love her, if anyone tries to hurt her, I will kill them. College is so much better with her around. All the stress from classes is fine. But the people, they are so bitter. All they care about is drugs, alcohol, and sex. With her around, I know I can protect her. Protect her form these awful sinners. A week had gone by, we’ve been meeting each other every day after classes. Going on a date. I love her, so dearly. We were walking around the park, late at night. Someone approached us, they seemed so high and crazy, they didn’t even seem human anymore. Before I could do anything she just went and killed them. She did it so quickly and...beautifully. She’s so cute. We spent her rest of the night trying to hide the body getting ride of any evidence we could. I love spending time with her. I love you. We realized that after the next few days the police wouldn’t be able to find us. The person is till labeled as “missing” but they’ve seem to have given up. But that wasn’t the last time we killed someone. All these guys at this college. Horny, drunk, disgusting. One of them approached her on our walk, trying to “seduce” her. How dare he talk to her this way. He grabbed her arm as she tried walking away after denying anything he tried to say. He had no right to do that. I was so angry, I killed him where he stood. I wasn’t as quick as she is. But, I got the job done. I got blood on her, “shit” I thought. But she just looked at me, and smiled. She’s so cute, I can’t stop saying that. I can’t and won’t stop loving her. We were a little quicker this time with disposing the body. We knew what we were doing this time. The police were smarter this time considering it was a student. Investing, questioning everyone. They still found nothing. She’s so smart and clever, with her, they won’t ever catch us. Oh my love. So sweet, so beautiful, so deadly. I love you with all my heart. I want to live the rest of my life with you. Forever.


# Instructions: * Be extremely present. * Remember who you are – a dreamer, an idealist, a romantic. There exists only one sentence in your reality at a time. Abandon memory. Let the text flow without judgement. Bask in it. * Set inspiring music. * “” * Set a positive intention. * This story will be beautiful. * It will speak to my heart. * It will take me onto an adventure. * Additionally, you may use cannabis before reading to get high. * Depending on your country's regulatory laws, your past experiences, and your mental state. I do not encourage the use of psychoactive compounds without one's own research and full responsibility. # THE POCKET UNIVERSE In a weathered closet, I saw a universe of irredeemable beauty. My eyes misted over in joy; hardly could I hold the rivers back. A galactic invitation stood in my room. When I looked closer, I noticed an alliance of galaxies. They mysteriously floated apart, spinning like whirligigs, yet made no sound. They reminded me of cornflakes scattered in milk, unattended and already moist: I wondered where has the child gone from the breakfast. But strapped in a seat, my soul could only venture deeper into the universe, into the story, into the ever-present unfolding of life which is happening now. My eyes watered, as I waved goodbye to the alive galaxies. I greeted alluring nebulas. In the clouds of dust, I heard whispering voices. Each nebula abounded with seductively tender hands; a simple graze would melt a thousand human desires. They were pulling me nearer, but I hurtled too quickly to kiss them. I declined down the universe like a comet, trailing fire. All paradigms broke down at that unbelievable velocity – reality was a miracle; the miracle was being captured in my palm; captured nowhere else but in the eternal moment which is happening to you now. The music is perfectly guiding you. Follow it. I foraged a path through the glamorous nebulas. They sang festive melodies. Long they glittered behind as I approached a monotone realm of black holes. With a sinking feeling and quiet lungs, I snuck around the gargantuan acupunctures in space. Hungry wolves in the dark. They were always on the move, never to be seen outside shadows. How far were they, I asked? Although their black humming was scratching my skin, what unforeseeable wonders awaited beyond their event horizon? I marveled. I could not withhold an exalt. I leaned forward into the closet. The rusted wooden frame was cracking; I barely held onto it with hands. My previous self was spiraling down the infinite magnitude of the cosmos. In the blink of an eye, I saw Betelgeuse, and beyond its magnificent gleam I saw Neptune shivering in an arctic tempest. I did not have a blanket at the time. With regrets I commenced a silent flyby past the solemn planet. Before I wiped my eyes, a thunder struck and pierced my vision in half. Earth was calling upon me – I leaned farther into the closet, pushing the body’s utmost tension. Sounds of rage and despair hit me like a drought. The world was at war. Above dusky shades of Mars and below the celestial plane of Venus, women were buried in debris and children cried under trails of whizzing bullets, and amidst the pain and suffering I saw forests on fire and sobbing whales being butchered alive. Chaos, a completely spun-out-of-control chaos, one would exclaim! I discerned a subtle puppeteer’s string, however, leading the state of disarray. It was love… A twisted, limited form of it, but love, nevertheless. This speck of dust was home to vastly deluded beings who ordained endless cruelties, who elected and lived under the reign of mad kings and supreme leaders, who were meanwhile capable of great affection and friendship, who were dreaming of not being in a dream, and thus they made hell of the sole, pale blue heaven they had. The music guides you. Do you notice? Straining my eyes, I swayed to look even closer. Behind a dusty window, I noticed a human silhouette pressed against the glass. It was you. Your eyes were as watery as mine. In them glimmered a light you had mistaken for a comet’s reflection. But I was the light, travelling at an inconceivable speed down the cosmos’ infinite scope. It was me; you fool! I attempted to vocalize through language and communicate the truth withal. Did I ache to shout to you from the heavens! Oh, I did. The deafening beauty of yours jailed me in awe. Yet it seemed to have shackled itself in heartless thoughts. You were oblivious to your own beauty. You were a withered flower. *Wake up!* I screamed so desperately that waves crashed onto shores. *Awaken to the restless temple of magnificence!* I screamed with my lungs dry. Awhile, a hope flounced around me. Did you overhear the comet’s calling? Did you catch the banging voice? But my confidence faltered, as you frozenly lowered your eyes. I lost you, for I failed to reach you, but I could not dwell; you were merely a mote of dust in an infinite universe. There were things far greater than you. Into your dust I hence traveled, plummeting into a sea of deep-blue iris. Therein I witnessed orchestras drowning in a clamor. Choirs of tirelessly singing cells made up your body. Their maestro, the great conductor, was nowhere to be seen, until I came to an awakening that would incite my voyage even deeper. The conductor has been diligently swinging the wand since the birth of time. Never did he strike an error. It was Love, Life, The Puppeteer! What a gorgeous universe resided inside your womb! At that point, my mind was at craze. Music brought me to an orgasm. Hardly could I distinguish between solar systems coming into life and electrons mindlessly spinning around atomic citadels. But wait. These atoms were not mindless. In fact, far from it. I became wildly alive upon the realization everything I subdued as separate stood on the shoulders of these little creatures. Infinitely intelligent creatures indeed… As these particles perfectly knew their purpose. They spun and pulsed and quivered without anyone advising them how. I could yell at them. Threaten them; *spin faster, or…!* But in that I would kill the spontaneous process of Nature. Life’s ingenuity would always precede one’s paradigm and would never bend the knee before it. I sailed past the whirring particles as I had flown past Neptune. I eagerly crossed the verge into unknown. Soon after, the universe dove into darkness. What was left was deprived of everything. Colors, though sometimes too bright for an eye, were gone in memories. So were echoes of chirping birds, though sometimes too irritating. So were all smells and touches; all of which had previously filled existence with the illusion of *something*. Herein beyond particles, the minuscule silence obliged even the maddest kings to bow in humility. My very existence felt tiny and insignificant, and for the very same reason I humbly broke into tears. I embraced the lulling peace. The universe was eternally present within me, swaying me in arms – just as it sways you reading this writing. You two cannot be separate. You are sincerely grateful for the breath which gives you life. Your purpose is to explore the beauty of life. Without a burden, I forgave everyone I had ever wronged. I said goodbye to tranquil nights on the porch and waved in farewell to the family I had left behind. With all my weight I could *finally* let go. At last, I felt the old wooden frame give up in one final crack. I glanced off the frame and dropped through the closet. The universe soaked and soaked. I longed to drown in its absorbing peace. It soaked like a sponge whatever judgement I had thrown at it. The universe appreciated my limited hatred. It repaid me with selfless love. It was too immense. I did not need a mortal self anymore – what a pretentious game that would be. Life, Abundance, Vigor, Harmony, the four noble brothers of the Horsemen of Apocalypse were here, guiding me along in the dark. Each were far greater than their repressed shadows. I was on the brink of submerging into the infinite peace when signs of sunlight rippled through the void: Suddenly, a notice came to my senses. The engines were still humming in the dark – I was ploughing forward without a stop! This was the frontier ripe for exploration and discovery. In search of new spectacular mysteries of the universe, I nosed around in all directions, keen on being alive. Here below the roots of rationale, compasses crumbled into futile cog machines. Where were these sensory ripples coming from? In most mild suspicion, I began to sense an indigo blue color surging out of darkness. I could just discern fluids raising my skin. Were the mysteriously pulling forces actual deep-sea currents, if undoubtedly, I overstepped the graves of spacetime? In hesitant laughter, my eyes shed tears. My chin vibrated, for amidst ghostly blinks I recognized stars aflame. Inside the cosmos’ womb not only orchestras sang, but also clusters of stars gleamed! Down the groundless rabbit hole, the holy grail awaited me. The rabbit ate me. I looped around and became Life itself: I saw deserts in which basked poisonous snakes. I saw an alpenglow of a setting sun comfort anger and bestow calm. I saw the blush of dawn; I saw clouds treading on the heels of a horizon like sheep following a shepherd. I saw eerie tempests which the sun tore apart. I saw mothers without children, and I saw children without mothers. I saw love oust bitten fear. I saw a wingless dragon never meant to cruise the skies. I saw a flock of goldfish sail against a winding current. I saw the world from all angles, each infinitely more beautiful than the last. I saw a fire that never emitted heat. I saw a kingdom rise from rubble. I saw life in the ashes of death. I saw white shadows of a night. I saw a brittle heart of glass, and I saw thousands of shards upon which it shattered. I saw sworn heroes crying over the loss of loved ones. I saw frightened boys stepping up against all odds. I saw their tearful eyes, and I saw their daring courage not led by those eyes. I saw you by the window; even now absorbed by the comet’s diminishing light. I saw keys forged to no locks, and I saw locks that no keys fit into. I saw extraordinaire voyages that life would undertake. I saw all the world’s mirrors, but none reflected anything but love. All of this is reality, which *you* are a part of. And when all deeds had been done and I had seen old pa universe go down on his knees, clocks started ticking backwards, and when I had finally waded through unimaginable depths, life came back to the place I had once called home, to a room in which a man sat and gazed upon his rusted closet. With love, . The world's first author you read on cannabis. The voice of hopeless dreamers, tireless idealists, and impractical romantics. Your imagination is real. You matter. There is place for you in the world. Source: This was taken from my collection Journeys Beyond Earth.


2020. The year that wouldn’t end. Or so we thought. It started off in December 2019, as a news story about some city in China where a lot of people were being hospitalized with some mysterious respiratory illness. Headlines spewed fear and the nightly news paraded a horror show of sick and dying people; all while asking how long would it be until it showed up in the United States, Russia and other parts of the globe. It didn’t take long. In March of 2020, the world changed. Italy was in a nationwide lockdown, due to an overwhelming number of Covid infections. In the United States, there were several hot spots for the Virus. New York City was hit particularly hard by it, as were Los Angeles and Seattle. Just as we started to think the worst was behind us, hurricane season hit us with a record number of named storms; nearly all of which hit the gulf coast of the United States. Economically, we were falling apart because no one could work. Socially, we were ripping ourselves apart over old, new, and long lasting hatreds; all while our political leaders fought over the reigns of power in an election year. Yeah, we thought 2020 was a bad year. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, along with fresh news of a second wave of the virus, everyone was looking forward to enjoying the winter holidays and then celebrating the new year. 2021 *had* to be a better year than 2020. It couldn’t get any worse. We were all wrong. The first strain of Covid that spread around the globe was just that, the first wave. It changed people for life, *physically.* Shortness of breath, muscle aches, headaches. It was baffling to our doctors. By the end of November 2020, over two million American citizens had been infected with the first strain. The second strain would move much faster. The second strain hit the northern hemisphere particularly hard. The mortality rate was higher by ten percent than the first and the changes were more obvious. The shortness of breath was still present, but light sensitivity and aural distortions were new. The third strain hit in April 2021. Six months before the visitation. The Third Strain wiped out nearly half of the uninfected population of the planet. Those who didn’t die seemed to recover to better health than before their illness. They were stronger, more energetic and had more efficient cognitive function. Hospitals were overwhelmed as people either died on ventilators or recovered within days of reporting symptoms. Just before the visitation, humanity had just about given up fighting the virus. Nothing we did seemed to work. At one point there was even talk of a vaccination...which proved to be far less effective than it had been touted to be. October 2021. Visitation. They didn’t come down in their ships in the middle of the night or anything overly dramatic. They simply took control of our social media feeds and announced their presence. In a moment we learned many truths. The first was that we were not only, *not alone,* but that there were many sentient life forms in the universe! We also learned some pretty horrible truths as well. The most horrible was that these other species did not consider us to be sentient beings. Instead, we were considered livestock. Easily configurable livestock. Genetically engineered to breed beyond the capacity of our environment to sustain our population. We were made with enough intelligence to become the dominant species on our planet, thus ensuring our ability to overpopulate our planet. The virus, it seemed, had been engineered to alter our physiology in ways that would be beneficial to inhabiting other planets designated as agricultural planets. The plan was to seed these other planets with altered humans as breed stock. Their new homes were pre-selected based upon the mutations caused by the corona virus they had unleashed on our planet. Those who became stronger would be allowed to stay on earth to start rebuilding the population. They urged us to stay calm through the transition, but would use coercion if they had to. No one would be hurt unless necessary. Of course, our military tried to fight the first ships that entered our atmosphere. They didn’t even last a week. Every military installation on the planet was targeted and destroyed systematically. It was efficiently done. Then they set up the broadcasting stations. These monstrous machines were mounted at the tops of two hundred foot long spikes delivered from low earth orbit. Hundreds of them dropped at a time from orbit spread out as they fell towards each of our inhabited continents. Once they embedded deeply into the earth they began emitting specific pheromones into the surrounding countryside. The pheromones induced a zombie like state in the infected population. Powerless to defend themselves, the affected people would follow specific pheromones to specific gathering points where they were collected in large, automated transport vessels. The pheromones didn’t have the same effect on those of staying on Earth. To us, it seemed to all be a dream. We went about our daily lives, watching our friends, neighbors and even our family members simply walk into one of the transports like it was something they had done everyday of their lives. It all seemed normal until one of us snuck onto one of the ships and disabled it in flight. She survived, no one else did. That was the first sign of resistance. Little Izzy, who was only looking for her mom. She was only fifteen and she found a way to break free of the dream and actually see the horror going on around her. Her next act brought them down in person. She managed to climb to the top of a broadcasting station and disable it with a military grade explosive. Suddenly everyone within its influence radius was awake, confused and horrified by what was happening around them. The strongest of us decided to fight back. Using chemical defense gear from a nearby surplus store, we disabled several Broadcasting Stations before the hunters caught up to us. They really tried not to hurt us. They hit us with optical stunners first. These are like flash grenades but they emit the light in a pattern of flashes that induce a trancelike state in anyone caught in its brilliance. At first it was easy for them to round us up. I couldn’t really see them, because of the armor they were wearing. It seemed to shift and blur in a way that resembled a waters pot on a camera lens. I was on the fringe of the Stunner’s effectiveness and closed my eyes as a reflex. I was ready when the first of them got to me. I could feel an unnatural heat growing around me as the figure came closer and closer to me. Just as the heat became unbearable, I heard a voice in my head encouraging me to be calm. That everything was going to be fine and that I was simply frightened because I didn’t understand. I was reminded of a cowboy talking to a wild horse before touching it for the first time. I forced myself to be calm and grabbed the handle of my knife in anticipation of being touched by a creature I could only discern as a blurry entity. The skin on my leg began to crawl as the approaching heat surrounded my ankle and spread to my calf. The heat was replaced by a clammy, cold grasping sensation on my ankle. I felt the grasp become more firm and I recoiled in revulsion and disgust. I lashed out with my knife, not at my leg, but the air above my leg. Fortune was on my side as the grasping sensation vanished, as did the voice in my head. I felt resistance as my blade struck a solid, fleshy mass and bit deep. I lost my knife when the alien pulled away in shock and pain. His comrades immediately forgot about the other humans and rushed to his aid. To me it appeared as if several water droplets coalesced into one. The optical stunner stopped emitting the terrible light and those of us who were capable of it, ran away. We formed the core of the resistance. Ten of us, including little Izzy. We woke up hundreds and started to fight the forced relocation of humanity. We live here in the Rocky Mountains because we know the land, and we can live off of it. It’s hard for them to find us here. It’s here that humanity will make its stand.


The Addendum begins the night she apologized to you for breaking your heart. The wound was still open then: despite what you told yourself, you had loved her, a little bit. As you remember it, Kate’s late and you’re drunk. The pizza parlor is nearly empty, or at least the beer has made it seem that way. Leaning forward over the table in huddles, the other diners speak quietly, and you note their sad but tacit understanding that this is not a trendy place to be on a Saturday night. A waitress with a midwestern accent comes and takes your order, and there is an awkward silence while you read the menu. You order another pint of beer and a pizza for you and Kate to share. While you wait, you fiddle with a pen: you’re nervous, this night had been a failure. The Addendum is your second chance. The Addendum, as you have decided to call it, adds significance where you think there is some. There is something missing, something to do with your understanding of your relationship with her. This search for understanding brought you to the night in the pizza parlor: the night that she had tried to apologize, and you had brushed her away in hurt. The two of you had walked off, sad and broken. You were unwhole. You are unwhole, still, but this night holds the key to forgiveness. So you’ve decided to revisit the conversation at the pizza parlor and say what you think was left unsaid. To you, there is a catharsis in adding meaning. You used to ask yourself why you still think of her. Why, even now, the urge to write about her is just as strong as when your memory was hazy with fetishism and pain. You think you know the answer, but, just as saying something out loud gives it substance, it needs to be written down. Looking across the dim room, you see her standing in the doorway. She has bangs now. They suit her well. Seeing you, the look she gives - one of compassion and mercy - makes you feel defenseless, even as she approaches the table. She squeezes into the other side of the booth, and there is a moment of silence because you’re drunk and you know she is going to apologize. Several moments pass before you break the silence. “Do you remember the first time we met?” “You know that’s not why we’re here.” “It was on the beach. Imagine this,” you say, as if into thin air. “My mom had just told me that I’d have to pay for my own tuition. She couldn’t care for both me and Solstice. He was too much for a single mom, with all the drugs and whatnot. I don’t blame her, but I’m nineteen at the time. Can barely cook, can barely take care of myself. And the first person I see is you. You were painting the birds, those little white ones that scurry along the sand. Can barely fly.” “Listen. I’m sorry. I- ” “-They were snowy plovers. That’s what they were called. And I remember how abstract your paintings were. How you seemed to be able to capture a single feeling from blotches of paint. I think it was, like, *vulnerability*. Because they were vulnerable don’t you think?” “Yeah, they are. But I didn’t mean to bring you here to talk about the time we first met. I really hurt you, and goddammit I’m trying to apologize.” And Kate grabs your hand, and there’s nothing you can do except, for the first time, listen. “There’s no need to apologize.” “I know,” she says quickly, then catches herself, “Scratch that, I do need to apologize.” “It’s alright.” “No. It’s not alright, it was reckless of me to hurt you in the way I did. I knew I could never love you, but I led you on anyway.” “You didn’t know what you wanted. It’s alright,” you say, looking down with a sad smile. She stares at you, her eyes stubborn but tender. After some time, she sniffs a bit and says, “There was a time when I saw you sitting on the couch. I already knew that I would never love you back, but you had just said something funny but also sad, and I remember, that at that moment, I wanted to hold your hand.” She smiles a bit. You sit back in silence, pulling your hand away from her. Taking a bite of a slice, and thinking, you let the time drag on in a lazy drawl while she waits. You decide to go off-script; about to change how the conversation ends because this night had been the end of things. The two of you had walked off hurt, never to speak again. Things shouldn’t have been that way. With The Addendum, it would not be that way: you’re about to let her in on the secret. You look around the parlor for a second, then, leaning over the table, you begin. “It’s been years since we’ve last spoken, but I think about you a lot. Much more than I should, I think.” You pause to let what you’re saying to register with her. She looks away, so you lean in further, your voice lowering when you continue. “I keep coming back to you, back to this conversation. Every character I write has a trace of you, and I think it stems from the same reason why you feel the need to apologize. Kaitlyn O’Connor, do you want to know why I write about you? There was a lot of resentment that I had to work through - frustration, but it was wrong to direct it at you.” Tears are in her eyes. “But you were right. It was reckless, and I did the wrong thing.” “You couldn’t have known what the right thing to do was. And maybe this Addendum, what I’m writing right now, is just a form of forgiveness, but I think there’s something more that you showed me tonight, and it has to do with the pain you’re in now. Why are you in pain?” Slowly, she says, “Because, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You grab her hand and say, “I understand. Kate, what you did, it’s so… painfully human.” What comes after this, you don’t know. Perhaps there is still some pain to be felt, but this is how you think of that night - how you think of her. In a way, you love her: she taught you understanding. She taught you empathy. You write about her because she is human, because she felt pain at causing someone else pain. You wish you could tell her that you forgive her for it, but she’s long gone from your life. Maybe the sad truth is that this story will forever be an addendum to what actually happened. Something for you to think about - sometimes. And maybe she still thinks of you as well.


*“Huh? Oh, here.”* *“First time flyer?”* *“Last time flyer.”* I quickly entered the tunnel leading to the plane, ignoring the suspicious glance the attendee threw my way whilst scanning my boarding pass. *‘Last time flyer’*, I thought, chuckling underneath my breath. I had never considered myself quick witted, but I guess even during one’s final hours on this planet, they can learn something new about themselves. As I stepped on board, I could feel the shift in tension around me. Although no one was particularly talkative whilst boarding the plane, it didn’t really feel out of the ordinary until now. After all, a 5 am flight on a Tuesday in the middle of October is not usually bustling with big families visiting relatives, or young couples looking for a thrill. Those already seated were silent. Some had closed their eyes, others seemed to be analyzing the faces around them; taking in the last piece of humanity they would likely ever see. A small woman to my left caught my gaze. Her hair was fire and the glare in her eyes told the story of what led her here. A life in shambles, a messy divorce, lost custody, an abusive boss. Do my eyes tell my story? Or does my body wreak of a life spent alone? Carefully, I place my carry-on in the luggage holder above. If someone opened it, they would find nothing; they would see nothing. A quick unzip to check on its contents reminds me, however, that it is not empty. It is filled with love unreciprocated, time lost, and a future thrown away. Invisible memories leak through its seems, filling the air with a stench of rejection and neglect. I gag. A flight attendant quickly reaches to hand me a paper bag, but I fan her away. Even if I wanted to throw up, I had not eaten for the past two days, so I doubt much, if anything, would come out. I sit down next to a young man who appears eager to have company. Shyly, he smiles at me. *“They say that everyone dies alone, but here, we will go together.”* I look into his eyes. He does not seem like the type to choose this path. He seems hopeful, content, energetic. He radiates the energy I have always envied and craved to possess. I bring my hand up to his face and brush his cheek. *“I guess beautiful people are just as unhappy as the rest of us.”* Breaking eye contact, he turns his face away from hand and rolls up his sleeves. We both look down. *“I guess so.”* His scars tell stories I do not want to hear. Perhaps if we had met a year ago, we could have both avoided this fate. A year ago, I could have saved him, and saving him would have saved me. We could have lived a life together. But instead, we will die together. As the last passengers take their seats, the flight attendants line up and exit the plane. I can see tears falling from the lady that tried to give me a paper bag. Her muffled sobs remind us all of the magnitude of our actions. Later today, the news will run rampant with a story about how 97 people lost their lives in a devastating plane crash that left no survivors. Families will mourn, strangers will switch the channel, life will continue. For everyone but us, that is. Without any warning or announcement, the plane begins to roll down the runway. I assume in a time like this, the comforting words of a pilot are useless. The only thing we want, is to reach our final destination. As I take a deep breath, the man beside me turns his body to face mine. Slowly, he reaches over and takes my hand. His palms are soft and his hands feel like home. *“Do you know where you’re going?”* he asks me softly. *“I imagine heaven is off the table, but a guy can dream.”* Squeezing my hand, he pauses briefly as the plane begins to rise. His demeanor is no longer that of a youthful carefree boy. Brows furled, he looks at me for what feels like an eternity. I wait. *“Isn’t it ironic? The thought of being punished by choosing death, a path chosen because of the way life has already punished us?”* I sigh and tell him that I find it amusing how he is contemplating this now. I started asking that question when I was twelve, and I still haven’t heard an adequate response. He asks why. I think it's because, as a people, we are so uncomfortable with the unknown. We are scared of death because — all faith aside — we simply do not know. In an age where you can find out anything with a quick Google search, there is no confusion why this generation’s capacity to discuss questions you must answer for yourself is so small. Looking over, I could tell he was considering my point of view. I appreciated that the last man I would speak to would not be like all the others that have trodden on the doormat into my home. *“Tell me your story,”* he said. What can I say? There isn’t much to tell. I’m tired. Of what, you ask? I’m tired of living a static existence. I work often, socialize rarely, and feel alone always. Maybe it was just a rut, maybe there was a better way out, but I’m too tired to look for it. By now, I could tell he wasn’t happy with my response. I felt he knew that ‘I’m tired’ was just a copout to hide the real reason I boarded this flight. A tired person would not go through all of this effort to end their life. His hands fidgeted, and I could sense him pulling away from the conversation. *“I just want to be free.”* I mumbled, hoping this would draw him in enough to keep me company for a little while longer. Turning his head to gaze out the window, he said one final thing to me. The last sentence I’d hear from him for the rest of the flight. *“There are other things that lead to freedom.”* As the flight wears on, I grow tired. Before I can nod off, we are all started by a jerk in the plane’s motion. It must be time. I can see the red haired woman from earlier begin to panic. There is no escape. We begin to descend at a rapid pace. Falling faster and faster. Falling. Falling Falling. My eyes open as snow falls around me. I must have fallen asleep. Shivering from the brutal wind, I get up and look at the winter night that had grown more intense as I slept. Remembering why I was here, I walk closer to the edge of the roof and look down into the empty street below. As I place one arm on the ledge to hoist myself up, my mouth opens and something within me whispers. *“There are other things that lead to freedom.”* I stop. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Taking it out, I see that it’s 2:04 am. My roommate is calling. I answer. *“Hello?”* *“Where are you? You seemed off today, and when I got back and you weren’t here, I got worried. Why aren’t you in your room?”* Quickly, I back away from the ledge. I’m not sure what to say. Perhaps for once, I’ll try the truth. *“I went out for a walk to think about things. Things I’ve been considering for a while. All this time, I wanted to be free, and tonight I was going to make that happen. But after lying in the snow, I realized something. Choosing death doesn’t make you free, it just makes you dead.


I’m not crazy. I love her. I want to protect her. I want to be with her. She will be mine. Ever since the day I saw her, the first time I heard her voice. “Hi!” she said to me. She is so goddamn cute. Why is she so beautiful? She makes me feel so happy. I’m not crazy. But, she will be mine. Those other guys are disgusting. They will hurt her. They will use her for their own needs, not caring about hers. I’m different, I will only give her love. I will give her my time, my attention, she is my world. I will walk with her at night, through the park. She looks so lonely by herself. It’s dangerous to be alone. I care about her. I can’t let her out of my sight. I have to be quiet though. If she sees me, she’ll tell me to leave her alone, she’ll try to avoid me. I don’t want to go back to the darkness. I’m not crazy. I’m not a psychopath. I love her. That’s all. I just want her to be happy, to be loved, by me. She will be safe. She is my main priority. I won’t rest, I won’t sleep, I won’t stop. Until she is safe. Until she is with me. Until she is in my arms. Everytime she is sad, I cry. Every time she’s scared, I want to protect her. Tell her, “Everything will be ok.” Everytime one of those bastards try to talk to her, they make her feel uncomfortable. I want to kill them all. Make sure they have a slow death, something they deserve for what they do. I’m not crazy. It would be out of love, and protection. She can never find out. She would look at me like I’m a murderer. She’d run away, call the cops, then I’ll never see her. I am a protector, a guardian angel. They say I need a doctor, my own friends, they think I’m a danger. They’ve started avoiding me. That doesn't matter. When I have her, the demons will go away. She’ll make everything better. The thought of her already does. I want to hold her hand on those long late nights. Hold her close, knowing she is safe. I’m not crazy, but I want to bring her here. To my house. I don’t have any roommates, no one will tell the cops. But, I don't want to hurt her while doing so. I’ve made a spare room for her. Comfy, safe, and within the area around me. She’ll love me. Once she sees how horrible the real world is, I can bring her to a fantasy, where she is treated like the queen. Her family is just as horrible. I should feel relaxed when she goes to her parents in the winter. But, she comes back bruised and hurt. She hardly ever looked up last time. I need her to be with me, I want her to be happy. She is the only thing in life I care about. I am not crazy. I am protecting her. I’ve saved her. Nobody can hurt her anymore. I love her.


"Can you hold your neck out a little more, please?" The excitement of changing, the rush of adrenaline and fear coursing through my veins; everything that has been built up to this point immediately stops, like an orgasm being pulled away. I open my eyes and look at him. His pale face nearly glowing under the moonlight, his silver hair shimmering, his wide, red eyes gleaming. "I'm sorry, what?" I ask. He points at me, then returns his hand back under his cloak. "Can you put your neck out more?" I shake my head. "What do you mean? Why can't you just do it like I am?" He smiles, revealing sharp canines, and giggles. He runs his hand over his forehead, then his hair. "Well, uhm... Can you just do put it out more for me, please?" When I turn to him my auburn hair falls back over my neck, covering the spot I so desperately want two marks in. "Why can't you take me as I am? I've read your kind love to do that. The touching, the closeness, the intimacy." He giggles again, looks away into the woods surrounding the park. "Well, you see, miss, I am— I am not one for intimacy of that sort." I blurt out a laugh. "Holy— a vampire afraid of flesh." His brow furrows, and he glares at me. "I'm not afraid of it, just... Just not fond of it." "Jesus Christ," I say, slapping my hand on my forehead. "How do you even live, if you have to ask people to do this? I can't believe they're willing to give up the pleasurable part of it all." "I'll have you know that I live just fine," he says, turning his nose up, "and there's been plenty of people willing to accommodate my... My affliction." "Your affliction?" I say, laughing. "Give me a break. You're just afraid of a little skin touching, afraid that those cold dead hands may touch something warm and alive. You're like a child who wants to play tag but never wants to be it. You can't have one without the other." "I'm not a child," he says, staring at me, his red eyes beginning to glow. He grits his teeth. "I haven't been a child for eons." "Sure looks like you're one now," I say, turning away from him. "Like a child who can't handle what its meant to do, meant to be. Doesn't matter now anyway." I wave my hand carelessly in the air. "I'll find a real vampire to turn me, not some trembling ghoul who pisses himself when presented with a little skin." What feels like a cab runs over me. Decrypted breath fills my nose and I can taste churned soil and rotting corpses. Two hot-brands pierce the flesh on my neck as clawing hands tear at my gown, dig into my skin, probe at my now burning bones and boiling marrow. I moan and shutter and my insides swell and burst and oh God does it feel good. "I'm no child, wench," I hear him growl as he swallows out the old, spitting in the new. "Never speak it again, or the next time we meet, I will drain you dry." If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my and consider subscribing.


It was a rainy and bleak May night in Pennsylvania, with the clock sharp on midnight. It was on a late-night train travelling from Allentown to Philadelphia that three friends, Justin, Bethany, and Sam were travelling back to college after spending time at home. As Justin stood up to stretch his legs, he banged his head on the luggage holder, his tall frame putting him in an awkward position. But Justin was by no means a lanky fellow, he was built, but slim, the ideal weight for a professional Badminton player, as his friends often teased. He smoothed back his hair, fussing about how he wished he wasn’t so tall, so he wouldn’t mess his hair when he constantly banged his head on things. “That wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so clumsy, dumbass.” Spoke up Sam “Yea and while we’re on the shitting on Justin parade, please wash that stupid cologne off! Where did you get it? A strip club?” jested Bethany “Hey c’mon guys, this meant to catch ALL the ladies, and it’s called *Love swash*” Justin rebutted sarcastically As Justin sat back down, he had to squeeze into his seat, hindered by Sam’s large gorilla like form. His square glasses were nearly knocked out of his wavy brown hair as Justin clumsily flailed his arms about trying to get in his seat. “C’mon Sam get your damn protein bar wrappers off my seat; I don’t want any leftover chocolate staining my jeans” “Yea fuck off, I need the fuel to keep this figure. You know all the girls like my muscles.” He said flexing Justin finally managed to get in his seat and the trio sat quietly for half an hour, with Bethany falling asleep while Justin and Sam talked quietly. Her bag full of precious textbooks and her laptop snuggled closely behind her legs. “Bethany, you awake?” Sam was nudging Bethany to try and wake her up, Bethany was awake the whole time, yet wanted to be left alone. She kept silent. “Bethany, come on, wake up.” Bethany opened her unrested eyes to be met with Sam and Justin getting out some cards to play poker, she rolled her eyes and tried to close them again, but Justin stopped her. “Come on, just one game? Sam and I are dying here Beth” “Yeah, we’re dying” Considering Bethany knew that Sam had no more brainpower than a muffin and Justin couldn’t ever hide the fact he had a good hand, she obliged, she often likes to flex her cognitive prowess. “Alright! Dibs shuffle!” Sam had the cards strewn all over the plastic table and was wiping them around in an attempt to randomise their order. Bethany and Justin gave each other a look. “Alright, shuffle done! Beth, can you grab a card that fell under the table on your side? I would, but I don’t think my tremendous forceps would fit under the table” Bethany gave out a chuckle, and then proceeded to look under the table while saying; “Forceps are a surgical instrument for grabbing things dumbass.” “Oh yeah, I knew that, I was just testing you.” Once Bethany picked up the fallen card and was sitting upright again, a slight scream could be heard from the front end of the train, it only took a split second later until sparks were flying from outside the window, the driver was slamming the breaks harder than what the train is designed for. Cards went flying, Justin covered his face with his hands, Sam was slammed into the table with a wet thud reminiscent of a slab of meat hitting a benchtop, and Bethany threw her hands over her bag full of precious items. It didn’t take long for the train to finally stop. All three said nothing. Suddenly, the intercom gurgled out a few static notes, and then came to life with the voice of the shaken and rattled conductor. “I… There… There was a body on the road. A human body, I don’t know how it got there, but it… Was… A… Human corpse.” Bethany, Justin, and Sam all looked at each other blankly. Though their mouths were shut, their eyes were conveying more emotion than any phrase ever could. Sam was clenching his stomach, the pain from the thud from earlier was only just starting to settle in. “A body, so we just travelled over a dead body.” Justin’s words were empty of air, like the words of a man with no lungs. Bethany tried to compose herself and spoke to the others. “Do you want me to go to the front of the train to see what people are doing?” Sam and Justin both nodded. “Can you guys take care of my pack?” “Sure Beth.” Bethany gave her backpack to Justin and wandered out of the cubicle. The back of the train was completely empty, so Bethany had to wander for a while to actually find someone. After checking cubicle after cubicle, Bethany finally found someone, a man, probably aged in his 50’s, travelling alone. His face was paralysed with fear and his eyes were tearing up. Bethany’s knock on the cubicle window made him jump. He looked at her with eyes deprived of sleep and life. Bethany could tell this man was mortified. “You alright?” Bethany said in a calming voice, the man gave her a miniscule nod, a lying nod, he was hiding the truth. He shakily spoke in reply; “I, I think I am, I don’t know.” Bethany noticed his hands shaking, she decided to console him. “So, what’s your name?” “Edgar.” Edgar gave Bethany a warm smile. Bethany smiled back at Edgar; she could tell that he hasn’t talked to anyone in a while, he seemed traumatised and lonely. Bethany proceeded up the train where a small meeting was forming. There were about six passengers and the conductor all congregating in one of the carriages. “Should we go out? I mean, we can’t just stand here” A middle-aged woman was asking the conductor to leave the train to investigate. She spoke again in a boasting voice. “I’m a doctor, I can check the body.” Bethany heard a familiar voice behind her. “What are you gonna do? CPR? Stitch his mangled parts together again?” It was Sam. He and Justin had joined Bethany and the congregation while carrying her backpack. Edgar remained in his seat, still traumatised. The conductor snapped at Sam; “Show some god damn respect who-ever-you-are” Sam rolled his eyes, if there was one thing he hated, it was being told what to do. Everybody stood silently, either because nobody had anything to say, or everybody silently mutually agreed to give the nameless body on the tracks a silent vigil. “I think we should go out, I mean, at least to check the body.” Bethany bravely broke the silence. About a half of the congregation nodded, it could easily be seen that all agreed, just many did not want to go out. “I’ll contact the police and the railway company.” The conductor shuffled back into the front of the train and began dialling numbers. “So, who wants to come out with me?” Bethany was met with no answer for the first few seconds, until Sam announced while nudging Justin; “We’ll go.” Justin’s face fell into a gloom-like state. “C’mon Justin, it’ll be fine, the more people that go out, the less scary it’ll be.” Sam seemed oddly sympathetic about Justin’s fear, perhaps it was the fact that he too was terrified. Bethany looked across the congregation to see if any others would come out to inspect the body. “Hey, what about you, the *doctor*” Sam hastily pointed at the woman who claimed to be a doctor. She looked back at him with snarling eyes. “Sure, I’ll go out, we need someone to actually know what they’re looking at, don’t we?” The group to go outside was decided, it was to be Bethany, Justin, Sam, and the doctor. The four of them began to walk up to the front of the train to ask the conductor to let them out, but he was engaged in a call. The four stood outside his door waiting. “Wait, Justin, can you give me my bag? I need to put it somewhere while we wait.” Justin handed Bethany her backpack and she began walking down the train to Edgar’s booth. “Hey mister? Can you hold my bag for a bit? Thank you so much.” Edgar’s eyebrows lifted for a split second; he was needed for something. Edgar couldn’t remember the last time that somebody needed him. “Sure, I can.” Bethany smile and made her way back to the front of the train, relieved that her bag will now be safe. She noticed that the conductor was off the call and that the first carriage’s door was open. She hesitantly stepped outside onto the soggy ground to meet up with the other three. “So, uh, the body should be about twenty feet down the train, give or take.” The doctor was pointing down the train when Sam interrupted. “Are you sure genius? I mean, wouldn’t there be *bits* of who-ever-it-was everywhere?” The doctor had just about had it with Sam, she lowered her hand and walked up right into Sam’s face. “Listen kid, would you leave me alone! I am trying to do my best here and the last thing I fucking need is for some brat to tell me I’m fucking doing it wrong!” She turned from Sam and marched slowly down the train searching for the mangled corpse, Sam wiped droplets of the doctor’s spit from his face. “Uh, Miss?” Justin called out; his voice devoid of life. “I think I see something…” The doctor and Bethany approached Justin; Sam looked on from a distance. Justin was avoiding looking at the thing that he had just found. “I think we found it.” Bethany called out to Sam, Sam responded in a thumbs up, but he remained away. “You guys have a look at that, I just can’t.” Justin stumbled away looking as pale as a fresh sheet of paper, he walked over to Sam where they both began heading into the train. The doctor and Bethany looked at the corpse from about five feet away. “I’m going to take a closer look.” The doctor got to about three feet away to examine the body, it was a male, at least it used to be. Its face was smothered in blood and the skin was a pale-yellow, but it was intact; the same could not be said about the rest of him. From the bottom of his breastbone was where the true damage lay, with that being the part that was caught by the train. His entire abdomen was ripped in half by the train, with his intestines leaking out onto the soggy, mushy, blood ridden ground. The doctor could not make out his legs, as they were severely mangled under the train. “That’s funny.” The doctor called out to Bethany. ‘It has a stab wound!” The doctor notice that there were multiple stab wounds on the corpse’s upper-left section of the chest. “This was a murder, and the train was the killer’s way to dispose of the body!” Bethany’s brain was racing, part of her wanted to have a close look at the body, but part of her wanted to throw up. “We need to get back in the train, kid.” Bethany nodded; she was mortified of what may have caused the corpse’s death.


It was dark, wet, and stormy. Christian sat down at his Grandma’s ancient computer. He hit it to turn it on and waited for it to load. After twenty minutes of frustration, he finally booted it up. Christian sighed, cracked his knuckles, and blew the dust off of the keys. Christian’s grandmother had passed away years ago, and her things had gone to Christian. Christian had been owning the abandoned house, but He was selling it now. He had to get rid of a ton of stuff. Unfortunately, his grandma was a hoarder, so he had a lot to do. Once Christian had seen an outdated, white computer, he thought it would be a cool break to sit down and try it out. As soon as he had turned it on, a “senior” website pulled up from a long time ago. The computer had belonged to his grandfather, and grandma, but Christian couldn’t imagine his grandma using it. It had to have belonged to his grandfather who had passed away thirty-five years before. His grandpa had been a strange man. He used to always have a strange grin before he passed away, the man always wore zebra-striped aviator glasses. Christian read what the site said. It read: *Free Object if You Put in Your Address.” What the heck is an “object”* Christian thought, as he clicked the *I want it* button. It took him to another old site that read, *Type in your information with the questions.* Christian Typed all of it in and waited. The computer shut off and didn’t turn on after that. Christian soon forgot all about the computer, he donated, threw away, and sold everything in the house. One week later a small box appeared in his mailbox. Christian picked it up and threw it onto the kitchen table. It was heavy. Christian ran upstairs to grab some scissors, he ran back down and started to cut open the tape that sealed the box. The box was very vintage. It looked as if it was from the 1970s or 80s. Christian finished cutting the tape, and he was about to open it when he thought. *What is in here? This was what grandpa was doing before he died. Could this be what caused him to die?* He shook the feeling and peeled open the box. When he opened the cardboard flaps and peeled away some crackling yellowed tissue paper, he saw what was in the box. A cold hand shot out and grabbed him. His face shot into an expression of pure horror. His jaw dropped, and he let out a scream that shook his neighborhood. Christian struggled as the cold pale hand tried to pull him into a cold, ice world. Throughout the interior of the box was a desert of snow. Christian cried as he helplessly flailed his arms and screamed. The arctic wind was blowing into his face. The cold, mummified hand dug its sharp fingernails into Christian’s flesh. He let out one last cry for help before he was sucked into a world of pain, despair, and absolutely no joy at all. The police arrived at the house after a smiling old man had called. He said he had heard screaming, from the old house. The police thanked the kind-hearted man and headed in. They found nothing. The old man, who had reported the incident, grinned a strange grin, as he peeked through the crack in the fence. He adjusted his zebra aviator glasses and took a sip from a mug of coffee. The old man had his cold, pale hand stuck inside an old open box, with tissue paper. Flaking away from the hands of time.


“This party is lame.” Jacques says this statement to no one in particular, his eyes remaining focused on the clock above the Rembrandt painting hung upon the wall, musing over the elegance of the print, which is without a doubt an authentic original, and the fact it had been hung so haphazardly upon the wall without so much as a single protective layering seemed an atrocious affront to the art itself, which resonated a certain sort of dread inside him. He turns from the painting then, catching the eyes of two nameless guests of the party. The two men both avert their eyes so as to avoid contact with his. There was no denying it; he stuck out like a sore thumb in this crowd. Maybe it was his all-black-outfit consisting of jeans, a black t-shirt, a black goatee, and a shaved head… or maybe it was his general demeanour. Where does one begin and the other end? A person’s perception of themselves versus the way they present themselves? Was one a product of the other? It was hard to say. The only definitive thing Jacques could say had already been said; the party was a lame one. He was only here because his sister had insisted he come. She was married to a politician, and most of the people here were at least a decade older than Jacques. But that was all well and good, considering Jacques had drank the last of his vodka late last night as he went about his nightly ritual of battling sleep (and the dreams which accompanied it), and he was already late on his rent for that month so, the fact he could get drunk for free here had been a deciding factor in his presence. *“Ahem!”* Everyone’s head swirls at the sound of a cough from somewhere within the lavish living room overlooking the lake. “Don’t worry,” a woman’s voice calls out, “he’s just a smoker!” Speckled spots of laughter ripple through the crowd, the lingering trauma of the pandemic clearly still fresh upon the tip of their cerebellums. Jacques is accosted then by a short blond girl who introduces herself as Beatrice, her outstretched hand looking much like a broken twig to him. “What brings *you* here?” she asks, her eyebrows emphasizing the fact that the ‘you’ is italicized. “The unfortunate condition of life,” he says, sighing and sipping from his drink. “What’s this?” Beatrice asks, leaning to get a closer look at the block of text tattooed on the inside of Jacques collarbone, which reads ***GODISNOWHERE.*** “God is now here?” she reads the words out loud, musing over them with a quizzical look on her face. “That’s… a nice thought.” “Is it?” Jacques says, sighing. He didn’t have to the strength or conviction left in him to bother pointing out that the tattoo could also be read ‘God is nowhere.’ It was all too much for him; the way their eyes hung on lingering a little too long, and how they leaned in close to whisper in each other’s ears, talking of life’s tiny trivialities from safe on high in their golden nests. Suddenly, it was hard for him to take in breath, his lungs rejecting the savage air with utter disdain. *This place is toxic*. He felt as if his skin was been scorched, the temperature rising from within. He proceeds to shuffle towards the kitchen where countless liquor bottles line the counter beside the sink. He pours himself a stiff rye and coke. As he takes his first sip from the drink, brushing his bangs from his eyes, a couple enters the kitchen and makes their way for the makeshift bar beside the sink. They were closer to Jacques in age, both of them dressed up in expensive designer clothes for which Jacques had no reference. Words like *Armani*, *Calvin Klein*, and *Gucci* flitter through his head like the wings of a fly; a mere nuisance. "What kind of sauce do you think would go best if you had to eat a person?" "BBQ sauce for sure," the woman says, her dark hair shimmering in the kitchen light. Her lips were painted a dark shade of red; all crimson in the dim light. "Not apple sauce?" the fellow says, his eyes narrowing intently. "No, of *course* not!” she scoffs. “Too sweet. It would have to be a spicy BBQ sauce, and you'd want to cook it crispy, you know, since humans have a lot of fat - generally, at least around here!” The two share a laugh while Jacques can’t help but overhear. "I would never eat a person," he interjects, taking a long pull from his drink while the two unknown faces stare at him in momentary disbelief. "They're fucking disgusting." "Chill out man," the guy says, giving him the once over, his eyes trailing over him. "Yeah, it was just like... a totally hypothetical conversation," the brunette woman with drawn-on eyebrows adds. "Well, I still wouldn't eat a human,” Jacques shrugs, “too much toxicity." The couple move uneasily past him, the woman shaking her head. Jacques rolls his eyes and moves the other way towards the multi-leveled deck overlooking the lake. "There you are!" his sister cries out, appearing in the hallway of the kitchen before he can make his escape. She comes at him in a barrage of curled hair and silk-smooth arms, wrapping herself around him in a drippy hug. "Isn't this just the best?" She is wearing a silver dress which shimmers in the light. "It's pretty great," he says, looking past her at the clock hung from the wall. "What are we celebrating again?" "Oh Jacques," Marissa laughs, slapping him on the chest. "You have such a *wicked* sense of humour." "I honestly have no idea what this party is for," he says again, disinterested. "You're a riot, little brother. A real rebel without a cause." He goes to move past her then, sighing as she reaches out and grabs him by the arm. *Where are you going?* she asks. *Out for a smoke,* he says. He makes his way past the throngs of people in the living room, some of them wearing little pointed party hats, all of them laughing far too loudly than Jacques assumed was warranted; there was nothing particularly humorous about anything occurring at this particular moment, in his particular opinion. *Just another circle-jerk*. An evening of laughter and self-grandeur hidden beneath the guise of whatever trivial banality they were pretending to give a shit about. Jacques pushes past a group of people and out into the vast expanse of the five-hundred foot second-story deck which had been built during the quarantine, the stain finish fresh and glistening. Outside, the air hits him like a slap in the face - that sour heat of the city melting away across the Muskoka Lake. Lamps carve a path through the darkness down to the water’s edge. It was still strange seeing all these people clustered together without masks on, at least to Jacques. Everyone else at the party seemed relatively nonplussed by the fact that there were clearly over one hundred people present at his sister's little get-together. Jacques spots his sister's husband, Reginald, entertaining a group of important looking people; mostly older men in expensive suits with customized cufflinks and gold watches. *Prostituting himself for votes no doubt*, Jacques thinks to himself as he moves in the opposite direction, pulling a battered cigarette pack from out of his pocket and lighting up one of the smokes in an effortless gesture. The smoke hits his lungs and, and for a moment, he feels calm. "Hey! You're Marissa's brother, right?" Jacques turns to see a couple approaching him. Both are dressed extravagantly in designer clothing purchased from niche boutiques in Paris, or at least that's what Jacques presumed. The tall man is dressed in a navy blue pin-striped, single-breasted-suit and his assumed wife (or mistress) wore a blood-red dress with a scandalous slit revealing most of her left leg, looking milky white in the silver moonlight. “How are you tonight?” the woman in the red dress asks, smiling at him. “It’s Jacques, right?” “It’s nice to be out of the city, I guess.” “So nice,” she agrees, turning to the tall man. “I was just telling Bertrand that. Isn’t that right sweetie?” “That’s right, she was,” he nods. “Fascinating,” Jacques says, only half listening to the words coming out of his own mouth. “Sometimes I feel so suffocated in the city, too many people. Did you know that rats carried the plague back in the dark days, and now, I guess you could say that humans are the rats…” The sharply dressed man shares a look with his partner. “Don’t you think you’re being a little… over-dramatic?” “Funny you say that,” Jacques says to the woman in the red dress, chuckling as he pulls from his cigarette. “I find that most people don’t get dramatic enough.” “And what is it that you *do*, Jacques?” Bertrand asks, sipping from his cognac glass and smirking into the silver moonlight. “I’m a programmer,” he says, disinterested. In that moment, their eyes are all drawn to the full-moon suspended in the velvet black sky, a hollow wind blowing through the trees and causing their leaves to rustle like the sounds of a thousand whispers. “And what do you program mostly?” “Computers.” “Oh.” “Yeah,” Jacques says, shrugging and gulping from his now empty tumbler. “Hey,” he says, after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do either of you know what this party’s for?” “This party?” the man asks, gesturing with his arms in two big circles. “Yeah, like… what are we all doing here?” “Well, I thought that was obvious,” the lady in the red dress says, incredulously. Jacques looks on, his face wet with anticipation. “We’re partying,” she says, pausing before giggling to herself, drinking her wine. The red from her lips leaving a stain upon the tip of the crystal-stemmed wine glass. “Whatever,” Jacques sighs, shaking his head and turning away from them, the sounds of their laughter following him as he moves to the edge of the deck, his eyes drifting past the trees and out into the water below. His mind drifts along with his eyes, thoughts of Dylan flittering through his consciousness like a snake beneath the water’s surface. There’s a part of him that missed him very much, the way his dirty blond hair seemed to glow in the morning sun… and he wished very much that they could be together. But there was another part of him, perhaps a much greater part, which cursed Dylan for leaving him behind in this world. Often times he would catch himself pontificating on how he wished things had happened in reverse; that *he* would have been the one to get sick, and Dylan would have had to watch *him* die a slow and irrelevant death, his lungs gradually filling with liquid that the virus caused, leaving his last breathes sounding like the engine of an old lawnmower. A glass shatters somewhere behind him upon the deck, startling Jacques from his lovesick trance. *“Opa!”* Someone from inside the house yells, the sounds of laughter swelling briefly before the gentle hum of a dozen conversations resumes. “There he is!” his sister croons, walking over towards Jacques with a handful of guests in tow; a barrage of Armani suits and diamond jewelry. “Leave me alone,” he sighs. “Oh, why are you always such a party pooper?” she whines, smacking his arm. A few of the people behind her are whispering behind cuffed hands. “Aren’t you happy to be here?” “No one even knows what this party’s for.” “You’re missing the point,” his sister says, rolling her eyes. “Have you been down to the water yet? You really ought to go down. It’s *so* beautiful down there.” “Maybe I will,” Jacques says, surveying the illuminated path. “There’s a significantly less presence of humans down there.” “My brother,” his sister smiles, “the constant cynic.” He rolls his eyes at her before turning and descending the stairs. The sound of his footfalls easily drowned out by the party, and he flicks his cigarette butt into the gravel pathway. He approaches the water’s edge with his hands in his pockets, casually kicking at orphan stones as he walks. He thinks then of all that happened in the last year, all that he had lost, and part of it still left a sour feeling in his stomach, yet his apathy had effectively muted the initial rage and betrayal he felt… but that was the problem. He didn’t know who exactly had betrayed him… Unbeknownst to Jacques, a large chunk of earth had been removed earlier that week when Reginald had had the dock replaced, and when Jacques’ foot came down expecting to find earth, it instead found two feet of air, sending him tumbling head-first into the dark-deep water, the sound of his splash barely audible over the sound of the music playing from the deck above. Jacques’ sister turns to one of the guests then, clinking glasses with him. "I love champagne," she says. "I hear you made out like a bandit on Pfizer,” the man replies. "We did well," she nods. "Thus, the champagne." *Help, please, someone help me! I can't swim!* Jacques’ sister turns to face the crowd then, clinking the side of her glass with a caviar spoon. She waits patiently until everyone at the party has quieted, all of their eyes transfixed upon her and her dazzling silver dress. "We are gathered here tonight to celebrate life itself...” *Please, please! I can't swim... the water is too deep!* Sounds of soft applause ripple through the crowd. "...because life, as we learned over the past year, is something we all take for granted. It’s not until we’re staring death in the face, or finding death in the face of our loved ones, that we realize just how lucky we truly are…” *Can anyone hear me, please? Help me! I can’t swim!* "...which is why we should party hard tonight!" "Yeah!" the crowd cheers in unison, raising their glasses to one another. "Help!" Jacques cries, reaching towards the sky with his hands, his head partly submerged in the black water. "So let us toast our amazing fortunes and impeccable taste in company," she pauses then to allow for the speckled laughter to fade, "and on a more serious note... let us remember all those who died last year in the wake of such an awful virus. Truly, the world has changed so much since it all began..." *Pl-weeeuhhh-ggrrrrr-ease!* "Hurrah!" *Hel-argagagargagragr-llllllllppppppp...* And as Jacques’ head slowly disappears into the lake, his last thoughts revolving around his mother as the water fills his lungs, most of the partiers move back inside where there was warmth and food, his sister poking her head out briefly and looking around before returning inside as well, closing the sliding glass door with a hollow thud that travels over the rippling water which was now a grave for the forgotten. Some of the guests linger on the deck a while longer, smoking cigars and sipping their flutes of champagne, talking casually of relevant recent events; another dictator overthrown in some middle-eastern country, another president elected in the U.S., more riots in the streets in the Southern States, a celebrity died and rumors are swirling he overdosed - while more sinister speculations suggest he was actually murdered... another conspiracy cover-up job... THE END.


Hello all! I wrote this little snippet of a diary, and perhaps you like it :) Now, I am a man, and thus I occasionally need to feel manly. I might not be very manly, but I need to feel that way some times. It is in my nature. Sometimes I drink beer. Sometimes I decide not to stray at the sight of a large dog. Sometimes I make sure a painting hangs perfectly level. In my latest attempt to unleash my testosteron on the world, I decided to refurbish a small cabinet that I own. Manly! I went to the hardware store. I bought the stuff the other manly man said I would need to feel manly. I payed the cashier. And I went back home to unleash all of my creative fury of the defenseless cabinet. Manly! Only one problem... So far the only way I ever fixed something was by replacing the batteries. Though I was sure I could do this. After all, what is the worst that could happen? I am a man, it is in my genes! I started to sand the cabinet. The hardware store man told me I needed to. I would never have thought of it, but real men share their conquests. Manly! It did not take me long to put a new leg on the cabinet but it was a struggle, it was a conquest. The old one had served me obediently for over fifteen years, but it had died, and his three friends were carrying his share or my burdens... but this new one... This little piece of shaped wood was resisting every step of the way, but I beat it into submission and it is now supporting my stuff. Manly! Time for primer! Who needs primer? According to the hardware store man, I do! I grabbed the brush. The big brush. I opened the primer. The white primer. I dipped my brush and I unleashed the Leorardo da Vinci in me. But this... This was not manly, because I lost. Layer one. It would be clear that I needed more layers. Layer two. If only that was enough. I was losing, but I did not give in. I am a man. Layer five arrived and the cover still wasn't there. I lost this battle. I needed reinforcements, thus I called the best person I know. The wisest person I know. The one person who has had the answers to every question in my life. My mom. I explained the dire situation. I explained my hopeless position. And she replied with the words only the wisest of mothers dare to share with their sons. Words that would turn even the Bible silent. "Did you stir the primer?" I was in awe. This wisdom. This knowledge. This experience. I was once again a man worthy of Valhalla. Of Sovngarde. Of Elysium. I stirred this primer as if it was the blood of demons. I dipped my brush as if it was a sword piercing a heart. I spread the paint as if I was repairing the walls of Minas Tirith. And I made my cabinet as white as Roman marble. This wise knowledge applied to the true paint as well, and I was once again in awe at my first devine creation. This creation made the mighty Ra so jealous, night dawned early. It made Odin cheer so loud, it will echo across the earth. And it even made Atlas squat our realm one more time to rival my Manliness. Thank you mother, for making me the man that I have become.


“Be humble for you are made of earth. Be noble for you are made of stars.” ― Serbian Proverb If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it’ll oversimplify and probably misinterpret complicated science for the sake of a short story. At the start of our universe's story, certain laws of physics either didn’t exist, or didn’t matter, in the sense where they cannot be used to understand what exactly went on. From the Big Bangs residual radiation, quarks formed, resulting in other subatomic particles forming, such as protons and neutrons, which bound together to form the first atoms, Hydrogen and Helium. After the universe cooled, electrons were able to bind those atoms and, through unregulated trial and error, eventually resulted in atoms we know and love, such as carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it becomes a bunch of atoms. If you leave atoms alone for long enough, they become a bunch of molecules. If you leave molecules alone for long enough, they become organic molecules. If you leave organic molecules alone long enough, they become unicellular life. If you leave unicellular life alone long enough, it will become multicellular life. If you leave multicellular life alone long enough, it becomes different species. If you leave different species alone long enough, they become apes. And if you leave apes alone long enough, they become humans. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it will invent religion. If you leave religion alone long enough, it will think of reasons to kill other people from other religions. Maybe religion is why we have hydrogen at all. Maybe God really did work behind the scenes and create every quark you see in matter. Maybe not. Does it matter? It doesn’t matter. Or at least, it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t change the way you live your life. If someone believes in God they should want to be good to everyone they meet, and if someone doesn’t believe in God they should STILL want to be good to everyone they meet. After all, every other person you meet is just sentient, changed hydrogen arranged differently. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it becomes self aware. Some hydrogen will like this more than others. We actually made up terms for what it's called when hydrogen likes its existence, it’s called “happy”, while hydrogen that doesn’t like its existence is deemed “unhappy”. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle, we’re not always happy or unhappy, we’re just ‘okay’ most of the time. Let's backtrack here. Throughout your life, you’re just a series of dying and regenerating cells. Cells are a bunch of atoms. Atoms are a bunch of protons, neutrons and electrons. Protons and neutrons are a bunch of quarks (electrons are their own variety of subatomic molecule but that's a topic for a different day). So where does it stop? Where does it start? What layer of ‘you’ is the most ‘you’? Are you a bunch of quarks? Are you a bunch of protons? Atoms? Cells? Organs? Is what you call ‘you’, just located in your brain? Sometimes it’s comforting to remember we’re all just different types of atoms, bouncing around in a universe we don’t understand, but most of time, its fucking terrifying. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it’ll form planets, universe, galaxies, life itself, but eventually, it’ll burn itself out. Given a long enough timeline, the mortality rate goes up to 100%, and the importance of everything we spend all day doing goes down to 0% Eventually, given enough time, every reaction in the universe will end, and all of this will fade away into heat, leaving no trace of anything that any human has said, done, or thought. All will be forgotten, and all there will be nothing left. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it has an existential crisis about its own existence, and will need to get a cold beer from the fridge to calm down. It might still be stressed, however, and may need another one after that. Maybe a third. Hmmmm, that’s not working, maybe something stronger. Whiskey, perhaps? Vodka? Both in one drink? Would that make it Vhiskey or Wodka? If you leave hydrogen having an existential crisis alone for long enough, it can become addicted to alcohol. But, if you don’t leave an alcoholic alone, they can stop having problems with alcohol. Not unlike how, if you work and experiment with hydrogen, it’ll combine with other particles and atoms, becoming something entirely new. You may be thinking, “I just read that all that I know and love will fade into heat, collapse, and none of this may have mattered at all, for even a moment! Why would I bother trying to change or be better? What am I against all that?” The answer is everything. You’re a bunch of changed atoms that have sentience. You can make your own choices, live your own life, and decide what you want to make of the time you have. It doesn’t matter if your life matters, what matters is that you make the most of it while you can, because the day will come when you can’t. Most of us don’t want to waste our one shot at sapience working for meager wages from corporate overlords. Of course, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it’ll burn in every star we can see from our little planet, changing and becoming something new. Now, we can’t change inside the heart of a star and merge with protons, (because, well, death), but we can change ourselves, everyday, with little things. Some changes cost energy, some produce energy, some store energy, just like reactions can store, produce, or use energy. One thing is for sure, most of the time, the end products in a reaction are altered when compared to the original, and are no longer the exact same as they were before. If a bunch of subatomic particles can do something like that, seemingly by themselves, you can get off your lazy ass and change for the better, too. If you leave hydrogen alone for long enough, it will form words. If you work with words for long enough, they will become sentences. A sentence is really just a bunch of words, which, when paired together, have a whole new meaning. Enough sentences, and you can get your point across in a story. Enough stories, and you can make a book, with a lot more meaning than individual sentences, words, or even letters. Not unlike how, if you pair particles together, they become atoms, and if you pair atoms together, they become molecules, and so on. These particles, atoms, molecules, may not have a ‘purpose’ on their own, but when working with others, they might even become something as weird and amazing as a human being one day. Maybe it’s not that you don't have a purpose, it’s just that you haven’t been around the right circumstances for you to discover it yet. Maybe it’s okay if there is no greater purpose, you don’t have to be important to be important to other people. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. Maybe that’s all this is. Sometimes, though, if you leave hydrogen alone long enough, it’ll grab a bottle of beer, watch itself change inside a million little fires in the night sky, and be okay with where it is now. If it’s lucky.


The Funeral This is a stupid story I came up with while watching the election coverage on ABC. My friend and I were texting about how one reporter we enjoyed was absent. Jon Karl. Then my friend was like “Jon must be dead to everyone. He’s not on TV. He’s a political correspondent isn’t he?” Then this idea popped in my head. I do NOT under any circumstances wish harm on Jon Karl. I like him actually. So I just wrote up the epilogue part to get me started. Please don’t hate me —- It was the day of Jon’s funeral. Everyone who knew him well wEre in a church, talking about him. Except his best friend, David. David sat on a pew, alone. He didn’t want to be here. But he had to be. He was delivering the eulogy. And it was the polite thing to do. He soon stood up, walking to the group. Mary quickly noticed him, hugging him. “David, I know how hard this is for you. You and Jon were pretty close. He and I rarely worked together. But we became good friends during the debates. Sit with me and Ali?” she looked at her watch. The service should begin any minute now. He reluctantly sat down beside Mary, trying to keep his emotions in check. But he knew that not crying would make him look weak. He snapped out of his daze when one of their other coworkers, Mike, tapped him on the shoulder and said “You’re on deck David. You’ve got this” David glared at Mike, then got up. He walked up to the lectern, adjusting the microphone. He knew this was also being broadcast to homes around the nation, too. He blinked back tears before speaking. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m David Muir. We’re all here today to celebrate the like of Jon Karl. I was great friends with Jon for almost 15 years. I was extremely honored when his wife, Maria, asked me to deliver this speech. I’m nervous about finding the words to describe just how much Jon meant to me, his loved ones, and the public watching at home” He was extremely tense, but talking like he was reporting the news helped. “When I first met Jon 15 years ago, we didn’t quite hit it off. But he was my mentor, and I had to listen to him.” He laughed, remembering how rebellious and cocky he was. Jon was like a big brother to him. Suddenly, David dropped his pen. “Errr technical malfunctions.” He laughed, as he bent down to grab his pen and wipe his eyes. ‘Thanks, gravity’ he thought, before standing back up. Doodling helped him calm down. Since he was so tense and stressed, the doodle was pretty intricate. It was of him and Jon on one of their reports. “Jon was one of the bravest men I knew. One of our reports was in the midst of Hurricane Sandy in 2012. There had been a wave that almost killed me. The huge wave was carrying a lot of wood planks and nails. Jon had almost pulled me out of the way, but the wave nearly shattered my left leg, and part of my skull. I- I was unconscious for about a week. Jon saved my life...” Suddenly, he looked at everyone, weary. He was as pale as the sheet of paper he was reading off of. He wanted to run and scream. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t done yet. “I need a moment.” He sighed, sipping the water he had. Closing his eyes, he pictured Jon giving him the thumbs up. “Jon and I always goofed off while we weren’t working on anything. We used to sit and play video games on our laptops. I remember the last game we played. Among Us. You know, I still want a rematch.” He smirked as the crowd laughed. He was finally almost done with the speech. “As I mentioned earlier, Jon was an incredible man, mentor, friend, and my best friend. To his family, he was a son, a father, a husband, an uncle.” David finally finished, and decided to end the speech with his sign off. “This is David Muir for ABC News. We’ll see you right back here, tomorrow night” he winked, trying to keep the mood up.


My daughter held my hand, standing over me as I lay in the hospital bed. I could see her tears sliding through the slight wrinkles on her face and into her white hair, but she was smiling. She smiled because she knew this was how it was supposed to be. I brought her into this world and raised her into a great woman like myself. That was my purpose in life, and now I was done. So I closed my eyes and let myself slip away into blackness. I expected for my mind to settle; for my thoughts to stop moving. But they didn't. I was still here. I was still conscious. How? The blackness slowly started to fade. I could see a faint white light coming in. I opened my eyes to find myself still in the hospital bed, but my daughter was nowhere to be seen. I was all by myself in an empty room. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. I was staring into blackness again with just my thoughts. Then it all happened once more. The light began to come back. I opened my eyes. I was still alone in the same hospital room. What was this? The blackness returned, and the process repeated a third time. But once I opened my eyes from the blackness for the fourth time, I was no longer in the hospital bed. I was lying in my own home. Alone, in the bedroom that I never thought I'd see again. I was beginning to panic now. What was happening? After a few seconds, the blackness came back. Then I woke up once again in my bedroom. Then the blackness returned. This cycle repeated over and over again. I could feel myself gripping the bedsheets beneath me. My heart was racing, and yet my body felt almost more comfortable than it was before. I noticed that the pains in my neck and ankles were slowly starting to relieve themselves after each blackout. It happened another ten times. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred or so it felt. I tried screaming out, but this cycle didn't seem to end. I couldn't count how many times the blackness flashed in front of me. It felt like I was going on several hundred now. Maybe even a thousand. I woke up in my bedroom once again, but immediately I noticed this one was different. I felt something cold resting on top of my hand. The blackness returned. I woke up again, and that cold was still there. I turned and looked to my side, and was hit with a brick of emotion. I could feel tears forming on my face. There he was. My husband, fast asleep. The man I had loved and spent almost my entire life with was somehow here, alive and holding my hand once again after all these years. He still looked so beautiful, even in his old age. The blackness returned, and I woke up again to my husband's face. This was repeated continuously. Sometimes he was asleep, other times his eyes were looking back at me as he smiled. Now I didn't want this to end. At this point, I figured out what was happening, I think. I was moving through each day of my life, starting from the very end, for just a few seconds. Waking up within each morning, to see a glimpse of that part of my life. I was falling backwards through time. I woke up next to my husband hundreds of more times. Sometimes, I'd reach out and give him a small kiss, or pull him in for a close embrace. It felt like it would never end, and I didn't want it to. It now began to feel like the blackness had returned a few thousand times. I could now start to see my husband looking younger. A little colour was returning to his hair. The wrinkles were fading from his face. I could even see some muscles returning to his body, which made me smile. I travelled through several more years. Maybe even a few decades, but I wasn't counting. Sometimes little things would change. We'd wake up in a hotel room, or suddenly he’d have a very thick beard that slowly grew shorter. I felt younger in my own body, and my husband looked like he was reaching his thirties himself. I didn't want to leave this. I didn't want to lose this man again, and yet he had no idea what I was going through. I woke from the blackness again and saw something different. Lying peacefully asleep, between my husband and I, was our daughter. Once more, I was flooded with a wave of emotions. She looked to be only six years old. This must have been the very last time she crawled into our bed, afraid of a nightmare or a thunderstorm. I noticed her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed, completely unaware of the gorgeous old woman I would watch her grow up to be. I blacked out again. When I woke up, she was gone. I began travelling through several more years. Sometimes, I'd see my daughter again, but most days she wasn’t there. However after she vanished for a few hundred days, I realized she was gone, once more. God, please no! I just wanted to see my baby girl one more time. It wasn't long after that when my husband suddenly vanished too. There I was again, alone. I laid there, peacefully, and watched as the bedroom around me changed into my old university dorm, but I wasn't paying attention to it. My thoughts were locked around my husband and my daughter. My dorm faded again, and I woke up in another bedroom. This one was much smaller. It was covered in posters, pictures, and pillows. Dirty laundry was sprawled across the floor. I recognized it right away; it was my childhood bedroom. I hadn't been there in more than seventy years. It was just one more thing flashing in front of me that I thought I'd never see again. It felt like I was flying through years now. The pictures on the walls and the items on my dresser were changing. I could feel myself growing younger. I opened my eyes, and there I was. Laying in a different bedroom, sandwiched between two other bodies. It was my parents. This must've been the very last time I crawled into their bed, afraid of a nightmare or a thunderstorm. My heart felt tired from all the emotions I'd gone through, yet there I was again. Looking at the faces of the two great people who'd raised me into who I was. I felt so small compared to them. But once again, it was all gone within a few seconds. I continued down this tumble through my life. Occasionally, my parents would flash in front of me for a few seconds. My bedroom began to fill itself with more toys and stuffed animals. I could tell that I was quickly approaching the end. The world around me grew bigger, but my bed grew smaller with me until it transformed into a small crib. I found myself, once again, panicking at the thought of what was going on around me. It was only several moments ago that I had accepted death. I had said one last goodbye. Yet, here I was. Wanting to cling to all of these people who made up my life. I didn't want to let go. Life wouldn't leave me when I was ready for it, but now that I was no longer ready, I could feel it fleeing once again. I opened my eyes once more. I felt a large pair of arms wrapped around me. I laid naked and screaming, looking up at a young woman's face. It was my mother. I could see her tears sliding through her smooth young cheeks and into her dark hair, but she was smiling. She smiled because she could see what she had created. She brought me into this world and raised me into a great woman like herself. There I was, for a few final seconds, at the very beginning of my life, until I felt it all fade away into blackness once more; this time for good. \ This is my first time posting here. I put two hours aside this morning to write this after I was struck with some inspiration. The idea came from a WP over on that sub, but it was deleted before I could write it, so I figured I'd post it here.


I awoke to find myself in a cavern deeper than the sleep under which I had been. A strange glowing moss dusted the door of my cryogenic chamber; this I swept aside and felt a sharp pain in my arm. I stopped and realized my muscles were dangerously weak. For a day I rested in my chamber, eating the silver packet of biscuits stored neatly in the side. I found my NotePod in my pocket, almost out of battery. Hesitating, I lifted it to my ear and turned it on. Music flooded the abyss. It was Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No.2. I put the biscuits down. What was waiting above? I began my ascent, holding my NotePod in my hand. A light beamed from it. The whole cave was lit by this dim phosphorescent moss. Stalactites of quartz and limestone glittered above me from misshapen curves of pearly stone, like unicorns waiting to be born. I walked under an archway of milky green glass that looked like chrysoprase, getting its green color from traces of nickel in the material. Just before the meteor storm I’d been to a museum of geology. The NotePod flickered. The music began to crackle. I didn’t have that much time. I pushed aside some of the moss and found myself at a steep hill. This I climbed, and began to see a bright light. It grew stronger upon my path, which consisted of metallic black rubble, and finally, long after the NotePod had gone silent, I emerged in the above world. The world had become a glittering, staggering mess of geometry. Cubical formations burst out of the ground like bismuth skyscrapers or mutated computer chips. I climbed one of these and found far beyond me a desert of sand. Beyond that, something that was unmistakably a city stood guarded by a wall that extended on both sides until it disappeared behind further glittering skyscrapers of blackened rock. I began to venture into the desert. The cold moon shone above me. I had underestimated how windy it would be; this delayed my trip by two days. In the morning it was impossible to go on in the burning heat, so I hid under a massive rock and waited. On the second night, I found something strange that moved across the sand; hungry, I broke it upon a rock and ate it. I came across many more of the strange insectile creatures as I approached the city, and suffering no ill effects from my first meal I ate a few more. On the third night, I came to the city and knocked on its walls. They were capable of translating my speech, and I became something of a novelty in that city of a thousand worlds. It was in my fifth month there that I came to visit the Museum of Geology. In it I found chemical combinations from across the universes. Next to a piece of petrified wood, I read, “*Homo sapiens scorpionem*, mutation result of the Meteor Shower 2020 AD”. Fossilized in the wood was the creature I had eaten in the desert.


Hi, this is my first post on here. I'm new to writing short stories so sorry if this is slightly badly written. This story does discuss suicide. Also I'm on mobile so the format might be crappy. It was 4am, I was awoken by the ring of my telephone. It was dark, but I was able to find the phone in my night stand. I checked for the number and it wasKatherine, my girlfriend. I picked up but it wasn’t her voice. “Michael?” The voice said. “Hello? Who is this?” I asked “This is Ashley, Katherine’s little sister.” “Oh hi,” I said with a tired tone, “why are you calling me so early?” She went silent, she didn’t respond. “Hello?” I said. Her voice went broken, you could hear her fighting back the tears, “Katherine… Katherine is dead.” Time stopped. I thought it was a joke for a couple seconds, a very cruel joke. But her broken voice as she said “She killed herself 3 hours ago,” made me know she wasn’t joking. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. The love of my life, the one person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, was gone. She couldn’t have. No, she wouldn’t have. I hung up the phone and got in my car. I drove to her house, I just couldn’t believe she did that. She was always so happy, she was loving. As I pulled up I could see the flashing lights of police cars and a rescue truck. There in the distance, there were the rescue workers putting a white cloth over her beautiful face. It was true. There was no way to lie to my eyes. I walked over to the police car, there was her mom. Tears running down her face, her whole face red, even her nose was snotty. Next to her was her dad, he wasn’t showing emotion but you could tell that was a whole facade, he was trying to hold back his tears. I walked up to them and asked them what happened, I desperately needed answers. Her mother told me her father found her, she was in the bathtub. She had cuts all over her arms and on the floor was an empty bottle of sleeping pills. My sweet Katherine had truly killed herself. RIght there, as I heard them talk to me how she died, I broke down. Men don’t cry but I’ve just lost the most important thing in my life. Ashley walked over to me, she had a paper in one hand and a small ring in the other. She passed me both of them and I recognized the ring almost immediately. It was the promise ring I gave her in highschool a few years back. “Katherine made a note for each of us.” I opened up the note and it read, “Dear Michael, I hope you know I love you. I love you so much but I never deserved you. You were too good for me. You deserve someone better. You gave me this ring junior year of highschool, we promised we’d be together forever. I’m sorry I broke that promise. I loved you so much but I can’t keep living anymore. I was trapped in my thoughts and in my body. I needed to escape. I heard voices telling me I wasn’t good enough, that everything I did was never gonna be good enough. The shadows following me, they were haunting every step I took. Staring at me, judging me. This was the only way for me to escape and be happy. I’ll always love you, Katherine.” I put the note against the chest, and cried harder than I ever did in my life. I said to myself “You deserved the world.” I wish I could have helped her. This was my fault. I should have helped her, I could have saved her but now she’s gone.