(I recently posted on r/writing prompts and I keep coming back to it. I have tweaked it a lot and hope you enjoy. Comments and criticisms are much appreciated.) "..uuughh.?" Was all I could manage upon my reemergence from unconsciousness. My brain felt like it had been the last tic-tac rattled around in its container by an obnoxious toddler. Was I blind? Did someone finally hit me hard enough to not have to witness mankind's atrocities like pineapples disgracing the face of a pizza? Or people who wear socks with their sandals? Awesome! I thought to myself trying to be optimistic until I remembered I could no longer see chicks in yoga pants or cute puppies in bowties. Great! Now I was sad again and still sparring with the swelling of my skull. How did I get blind? I was walking home and... I mean... shit happens, but.. fuck! Just then an auto-tuneish sounding voice came over a speaker saying, "You've got 30 minutes to kill them, or else..." I was beginning to wish I could see what the literal fuck was up when the lights came on and blinded that wish away *reeeaaalll* fucking quick. After the initial sting of the light, I noticed a freaked out looking dude with the specter of tears still haunting his cheeks holding a club with what could only be barbed wire wrapped around it. He was looking at an equally scared looking woman about ten feet away from me. The room? Or... bunker? Well, whatever disgusting place this was was lit by suspended fluorescent lights that obviously cast their flickery glow on countless horrors. The stains on the walls were probably not from salsa. Although, I *REAAALLLY* hoped it was salsa stains.. Oh boy. Oh boyohboyohboy. I. Did. NOT. Like this image. "You can make it dark again, please!" I half yelled while trying to change my sitting arrangement from 'finkle' position to 'dontcomeoverherebecauseimready' position, whatever that looked like. I would decide when my feet were lower than my ass.. "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE!?" Cried Clubby-Boi, he was looking around frantically and beginning to notice there were about four of us total in this room. The woman from before seemed a middle-aged business woman still in her shoulder-padded magenta suit. There was a black guy with a button-up shirt and a really sweet fade. He must have just left the barber shop because, damn! And then there was a.. maybe not morbidly obese, but he was about two Big Macs away from riding in a rascal, white guy in maybe his mid twenties. "PLEASE! Don't hurt me, I have children!" Cried the business lady. She was wearing the clothes for power but she wasn't looking like a queen bee of business just now. "I *sniff* dont.. want to hurt anyone.." Clubby-Boi sputtered out trying and failing to not breathe life back into his tears. His cheeks were flooded again by them as he pressed on, "But... the voice commands.. *sniff* and I have to... do it.." "Hey! Whoa whoa hol'up a minute, man. I'm not about to die today. I got shit to do tomorrow." Spoke the fresh-fade dude rising to his feet and rubbing his head. "I have to agree with him, dude. I have a doggo at home, and who will explain to him how I just left my best pooch at home and never came back. His name i-.." "NO!! No fucking names, it makes it harder to do this!" "My name is Perry, then, Perry with a fucking y at the end, bro!" I said boisterously and with gusto. "I am Libby!" Shrieked the business woman also seizing the opportunity. "Also with a y, if it helps." I chuckled at that, trying to distract myself from the gravity of things. "Carlos." Said haircut man, "without a y." He said and stuffed his hands into his pockets with a defiant looking shrug. "J-J-J-John!" Said the big man. "With a j." "Th-th-th-thanks, John." I said sarcastically before I really thought about it. I always lost more and more filter when I was nervous. It got quiet for a moment and John shrank himself into a even more pitiful stance. "Sorry, it's just we had this whole 'y' thing going and you fucked it all up with your introduction, J-" "SHUT UP!" Cried the sad man with the club. His booming voice reverberated around the room like a forlorn echo demanding obedience which we readily gave considering his advantage. "You guys don't get it.. I HAVE to kill you, too. I have to do whatever he says or he will kill all of us." "How do you know that? ...What if at the end of the thirty minutes, he just opens a door and we are let free?" Libby ventured trying to reason with this scared man. "What's your name, honey?" "Henry.. *sniff* and he HAS to at the end. Why else would he say 'or else' at the end? We almost waited the whole time last time before that... BITCH went crazy on us." He said as he gazed upon the floor, but you could see he was actually looking at something far more grim than this terribly textured linoleum floor. He was seeing the last shit show this room bore witness to. "We convinced her to stay calm, and in the last minute...*sob* she started swinging on us." More tears watered the fields of his cheeks as he tried to continue, "after the other two were.. gone.. I managed to snatch this from her.. and end it.. I dont know what happens if we wait... but I can't go back to my normal life now! Ive..Ive..I've killed someone." "Sounds like self-defense to me, man. Wouldn't nobody blame you for it. Especially if you had us with you to explain what happened and all." Said Carlos diplomatically. "Ain't no need to kill anybody, man." "Y-Y-Y-Yeah! We-We could stick together and if he does come in and try to k-k-k-k-kill us. We-We could fight together." Said John straightening his posture a bit looking more confident now. "Oh yeah! Teamwork makes the dream work, Henry-boi. Don't kill us, and we won't kill you, I think is a very fair trade, an agreement we should ALL enjoy the benefits of, really." "Why dont we just put that club down and sit together to wait this out? Learn a little about each other, huh?" Libby offered in the best god-damned mom-voice ever. Just as it seemed Henry's grip was loosening on the barbed-wire club that same auto-tuned voice came back over the intercom and said, "If you guys don't kill each other until the last man is standing, I will kill all of you." I looked up and saw the intercom speaker and an array of cameras lining the walls. "Ah! Well! That puts a damper on this whole friendship I felt we were working towards huh fellas?" I said as we all started reacting in our own way. Henry gripped his club tighter and his face darkened as another tear threatened escape from its' source. A tense few seconds passed. Carlos' hands left his pockets and he looked back and forth between us all. John looked like he was about to shit himself, and Libby lowered her head and softly started weeping. My mind spun to how much I hate salsa. And questioning if I had it in me to actually *make* salsa. "I got shit to do tomorrow." Carlos stated matter-of-factly as he rushed Henry. A smacking sound reverberated the walls and three screams erupted as my thoughts drifted homeward to my puppy, Bilbo, at home. I rescued him. Fed him from a bottle. I was all he knew and all he had. My fists clenched until my nails broke skin. I gazed up at the carnage unfolding before me. I put all of my jokes aside and prepared to do whatever it took to come home to that sweet pupper. Damn the consequences. This sadistic fuck wanted a show, and like it or not, I was cast a lead role in this improv horror. "Break a leg.


More @ r/TheAllKnowingOwl Ch.2 is all about how pointless life is. We work for those who are bigger than us. Rolling up thier leftovers like dung beetles. Ch.3 is about how we depend on others to live but can't escape their control.  # Chapter 2 – The droppings of others Eric woke up as a dung beetle. Not just an ordinary beetle that could fly about its merry business. No, a dung beetle. A beetle subject to a life of rolling balls of dung. A humble life it is to those who do not mind the smell of shit. Dung beetles do not complain. They know not more than the smell of shit and the urge to roll it into balls. And thus, was the life of a dung beetle. And thus, were the lives of Eric and Alex, when they reincarnated from goldfish. Neither Eric nor Alex thought more about their current circumstances than one might expect a dung beetle is capable of thinking. Instead, they rolled balls of shit, by instinct if nothing else. And thus, their life continued. There was no cat to taunt, just elephants, zebras, and giraffes that would deliver them their day to day work. One day, when Eric delivered his final ball of dung for the week to their cave, he asked Alex, "Why is it that we must collect the dung of the animals bigger than us?" Alex flicked his feelers in a body language only beetles could interpret. "It is what we must do. We are dung beetles, and so, we must collect dung. It's what must be done." It was a strange concept to grasp, Eric thought to himself one morning when finding a huge pile of elephant droppings. We were born to live off the scraps of the bigger creatures of this land. Alex did not seem to mind. He seemed satisfied by the balls of shit he would roll each day from what was left over from the larger animals. This idea, however, troubled Eric. Why should he have to roll the other animals droppings into balls of shit. Could they not do that themselves? This was what was on Eric's mind as he ran out across an open field, ignoring his duties as a dung beetle. He wanted freedom, a life away from the droppings of others. What he received, however, was the beak of a bird flying overhead. *I should have stuck to gathering dung*, thought Eric as the beak crushed his abdomen. *It was better than getting eaten by a bird*. # Chapter 3 – Anything for you, master Eric was a dog. He knew so by his tail that insisted to wag whenever he grew excited. Also, by the fact that his sense of smell was sharp, and he had a devotion to his owner stronger than any other bond one could expect in a lifetime. His owner was the one that fed him and Alex. Their owner was a god to be worshiped. They would do whatever their owner wanted, even if it meant not tearing shoes or sitting on the sofa. If they were lucky, Eric and Alex would receive treats for good behaviour. Oh, how they loved the treats. More so, the attention from their owners. How they noticed they could listen to their commands. Sit. Oh yes, I will. Anything for you master. And thus, the lives of Eric and Alex continued. Alex was content with doing just as their masters pleased, but Eric sought more. He wanted to know what was outside their home. There was a whole world out there. Alex, however, did not like the idea. He said it was dangerous and it was not worth discovering the world if they had everything provided for them by their masters. Eric could not handle this idea; living a world between four walls not knowing whether he was missing out on what was yet to be discovered. He had to know. This was the one and only thought of Eric's as he strayed from his house and walked across the road. He had to know what was out there. Although, Alex was right. Learning the truth proved dangerous. There were cars that ran you over in a heartbeat. And so, Eric lived a shorter life, in the vain hope he would discover more than he was given. Ironically, the car that ran Eric over was the car of his owner who had just returned from the shops with dogfood. Eric felt a sense of Déjà vu. Each time he tried to make his own way in life, but as soon as he did, he was swept into a path he did not anticipate. It did not matter what creature he was. He was subject to those who were bigger than him.


I hadn't seen Miles in fifteen years when we bumped into each other at the grocery store. Back then, we'd gone separate ways. He'd dropped out of high school to start learning a trade, and I'd gone to university. Our lives diverged and we fell out of contact. But our recognition was instant, and after a few minutes of conversation he invited me to his house. It was on the way that we caught up in broad strokes. I was married; he wasn't. I had a kid; he didn't. I worked for a corporation in a mid-level office job; he was self-employed. When I asked him what he did, he smiled a little mischievously and said, "I'm a bookie, but you could say I'm a bit of an employer myself these days." When I asked what he meant, he said I'd see soon enough. What I saw first was that his splendid two-storey yellow brick house was situated deep in the suburbs, and seemed decidedly too big for a single guy in his thirties. Nevertheless, I was impressed he could afford it. My wife and I didn't have our own house yet. "Renting or owning?" I asked as we approached the front door. "Owned," he said. "I've had a good run these last two years." Although the house had looked normal from the street, when we got closer I noticed that the front doorknob was odd. It was shaped like a human hand. Miles was carrying groceries, so he motioned for me to do the opening. "It's not locked?" I asked. He smiled just as I touched the doorknob—the warm, living doorknob!—for it didn't just look like a human hand; it *was* a human hand! Obediently, the front door swung open, and huddled in the triangular space between the door and the wall was a hooded, black-clad figure whose gold-painted fingers I had just touched. Without even raising its head, the figure shut the door behind us and replaced its hand into the door hole. Miles paid the figure no mind and continued to the kitchen, where another similarly dressed figure stood motionless by the light switch. Miles set down the groceries, clapped his hands and the figure turned on the lights. By now I had to ask: "What is—" "Look, I get that it may seem a little weird," he said, "but hear me out. These are people who owe me money. They're unemployed and they can't conceivably pay it back anytime soon." I followed him to the living room, where another figure turned on the lights, illuminating several *pieces* of human furniture. "So they're working off their debts." Miles whistled, and yet another figure appeared, this one holding two imported beers. Miles handed one to me before setting the other on his nude female *coffee table*, who / which reacted instinctively to the cold glass bottle by momentarily arching her / its back. "It's perfectly consensual," he added, anticipating my concerns. "And what would be the more humane alternative, breaking their knee caps?" By now my initial discomfort was turning into a chilled fear. I kept remembering how the doorknob-hand had felt in mine. Ostensibly both were human hands, but the gap in— "Dignity," I said, then repeated the word in a whisper so as not to let *them* hear. "Don't you think they lack dignity?" He chuckled. "See, even *your* natural reaction is to treat them as if they're invisible. As for dignity, they most definitely had it. Because they mortgaged it, and now they're working to earn it back. I didn't force them to gamble. Now they're house servants, that's all. Are you opposed to house servants?" I admitted I supposed I wasn't. "But this is such a strange form of it," I said, starting to stammer like in my elementary school days. By now the stress of being in this bizarre place combined with the mundane act of drinking beer was twisting me psychologically in ways I couldn't understand. I wanted suddenly out, but the most I could tactfully bring myself to do was ask about the location of the bathroom. "Just down the hall," Miles said. I stepped with dread. The bathroom was large but felt immediately cramped by the presence of two figures: one wrapped entirely in bath towels, and the other kneeling by the toilet, its hooded head down and arms up, holding a roll of toilet paper as if it were the idol of a long-forgotten god. Of course, I couldn't go in these conditions, so I waited uncomfortably for a minute, listening to the figures breathe, before washing my hands. "Are you OK?" I whispered to them. No response. "Do you need help?" *Silence.* I shut off the water faucet, turned— And nearly fell back against the bathroom mirror as the towel-wrapped one rubbed his / her / its moisture-absorbing material / body against my wet hands. "Please, don't," I begged quietly, escaping backward into the hall. Miles was casually drinking his beer. "Did you try to save them?" he asked. I nodded. "They don't need saving." He gestured for me to follow him, and I did, down the hall and up the stairs to a bedroom. But it wasn't Miles' bedroom. "I had it prepared just for you," he said, "in case you wanted to spend the night." The room was spacious and clean, decked out with an array of speakers, a large TV and a human night table flanking a queen-sized bed, freshly made and topped with a beautiful handmade quilt, on which rested a mattress-long body pillow, its linen case rising and falling gently with the breath of the human inside it. I wanted to back out, but Miles caught me by the shoulders. "Remember when in high school you told me I wouldn't ever amount to anything?" His grip was firm. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Don't be sorry. You were wrong, that's all." "How long do they *work* for?" I asked, watching the body pillow shift slightly on the bed, desiring more than anything to change the topic. But also curious, genuinely and morbidly curious. "However long they want. Eight hours, twelve hours, twenty-four hour shifts. It's really not a bad gig, lying in a pillowcase on a comfortable bed for twice the minimum wage." He nudged me forward. "Go ahead. Try it." I didn't want to, but there was a menace in his voice, an unpredictability that made it feel safer to obey than disagree. He may not have been threatening me directly, but the threat was in the air, invisible and atomized like a perfume. I got on the bed. Miles watched my every uncomfortable move. "Like it?" "Yes," I said, "it's a very nice mattress." For a second, I imagined that the mattress was filled with people and I was lying on top of them, crushing them—but as I shifted my weight I felt the more familiar support of springs, and I could breathe again. "Try hugging the body pillow," Miles instructed me, the coolness in his voice betraying how used he'd gotten to being the boss. I didn't want to do that either, but I did it anyway, not only pervasively conscious of the army of servants Miles had amassed, which he could turn against me at any moment, but wanting desperately to feel even a fraction of the power he wielded over them. Inching closer to the body pillow and turning over onto my side before lightly placing an arm on top of— It squirmed, bony, warm and human underneath the crisp linen case. The person inside was a man. I wondered who and what he had bet on and how much he owed and whether it was really so bad what Miles was doing and if it would have been better for the man to be working two or three part-time jobs, probably labour, probably more tiring and dangerous, than being paid to be this objectified: this passive: this utterly domesticated. "Nice, right?" Miles asked. "Yes." "You can get up now." I got off the bed, smoothed my clothes and followed Miles wordlessly into the hall, down the stairs and into a spacious gym. He was so confident that not once did he look back; he knew that I was behind him. Although we didn't go inside, on the way we had passed a room outfitted with cameras, lights and a circular padded stage, and my imagination was running wild with thoughts of the recordings made in there— The gym lights flashed cold and bright. I squinted. Arranged before me was an impressive collection of weights, workout gear and exercise machines, but it was the object occupying the centre of the room whose existence sent an electric shock down my spine. A leather heavy bag hung ominously from the ceiling. Miles passed me boxing wraps for my hands, then began wrapping his own. "I know this is a lot, and I know how it feels, the pressure building up inside you right now. Believe me. Jealousy. Disgust. Maybe even anger: at me, the world, your own fucking life. When I get that way, I come down here and work those emotions out. It's not healthy holding them in. Whatever you do, you can't let them grow inside you." When he was done with his wraps, he handed me a pair of training gloves. I put them on, constantly eyeing the heavy bag, which was swinging now ever so softly from the steel ceiling mount. "Give it a shot," he said. I stood frozen in place. *I knew there was someone in there.* "I can't d—" "Of course you can," he said, then pulled his arm back and delivered a wicked right cross to the heavy bag. It responded with a dull thud followed by a reverberating groan. "Just like that." "It's a *person*," I said, my voice rising. "Which makes it even easier. Just ask the person if you can hit her." *Her.* "Do you want to get hit?" Miles asked the heavy bag. "Yes," a muffled voice responded. "See? She wants you to do it. If you don't do it, you're deciding for her, and how condescending would that be—for a man to tell a woman what she can and can't do." "Hit me *please*," the heavy bag mumbled. I made a fist and threw a light jab. Just enough to feel the bag: the padding, and the contour of the person hanging inside. "Come on, man." It made me sick to my stomach. But as I lifted my hand to my mouth to keep from retching, Miles put in a thudding left hook that lifted the bag on impact. I could hear the stifled pain within. "She gets paid by the punch," Miles said. "Ask her if she wants another." I didn't want to, but the answer came anyway: "Hit me." "One thousand dollars off her debt if you give it all you've got," Miles said. "Do it *please*," the bag begged. I planted my feet, exhaled—once, twice—loosened my shoulder, and put all my weight behind a looping shot that connected sickeningly with the side of the bag, my mind frantically trying to decide where I'd connected, face, ribs, hip, *because I was sure I'd felt bone*, as the bag bounced, the ceiling mount screeched and the woman inside moaned in pain. For a while: silence. Then, "Thank… you," she whimpered. "Nice one! What do you say, another grand?" Miles asked with a smile. "Again *please*." So I got her again, and again. And again. Each time connecting with everything I had; each time shaving a thousand dollars off her debt. Good deed followed by good deed—until Miles himself grabbed my arm and pulled me away, and I realized, over the pounding of my beating heart, how much anger there was in me. "Easy, easy," he repeated. After I'd calmed down, I felt the horror of it: of what I had done. I had beaten someone, *a woman*, and all her begging and thanking couldn't convince me it was right. Not that she was speaking now… Miles unhooked the heavy bag and laid it reverently on the floor as I took off my gloves and undid my wraps. He unzipped the bag. "Do you remember our prom?" he asked as if out of the blue. "Vaguely." "You went with Rashida Parker," he said. I did remember that. "Who did you go with?" I asked. Miles had pulled a body wrapped in a thick, bloodied sheet from the unzipped bag. He picked it up and cradled it. She looked small and fragile in his arms. For a second, I thought that maybe she was dead, but then she murmured something swollen and incomprehensible, and I knew I hadn't beaten her to death. I had almost forgotten my own question when, "No one," Miles answered. "I was supposed to go with Rashida, and she'd even said 'yes' to me"—he had unwrapped some of the sheet, revealing a tangle of black hair, and I thought, *No, it couldn't be*, but it was: *she* was—"when you asked her and she said 'yes' to you. After all, why would she go with some skid who smoked cigarettes by the railroad tracks, a future deadbeat whose parents worked in a factory and who couldn't read Shakespeare, when she could go with *someone like you*?" He unfolded the remaining sheet from Rashida's body and laid her on top of it. Her eyes were swelling shut but she could still see, and all I could do was avert my gaze as she slowly pronounced my name, each syllable willed into a hurt existence, before thanking me repeatedly with her fattened lips. Although she looked barely like the girl I'd fallen in love with, it was unmistakably her. After she could speak no more, she crawled forward, reaching pathetically for my legs, her broken body a coloured patchwork of various stages of bruising, as I backed instinctively away. I was scared and I was ashamed. "You'll appreciate the irony," Miles said. "She lost her money betting on mixed martial arts." He laughed. There was something about that laugh, something devilish and deep, something *true* that made me lunge for him—for his despicable throat! But even that did not stop the laughter, which resounded through the gym as we fought like boys on the padded floor. And still he laughed when his hooded minions arrived and pulled me off him, swinging wildly at the air. I'd bloodied his nose but nothing more, and as they dragged me away, up the stairs and to the front door, Miles followed us with a monstrous smile. "I am the way the world is," he said. Then I was out the door and it was closed and it was dark and suburban and I was sitting on the concrete front step, staring at the golden doorknob-hand jutting profoundly through the hole in the door of a yellow brick house. I got to my feet and descended the steps to the street, all the while trying to act cool and not make a scene, because that seemed like the worst thing imaginable: drawing attention to myself. My fighting spirit had evaporated. I was a coward once more. I buried my hands in my pockets and kept my head down, walking briskly through the cold night air, but when I reached the nearest intersection I turned and started to run. On both sides houses flew past at a blur. Illuminated windows. Imagined conversations. I knew Miles wasn't behind me, but because I lacked his natural confidence I kept glancing back—yet the only thing which followed were his words, *I am the way the world is*, and when I stopped to catch my breath, I looked directly upon a lighted window: several silhouettes gathered around a table. Was it a family or a group of hooded servants waiting on their master? I couldn't tell, but they must have seen me too because suddenly the curtains were drawn and the illumination ended. *I am the way the world is.* He was wrong. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. Miles was the anomaly—the evil—and in every other house, behind every other beautiful brick wall, there were normal people with normal needs and normal relationships. They desired normal things and they worked normal jobs, just like me. In my stillness I felt suddenly the autumn cold and took out my phone, and almost without thinking I swiped toward the Uber app— That's when I understood. I smashed the phone against the sidewalk. Faces looked out. *Miles was right*, and I walked home for hours that night, terrified of myself and of every house I passed in which uncounted silhouettes passed silent and unseen.


First creative writing I've done in several years. I finally feel my spark coming back after fighting through a bout of depression. It's cold. I can see the water particles in my breath freeze as I breathe. They have breached the main hull, knocking out life support. I am huddled behind a desk in a side room off the bridge, blaster in hand, eye on the bridge entry. Ready to blast the first thing that comes in. Lights are off, power knocked out, too. The only light I have is the occasional red glow of the emergency strips along the walls, illuminating the dead crew strewn around the bridge. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus three minutes and twenty-five seconds" I grit my teeth. I refuse to die here, alone in a strange nebula, in this cold, metal grave. The ship automatically initiated the self-destruct protocol when we were boarded. 5 minutes. 5 minutes until this thing explodes, taking them with it. But not me. I refuse. I hear a noise from the hallway. As if the mandibles on a giant bug were clicking together. I shivered. These creatures were things from a nightmare. A nightmare I must escape from. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus two minutes and fifteen seconds" I exhaled sharply. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath. I had 2 minutes to reach the escape pod. It was right around the corner. If I could rush out, distract the invaders with a few shots from my blaster, I could make it. Close off the airlock, and escape in the pod. I only needed about 60 seconds to do it. I narrowed me eyes, mustering up all the courage I had left, and channeling my almost crippling fear into energy. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus one minute and forty-five seconds" I can do this. "For the Sovereignty. For Vandor!" I raised my blaster, it's steel cool against my hand, giving me strength. I stood and ran for the door of the bridge, firing off a round of blasts to clear my way. I heard screeching. I must have hit one of the bugs! As I charged through the gaping holes in the bridge door, I was almost caught by a black mandible as a creature reached for my neck. I managed to twirl around and doge it, letting off a few more shots in it's general direction. Hissing from the creature. I ran a down the hallway, dodging sparking panels and downed pipes from the ceiling. I could see the door! I was almost there! I reached out to open it. Suddenly, I felt something grab my waist. It was tight, hard, and pulling back from the door. It was one of the creatures. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus one minute and fifteen seconds" "No!" I screamed. I will NOT die here! I lifed my hand to fire off a round into the creature's face. No blaster! I must have dropped it when it grabbed me! It hissed, hot hair blowing into my face. The smell of death. I couldn't make out it's full form in the dark, but from the occasional spark or flash of red from the emergency panels, I could tell it was black, shiney, with many eyes looking at me. Its mouth was a hole with two large pinchers on either end, and many smaller ones in it's mouth. It leaned in for the kill, pulling me towards it. I reached out into the dark for anything, and found what I hoped was an electrical cord hanging from the ceiling. I thrust it forward, into the creature's mouth. It screeched as the electric charge surprised it, releasing me and stumbling back. I wasted no time getting back to the door, charging through and shutting it behind me. I locked it and climbed into the small, cramped escape pod. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus forty-five seconds" I flipped the boot up switch, preparing to launch the pod. But nothing happened. "No! Nonono!" I tried it again. Still nothing. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus thirty-two seconds" I tried it once more. A whirl, lights flickered, and then went out. Oh God. Had the pod been damaged? Is this the end? My mad race for freedom, was it all in vain? "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus twenty seconds" My head sank into my hands. "Please" I whispered, hoping my silent prayer would be heard. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus fifteen seconds" I tried the switch again. "10" The lights flickered "9" They didn't shut off! "8" The navigation panel came to life, loading the preprogrammed emergency coordinates "7" I felt a vibration in the seat as I felt the pod trying to come to life "6" Sweat beaded on my forehead "5" The airlock door of the pod slid shut. "4" It clicked. Locking me in "3" Just waiting for the launch button to light up" "2" It lit up! "Launch sequence completed." "1" I slammed my hand down on the launch button. ...... ...... ...... "Timmy! Time to go!" My mother called to me from the exit of the grocery store. I looked up at her from the small cockpit of the rocket that I had just sat in. She chuckled, walking over to me. "Aww, did my little spaceman forgot his quarter? Here." She reached into her purse, pulling out a shiny quarter, and put it into the coin-slot of the rocket. Ruffing my hair, she watched as i grinned, enjoying the few moments of fun I had while the rocket bounced back and forth. It was a good day to be a kid.


11:09 pm I exited the house ready to make a quick getaway but I noticed something strange; there was no car. I was staring at an empty driveway; my plan had fallen apart already. I should’ve turned back at that point but I was persistent. I decided to go for a walk while I devised a new plan. I crept down the driveway and on to the sidewalk; I didn’t get far before I noticed another strange site, it was my moms van parked in an unusual spot. I felt relieved but uneasy, why was it there? It was parked along the street beside my house, almost 4 or 5 houses down from mine. Before jumping to wild conclusions like I usually do, I reasoned that my mom probably parked there to leave space for my brother. We’ve got a lot of cars in our driveway so sometimes this happens, but this was still pretty weird. To put my superstitious mind at ease I quickly inspected the outside of the van for booby traps; it seemed to be in good condition. All I had to do was clear the inside and I could get back to my plan. I hesitantly took the car keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car. I took a deep breath, readied the flashlight on my phone and stepped inside. Before I even got a chance to sit down, a familiar voice grabbed my attention. "Yo Tristan", I heard from off in the distance. My heart stopped. I was so close, but of course with my luck Ide get caught at the last second. Too afraid to answer I slowly poked my head out of the van to see who it was. As the voice got closer I noticed two figures appearing from out of the darkness. Sure that it was my mom and dad there to bust me, I shamefully got out of the van ready for punishment. As they got closer I noticed something was different though. My dad looked a bit taller and my moms shape was off too. They weren’t my parents, they couldn’t be. I breathed a sigh of relief as they got closer, and squinted my eyes again to see whom they really were. Seconds later Jessie and Altheas faces lit up under the flickering orange streetlight. They were my ex-coworkers. “Why are they here?” I thought to myself. They didn’t live in my area. It felt like nothing was making sense, but in any case, I was happy to see them. I was happy to see anyone besides my parents at that point. We exchanged greetings than broke into conversation. It turned out that they were headed to a party that wasn’t too far from me so I offered to give them a ride. Throughout the entire trip they persisted that I come into the party with them. I refused though, I just wanted to practice parallel parking, not steal my moms van. By the time we got to the house Althea had given up on me, but Jessie had not. “Just 5 minutes man. C’mon!” Jessie pleaded with me as he handed me a beer through the driver-seat window. I knew that I should’ve turned him down, went home, and dove into bed, but Jessie was just so damn hard to say no to. “Alright, just 5 minutes man” I said to him as I got out of the van. At that point I knew I couldn’t drive home so I mentally prepared myself to walk home later, than come back for the van in the morning. Thankfully the party was close by- and I mean really close by. We'd only driven for about 2 or 3 minutes; we should’ve just walked. It was too late though, I was already there with an open beer in my hand; there was no turning back. The music was loud as we walked up to the house stepping over empty cans and cigarette butts. When we got to the door two familiar women came out to greet us and directed us inside. I knew it was going to be a good night. 12:30 am After an hour or so I felt the drinks taking their toll; my inhibition was gone and so were Jessie and Althea. I didn’t mind though, I was feeling good- too good to have any minor concerns. Jumping from conversation to conversation I eventually found myself in the basement. I sobered up a bit as my foot touched the cold concrete floor at the bottom of the steps. The basement was unfinished but massive; I passed at least 2 or 3 rooms as I walked down the hallway. I heard faint talking in the furthest room, so I followed the voices. When I got there I could see that the lights were dim from the outside of the room, but knew people were definitely in there. I casually opened the door and walked in. The room was cozy: 2 leather couches, a futon, a large red carpet, and huge flat screen TV displaying the infomercial channel. At a first glance I noticed: a few pretty girls, well-dressed guys, some familiar faces, some new faces, but all were drunk. “This was going to be interesting,” I thought to myself. I sat down on the couch by the futon and tried to smoothly join the conversation. It worked; they welcomed me like one of their own. 2:00 am The party was dying down, at least in the basement. At that point the ratio of guys to girls was clearly in my favor. Unconsciously I took advantage of that. I had the attention of two ladies; one of them seemed really into me. As I moved couches to fill in the gaps between her and I, a semi- sarcastic voice blurted out "hey why don't you sit next to me?” I turned my gaze to the corner of the room where a lady I hadn't seen all night laid comfortably on the futon. I was intrigued. After she said that everyone took the hint and gave us our space. Some people paired up and ran into a room, some went home, but all left the basement. It was just she and I. I asked her her name. She said it was "Clarisa". She had pretty eyes, a beautiful smile and was petite- maybe 5'2" with long black hair, and a nice athletic figure. She looked like a mix of Chinese and Spanish or something like that. I just knew I was in love. We laid on the futon for a while getting lost in conversation. Eventually words weren’t needed; we had an understanding deeper than that. Once we knew no one was coming back, things escalated. Before I knew it, it was morning. 5:00 am We heard people coming down the stairs. I quickly grabbed a white sheet and threw it over our exposed bodies. We joked about pretending to be asleep or acting like we weren’t there, but time ran out. People soon flooded the room to see our half naked bodies. I was too hung-over to care and I sensed the same from everyone else. They said hi, made their clever remarks and gave us our space again. After they left reality hit me. I needed to be home to return moms van and Clarisa had her own obligations. I gave her my number and she promised to call. The next morning we talked but she had to baby sit so our conversation was short. She said she would call back at 6:00 pm that day. I lost my phone around 5:30 pm so I never got a chance to talk to her again. That was probably my karma for taking moms van. I seem to have luck when it comes to finding people, but Clarisa was the one that got away. Time went by and I eventually moved on, however every time I go for a late night drive I cant help but think that I might see her again.


Once upon a time, there was a man who hated everyone. he wasn't always this way - growing up, he actually tried to befriend most people. However, as time went on, and the more he learned about the world, he became more and more cynical about humanity. Having been born right before the turn of the millenium, he grew up during a time of rapid technological change. So fast, that it made more sense to continuously reject social norms since by the time one had become comfortable with them, new ones had replaced them already.  His hatred for humanity stemmed from ignorance - all around him, it seemed like those in his wealthy nation were solely concerned about making money and avoiding all forms of pain. These people were just absolutely horrid people - nouveau rich that could not be bothered to do anything but desperately seek out attention for being the best little boys and girls in the world. Whether it was having a high paying job or being seen at the trendiest restaurants or having the most prestigious educational pedigree, these yuppies wanted nothing more than to be validated - even if it meant hurting those around them. Living in their plush, luxurious bubbles, they had no time or interest to expend on others. When it came to history or philosophy or spirituality, they were poor as can be when it came to understanding and empathizing with the billions of other humans and animals that had the unfortunate misfortune of having to share a planet with these insufferable narcissists.  Over time, the man became more and more cynical about these people. They had constantly let him down as he learned the ways that they lied and tricked people to get their way. There were even people who would feign interest in humanitarian causes just to superficially look good to get what they wanted, but when real sacrifices were needed, they would vanish. The lengths that people seemed to go for self-enrichment was truly abhorrent, and it seemed like there was no end in sight to the growth of such malignant social cancer in society.  There were bright sides to recognizing such degeneracy and vulgarity. The deeper that the man's cynicality went, the greater his appreciation for those that exemplified grace and dignity. What shocked this man the most was the observation that it was the people that society seemed to reject and denigrate the most who actually displayed the highest levels of consciousness for their fellow conscience. Whereas the depraved were plastered over billboards and celebrated in all forms of media, the untouchables always seemed to exhibit a genuine compassion and love for those lucky enough to be in their lives despite being invisible.  The man supposed that had he never had the abhorrent experiences with these covert barbarians, he never would have come to the realization of who the real champions of humanity were. It is said that experience is the best teacher, and this man was exceptionally well taught. Maybe that's all life is, the man thought to himself - a continuous cycle of disappointments that simultaneously flung you deeper into the pits of misanthropy while further exalting the holiness of those whose actions provided the hope to keep going anyways.


Her fingers fluttered along the edges of the blanket. She tried to process the words he spoke but she couldn't make sense of them. She closed her eyes and thought of a beach, the waves crashing against the shore, the screech of a lone seagull as the salty air howled and whipped across her face. "Are you even listening to me?" The boy inquired. "Yes." She kept her eyes fixated on the edges of the blanket, focusing on her fingers dancing in a rhythymic pattern along it, one step, two step, one - "No, no you're not. I don't know why you shut down when were talking but I've had enough. Let me know if you ever want to talk, actually talk, not just sit in silence." He slammed the door. It rattled the key hook on the wall beside it, and then... Silence. The thing she had craved for so long, and now it was here at her doorstep, and she was afraid. The silence entered the room and began to expand rapidly, distorting itself in shape and size, filling the air before her. She saw it as a large dense cloud ready to overtake he she did not know if she was ready to be consumed by it, but there was no escaping it now. The cloud hovered in front of her face, sending out tendrils to tauntingly caress her cheek. Fear began to grip her, making itself a tight fist in her chest. Her body felt heavy and tense. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for an escape. They rested on the faded blue blanket that now rested in her motionless hands. The memory of the pair standing in the home goods aisle of their local superstore spring to her mind. Suddenly, words began to produce themselves from her memory. "We don't need that blanket, we have enough already." He smiled disapprovingly as she stroked the blanket, then folded nearly on the shelf. "Yeah, but we don't have any as soft as this. Just imagine curling up to watch a movie under this. Our place won't be home without it." She had already taken it from the shelf and placed it in the cart. " I take it we're not leaving here without it?" "Nope." "Oh, alright..." The words from her memory began to overtake the cloud of silence, pushing it farther from her and reducing it's size. She began to realize she could get rid of the silence by living in the past of the room, letting the memories of the objects around her fill the air. The bookcase alone contained many stories of the past, ones that could squander the cloud of silence, that could protect her from it's grasp. What am I doing? She thought as she closed her eyes again. She did not want to live in the words of the past, nor the present, nor the future. For the longest time she had craved the pure simplicity of the quiet, she had dreamed of being engulfed in it, and now the opportunity awaited her. As she sank into the couch she thought again of the beach, the waves still and noiseless this time, the sky cold and grey and unwilling to permit any noise to escape. The dense cloud surrounded her once again, and as she began to open herself up to it, it submerged her into her new reality, one that was filled with silence.


“Murvey, Alexandra. Identification number 4987012,” she called out, identifying herself over transponder. Alex sat back in her seat impatiently and stared out cockpit window across the endless void of stars and galaxies in the far-off distance while she floated in orbit along with the other vessels awaiting clearance. Customs was always awful no matter what planet you were checking into, but Earth was by far the worst. Never mind the sheer volume of thousands of ships arriving per day, easily three times as many as the next busiest world, Earth was also the political and economic capital of the Confederation of Interstellar Worlds, meaning customs inspections were extra thorough in their inspections to prevent unsavory known and unknown items from reaching the planet’s surface. “Greetings!” an overly chipper voice broke the silence. Alex glanced up at the view screen just above the window to see a clean-cut, handsome model of a man in his late twenties smile at her. “My name is Greg and I will be the virtual customs agent assisting you today!” he stated, still chipper. “Please upload your vessel’s manifest and we will process momentarily!” Alex groaned a bit as she opened up her keypad to upload the manifest to the database. It had been too long of a journey and it was too early in the morning to have to deal with this right now. These virtual agents didn’t help improve the process much despite what the lawmakers who pushed it through thirty years ago would say. Sure, it cut down on smuggling and whatnot because who can bribe a computer? But at the same time, it put thousands out of work and the virtual agents were prone to malfunction. Yet, the lawmakers and the lobbyists remain insistent as they refuse due to either denial, greed, or a combination of both. Regardless, she sent the file as requested. “Thank you, Alexandra!” the Greg the Bot replied. “Please wait!” Alex feigned a smile back at it. The fact it was a bot was bad enough, but the company behind the bots, VallenCorp, decided it would help solitary freighter pilots by seeing a friendly face and a happy voice greet them from their long journey, thus making them happy and friendly. She had yet to meet a single pilot who was happy and friendly after interacting with these things. In fact, a year ago, VallenCorp gave them an upgrade to make the voice, appearance, and even the name unique to each pilot based on their preferences, though they never shied away from the clean-cut professional demeanor. Alex found this rather jarring her first run out with the upgraded virtual agents when she looked up at the screen to see the face and voice of her long-dead father welcoming her to Earth with a smile. VallenCorp toned it down after numerous complaints from the Union so now the virtual agents are subtler in their personalized appearance, meaning hers appeared to be a blend of her father along with her last three boyfriends because apparently that was what the algorithm decided to be a pleasant face to her. A flash of light somewhere in the distance caught her eye for a brief moment, drawing attention from her thoughts. She’d been in this business long enough to know the cause: customs failure. In this regard, Earth differed from nearly every other world with how overly serious they take their customs, and it really boiled down to a series of interstellar pandemics having ravaged the world over the past few decades. In total, over a billion have died over the last fifty years and Earth’s government wasn’t taking any chances. They’ve since imposed extremely strict customs inspections on all vessels, personnel, and cargo coming to the planet. Any ship found with an undocumented alien life form onboard risked having their ship, cargo, and crew destroyed in space to avoid it making contact with anyone on the surface. Alex figured it was strict and harsh, but necessary, forcing pilots and shippers to ensure everything was up to snuff while preventing the spread of interstellar pandemics. Another flash, this time to the right and much closer. Alex watched as the debris from a bulk freighter twice her size bounced harmlessly off her hull and cockpit. Careless crews, more than likely. She’d seen enough of it before to know more often than not the crew was to blame anytime their vessel was targeted for disposal. She had little remorse for them since careless crews often resulted in tighter regulations and longer orbital periods waiting to deliver cargo, making it harder for the rest of them that do take the job seriously. “Attention Alexandra,” Greg the Bot chimed in over the intercom. “You have been approved for customs inspection. Please proceed to checkpoint 1-2-5-DELTA at the coordinates we are sending you!” Her dashboard flashed three sets of numbers which she fed into the navigation computer. The ship’s engines roared to life as she broke from orbit and headed closer towards the planet. No need for manual control of the craft. The navigation computer was tied into the planetary Orbital Control Grid, which would guide the ship exactly where it needed to be while avoiding other spacecraft zooming around her. It was rare she would engage in manual controls. Why bother when programs were more efficient and reliable? A few minutes later, she found herself arriving at the checkpoint matching the coordinates. Earth was now in full view of her cockpit window, looking down at what appeared to be Oceana, though it was difficult to see past the polluted gray cloud cover. “Please upload manifest and customs identification!” Greg the Bot instructed. Alex pulled up the requested documents and uploaded as requested. Outside, two drones had positioned themselves on both sides of her ship, holding it in place with two green luminous tractor beams. While she couldn’t see it, she knew by now the OCG had gained access to the ship’s computer, shuffling through every file, every code, every bit of information she had to offer. Within seconds, all ship functionality was firmly in control of the OCG and she was little more than a hitchhiker aboard her own ship. These procedures always lasted a while and involved little input from her, so she took this opportunity to get out of her seat and stretch her arching limbs. With a yawn, she walked out of the cockpit back towards her living quarters, right towards the coffee maker. “Coffee, black,” she grumbled to the computer, prompting the coffee maker to spew a stream of steaming hot liquid into her well-traveled mug. She glanced around the living quarters, waiting for the coffee to fill up. Nothing in particular drew her attention. Surrounding her bed, dining area, and two dresser drawers, little knick-knacks and souvenirs from other worlds were crammed into what little additional space there was available. Nothing much new to look at. Everything was basically the same as it was for the last thirteen days. Slightly unkept, but the same nonetheless. Alex snapped out of her fatigued daze as the coffee maker sputtered its last drop, the fresh aroma of synthetically brewed coffee now filling the cabin. Alarms blared as she reached for the coffee, drawing her attention away from the much-desired hot beverage and back over to the cockpit. “The hell,” she muttered to herself, glancing at the flashing red messages now appearing on every monitor. “Computer, silence alarm.” “Alarm silenced.” “Analyze,” she barked, annoyed. “Analyzing.” Alex sat back annoyed, waiting for the computer to do its analysis. Probably nothing. Slight hiccup in the connection between the ship and the OCG, throwing everything into panic mode. Or, at least, that’s what she thought until Greg appeared on her screen. “Hello, Alexandra,” he greeted. “We have noticed a slight anomaly in your vessel and are unable to complete customs procedures until this is resolved. Foreign biological entity detected. Please run a BioScan.” Probably just some random stray bacteria hitching itself on one of the containers in the cargo hold. “Computer, run a BioScan,” she repeated. “BioScan commencing.” Alex sat back and waited for the results of the BioScan. Wasn’t the first time this happened to her, though it didn’t happen often. Pandemics, especially, prompted cargo companies to increase their sanitizing procedures to avoid shutdowns and destroyed cargo. Perhaps is wasn’t as thorough as she thought. “BioScan complete. No unregistered organisms,” the computer stated. Odd, she thought as she sat up in her chair to pour over the results. The computer was right; the only living organism on this ship was her. “Greg,” she called out over the radio, hating having to use a same for a bot, “uploading results of BioScan now.” She tapped the “enter” button and watched as it was uploaded to the OCG. Hopefully that would be enough. She wasn’t keen on getting into a fight with the Customs Bots today. “Alexandra,” Greg the Bot replied. “BioScan results insufficient. One unidentified biological organism detected on your vessel. Please resolve.” She couldn’t believe it. There was no way any unregistered organism could be on her ship. “BioScan result not insufficient,” Alex replied back to the Customs Bot. “Confirming, there are no unregistered biological organisms on this vessel.” “BioScan results insufficient,” Greg the Bot repeated prompting her to groan with frustration. “Initiating Disinfection Pulse, power level ten percent in three… two… one…” Before she can protest, a bright light flashed inside the cockpit and suddenly every inch of her skin stung like alcohol over an open wound. The pain was intense but fleeting as her emotions quickly transitioned from pain to anger over this sudden overreaction. “What the hell?!” she shouted at the Bot. They were supposed to give her a warning to put on a radiation suit before initiating the Disinfection Pulse, no matter the power intensity. Even at low power levels, it was enough to cause exposed skin to burn, eyes to be blinded, and the potential for far more deadly things to happen later on in life. “Please run a BioScan,” Greg the Bot repeated. “Bot! That was a violation of Interstellar Customs Code 7823 Section A and I am noting it in my logs!” Silence. She waited for the Bot to reply but he remained on the screen staring motionless, cool, and unsympathetic. It had to be a malfunction of some kind. Hopefully the techs were working on it. They couldn’t just- “Disinfection Pulse power level twenty percent activated in three… two… one…” Greg the Bot announced. Alex dove for her living quarters to grab the radiation suit folded in her second drawer but was too late to avoid the Pulse. The flash filled the room and the burning returned, this time more intense. She winced and collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her cheek as the burning sensation seeped deep into her skin. Not even the skin under her clothes were spared the pain this time around. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. “Please run a BioScan,” Greg the Bot repeated. Alex tore through her dresser, searching for the radiation suit before another Disinfection Pulse was initiated. “Disinfection Pulse power level thirty percent activating in three... two... one…” Alex’s hands traced the outline of the radiation suit but was too late. The flash of light sent her to the floor in an even more intense stinging pain. This one hurt even more, writhing as the burning sensation penetrated deeper into her skin and organs. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. This time, Alex wasn’t fucking around. Any higher an intensity without protection would surely result in third degree burns or worse. Already, her skin was red and pink like she had a particularly bad day at the beach. Blisters had started to develop over the thinner parts of her skin, stinging like hell, though she counted herself lucky she still had nerves to feel the pain to begin with. “Disinfection Pulse power level forty percent activating in three...” This time, she was ready. She pulled out the radiation suit. “Two…” She unzipped it open. “One…” And slipped into the radiation suit, zipping up a split second before the Pulse activated. This time, she was spared the intense heat and pain from the Pulse. The suit was designed to protect against a reactor leak from the engine’s core, much stronger than radiation emitted from the Disinfection Pulse at its highest setting. They can run all the Pulses they want, she won’t be affected. Now, safely in her protective suit, she collapsed in her seat in the cockpit with a heavy sigh of relief. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “Shut the fuck up,” she muttered. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. Alex sighed. “Computer, contact Devon Allas.” “Connecting.” Devon was one of the senior overseers working on the OCG over Earth and a good friend of hers. Clearly this was some kind of malfunction that would need a manual override. If anyone can fix this, he can. “Connection terminated,” the Computer stated. “What?” Alex shook her head. “Redial.” “Communications off-line.” “Run a diagnostic!” she barked at the Computer. Not much usually rattled her, but the idea of being isolated in space without any contact with a human being, completely at the mercy of computers and machines made her very uncomfortable. “Hello, Alexandra!” the Greg the Bot greeted, coming back on the screen. “We noticed you attempted to make an outgoing call to an unauthorized party. It is against guidelines of the Interstellar Customs Codes to make contact with unauthorized parties during the customs process. If you wish to contact an authorized party, I will be happy to assist.” ‘Unauthorized party’ she thought to herself. Devon oversees these damned bots. She should be able to contact him. “Fine,” she muttered before addressing the Bot directly. “Contact Senior Overseer Devon Allas of the OCG.” Greg’s picture froze for a second, processing this request. “Devon Allas is an unauthorized party. It is against guidelines of the Interstellar Customs Codes to make contact with unauthorized parties during the customs process. If you wish to contact an authorized party, I will be happy to assist,” Greg the Bot repeated. This wasn’t making any sense to her. Maybe Devon doesn’t work there anymore. It has been a few months since they’ve seen each other. Perhaps his boss could help. “Greg, please contact Jai Modi, Director of Operations,” Alex asked. “Jai Modi is an unauthorized party. It is against guidelines of the Interstellar Customs Codes to make contact with unauthorized parties during the customs process. If you wish to contact an authorized party, I will be happy to assist,” Greg the Bot repeated. “Goddamnit, I just want to talk to a human being!” she screamed at the Bot. “Are there any human authorized parties I can speak to?!” Greg the Bot took a moment to process her request. Alex’s hands started shaking from nerves, frustration, or some kind of combination of the two. She was completely at the mercy of this Bot, whom she had to comply with every request it made based on its own data, faulty or not. There was no negotiating with it. No way to contact its supervisor. Just her and the Bot. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. Alex slammed her fist on the console, spilling her irradiated coffee. She had no choice but to comply. Either her or the Bot had faulty information. She needed to know which was true. “Computer, run a BioScan,” she ordered. “BioScan commencing.” Alex knew it was a waste of time. Now she was wondering how she could get out of this. She could go back and forth all she wants, but eventually the Bot will determine her vessel a threat and target it for disposal and it’s game over for her when that happens. It is possible for her to stall, but that will only delay the inevitable. She knew there was no way any unregistered organisms were on this vessel. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “BioScan complete. One unregistered organism onboard.” Alex jumped in her seat and looked at the report. It wasn’t possible. But, sure enough, as she read the report, there was in fact something else on the ship with her. And it was big. 1.5 meters in height. Approximate weight 52kg. Human, by the description. A stowaway. “Computer,” she called out. “Locate unregistered organism.” “Scanning,” the Computer replied. “Organism found. Location: Cargo Hold.” “Lock down access to the Cargo Hold and open a channel,” Alex ordered as the video feed on the console indicated the doors to the Cargo Hold locked down. “Attention unauthorized passenger. You are unlawfully stowing aboard a registered cargo vessel. Identify yourself or we will take drastic action.” “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “Shut up!” she yelled at the Bot as she waited from a response from the stowaway. Alex waited for the stowaway to respond, staring at the video monitors for the Cargo Hold for the stowaway to identify itself. But there was no movement inside. Everything was still as the moment the cargo was loaded and sealed up. Even the audio monitors weren’t picking anything up. “Organism found,” the Computer repeated. “Location: Living Quarters.” Alex was beside herself. The Cargo Hold was completely shut. How could it have gotten to the living quarters?! She switched the feed to the cameras in the Living Quarters. There was nothing. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “Where the hell are they?” she wondered aloud as she stared at the monitor, looking at the room exactly the same as she left it. There wasn’t a soul in sight. “Organism found,” the Computer repeated. “Location: Galley.” Shit, she thought to herself as she quickly sealed shut the door the cockpit. The galley was only ten steps from the cockpit and she wasn’t taking a chance on whoever it was coming into the cockpit. “Greg, please call Customs Authorities!” she screamed at the Bot. Greg the Bot paused for a moment, processing the request. “Customs Authorities are an unauthorized party. It is against guidelines of the Interstellar Customs Codes to make contact with unauthorized parties during the customs process. If you wish to contact an authorized party, I will be happy to assist.” “You fucker!” she screamed back at it. “Computer, initiate Disinfectant Pulse, level fifty percent.” “Acknowledged.” “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “Disinfectant Pulse level fifty percent activating.” Alex shielded her eyes as the flash of light and radiation permeated throughout the ship. Like the other blasts, this only lasted a second, but the radiation level would be enough to cripple anyone without protection. She waited a moment and watched the video feeds for anything. No movement, no sound. Nothing. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “Computer,” she breathed, trying to collect herself. “Run a BioScan.” “Scanning,” the Computer replied. “Organism found. Location: access hallway.” “Computer! Initiate Disinfectant Pulse, level one-hundred percent!” she called out frantically, hoping this would be the end of it. “Disinfectant Pulse level one-hundred percent activating.” With a flash of light and heat, the Pulse once again flooded the inside of the ship. Alex was well insulated from the effects of the radiation, but the level was still intense enough for her to feel the heat penetrate through the protective layers. There was no way any biological creature can survive this. With the Pulse complete, Alex jumped out of her chair and turned to the sealed entrance of the cockpit. She peered through the small porthole on the two-and-a-half-centimeter thick steel door, waiting for something to move past. Her hands shook and her heart raced as she looked through the tiny window, fully expecting to see something, anything, waiting for her out there. But there was nothing. “Please run a BioScan,” the Bot repeated. “This is your final request.” “Computer,” she breathed. “Run diagnostics on BioScan and initiate new scan.” “Initiating.” Alex sighed and leaned back against hull, ready for this nightmare to be over. Hopefully, a successful BioScan will be the end of it and she can complete this job and move on with her life. “BioScan Complete,” the Computer announced. “Organism found. Location: cargo hold.” “Hello, Alexandra,” Greg the Bot said. “You have sixty seconds to submit compliant BioScan results or your vessel will be targeted for disposal. Thank you!” Alex screamed with frustrated anger and ran off for the cargo hold. The BioScans were useless. Something was being picked up but was invisible to the cameras, but maybe not the naked eye. If it were a person, maybe they were wearing a radiation suit like hers. That would be why they could survive the Pulse blasts. There was only one way to be sure. She had to go down to the cargo hold and see for herself. She reached the entrance to the cargo hold and immediately threw the switch to open up the doors. Inside was still as a grave yard. Not one thing out of place. Still, she searched everywhere, covered every centimeter. But there was nothing to be found. “BioScan Complete,” the Computer announced. “Organism found. Location: living quarters.” Alex was out of the cargo hold and in the living quarters in a matter of seconds. She switched open the doors and ran inside, only to find it completely as she left it. She checked under the bed, in the shower, even in the tiny cupboards where no human can fit. There was no one there. “Hello, Alexandra,” Greg the Bot said. “You have thirty seconds to submit compliant BioScan results or your vessel will be targeted for disposal. Thank you!” “BioScan Complete,” the Computer announced. “Organism found. Location: cockpit.” Alex sprung to the cockpit in less than five seconds and stopped cold in her tracks when she finally saw it. There, in the cockpit, at the console, a distorted figure vaguely resembling a human sat in her seat. Her eyes grew wide and her breaths short as she stared in shock at what sat in her seat. The life form, whatever it was, sat in the chair, hands clasped together like it was silently praying. Whatever this life form was, it did not react to her, even as Alex slowly entered the cockpit. Getting closer, she was able to see the being entering commands and pushing buttons on the console, though no commands were entered or buttons pressed. It was like a hologram or an apparition or something not tethered to the laws of this universe. Then, as she was close enough to touch it, the being sprung from the seat and turned to face her. Alex stumbled back and tripped over her own feet as she recognized the face of the being. It was her. She was in agony, screaming, crying, pleading, but she was completely silent. There was no mistaking. This was her. A mirror image of everything up to and including the radiation suit she was currently wearing. And she was in distress. The being then froze. A look of realization came over her. She then turned her gaze, locking eyes with Alex. Alex froze. She didn’t know if this being could see her but it knew she was there. Suddenly, the being flinched with a brief look of shock on her face, before vanishing completely into thin air. Alex stood frozen in shock, unable to process what she just saw. She was completely at a loss for words. Never had she seen something like that before nor has anyone she known. “Hello, Alexandra,” Greg the Bot said. “You have ten seconds to submit compliant BioScan results or your vessel will be targeted for disposal. Thank you!” “Computer, run a BioScan,” she said. “Quickly!” “Scanning.” Alex sat back in her chair, a little apprehensive, but quickly focusing on the task at hand. “BioScan complete. No unregistered organisms,” the computer confirmed. “Great! Submit report to customs.” “Sending.” Alex held her breath as she anxiously waited for the report to be received, hoping they matched. Soon, she found her hands clasped together in front of her, held close to her face as she leaned forward in her seat. Sweat started dripping down her forehead. There was no room for error. If this did not work, she would face a fate similar to those cargo ships she saw destroyed earlier that day. “Hello, Alexandra,” Greg the Bot said. “We are sorry but your BioScan results cannot be accepted at this time, and your vessel has been regrettably targeted for disposal. We truly apologize for this inconvenience. Thank you!” “Self-destruct sequence activated,” the Computer announced. “T-minus thirty seconds to detonation.” “No, no, no, no!” Alex shouted, entering commands and pushing buttons on the console in an attempt to shut off the auto-destruct. It was no use. Customs had overridden all commands and controls. “Goddamnit!” Alex shouted. “There’s no one here! Just me! It’s just me! I’m the only one!” “Self-destruct T-minus fifteen seconds.” Alex pushed back her chair, shouting. Pleading at the computer. Pleading at Greg the Bot. Pleading to anyone to shut off the auto destruct. “Self-destruct T-minus ten seconds. Nine…” It was then a wave of realization washed over her. Alex now knew exactly what that being was. “Eight…” Alex looked straight ahead, where she stood only one minute earlier. “Seven…” She squinted her eyes and could vaguely see the outline of someone staring back at her. “Six…” The outline started to form into a human shape. “Five…” It was undeniable now. “Four…” She knew that being well. “Three…” The outline fully formed into a radiation suit. Her future self, staring back at her past self. “Two…” It was her. It was always her.


Scarlett checked herself one last time in the car mirror. She decided everything looked good. Today was the day she would finally see Mason again. It’d been far too long since she last saw him - maybe four, five months? She took a deep breath. It was a moment Scarlett never thought would happen. Sure, she had hoped deep within that he would come back, but she thought he was gone for good. Yet, for some curious reason, Mason was back in town visiting. What was even more mysterious was that he agreed to meet her today. She shook her head at that thought. She’s not sure how she managed the courage to reach out to him. Perhaps the fear of not seeing him was greater than the humiliation she might have received if he’d said no. Her nerves today not only came from the thought of seeing him again. She decided that this would be the day she told him how she felt. Maybe not the depth of her feelings, though. After another deep breath, Scarlett finally got out of the car to head to the coffee shop. No, she couldn’t tell him everything. Like how much she thought about him. Or how she fell for his compassionate heart. And how silly he could be, and that he laughed along with her. That she greatly admired his ambition and desire to join the military. How she felt a connection with him that she couldn’t explain. No, those were the things she’d keep locked within her heart. Scarlett stepped into the coffee shop. She spotted Mason at a table. He looked up at her and all her thoughts disappeared as she gazed into those piercing blue-gray eyes of his. His tall, muscular frame stood up from his chair. She went up to him, thrusting out her hand. He shook it as they said hello. She then kicked herself as it must have looked like they were having a business meeting. They exchanged pleasantries and walked up to the counter to get in line to order. She hoped that she wouldn’t run out of things to say. “Have you been writing much?” he asked. Scarlett couldn’t really hide the surprise on her face. She might have mentioned her writing once, and yet he remembered. “Yes, I have here and there, but not as much as I would like,” she answered. It was her turn at the counter, so she placed her order. She watched him as he ordered his coffee. She noticed how the barista looked at him. Mason had a real charm to him, but it was in a reserved way. He didn’t feel the need to command the room, but people still noticed him. Scarlett could recall her first time meeting Mason. They met through mutual friends. She was so nervous before since she had heard so much about him. Seeing those warm eyes and that inviting smile had melted her heart. He noticed her in a group of people, even though everyone else had been talking. He was better than she’d imagined. She liked him from day one, and that’s never happened for her. “So, what about you?” Scarlett asked Mason as he approached her. “How has it been getting into the Army?” “It’s been harder than I expected. Less people have been getting in lately, so I’m just hoping I make it in. At this point, I just have to wait and see.” “It’s so hard to wait. But I’m sure you’ll get in!” “Thanks. I really hope I do.” They get their drinks and go back to the table. “Would you say that’s your dream?” Scarlett asked him as they sat down. “Wow, my dream? I don’t think anyone’s really asked me that before. I guess I would say that I just want to serve because I love this country. So, maybe serving the country is my dream. What about you, what’s your dream?” She laughed. “I’m not too sure. I guess it would be to write a novel one day.” They discussed different kinds of genres in novels. They shared some of their favorite stories. She appreciated that he was taking an interest in her. “That gets me thinking, though,” Mason said. “About dreams. I’ve just thought I’ve wanted to help people and serve this country. I’m not really sure what else I want to do besides that.” “It’s a daunting thought. I think we have different dreams though at different times. For you, this may be your dream now. And I hope you get there.” “Thanks. I hope we can both get our dreams.” Scarlet smiled. “If not, I may find myself living under a bridge.” He laughed. “Don’t you know? It’s better to live in a dumpster. Then, at least you can get free stuff.” They laughed and chatted a bit longer. Soon enough, it came time for him to go. Suddenly, Scarlett realized that she had gotten caught up in the conversation and never told him what she wanted to. This would be the last time she saw him before he left town. Her heart began to pound as she prepared herself to say something. She looked into his eyes, and there she saw a kind soul with a strong heart. He would do anything for anyone. She felt she would do anything for him. Most of all, she wanted what was best for him. They walked out the door toward their cars. “It’s been great talking to you,” Mason said. “Yeah, I really enjoyed this!” she said. They went in for a hug. She held on to him and had to consciously fight back tears. She was taken back to their last goodbye. There was a look in his eye, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He had that look now. “I wish you all the best, Mason,” she said. “Thank you. To you as well. I’ll see you around,” he said. He headed to his car. Scarlett didn’t realize she hadn’t moved since he walked off. She knew she couldn’t get in the way of what he most wanted. “I love you, Mason,” she whispered. “And for that, I hope you achieve all of your dreams. Even if it’s not with me.


You’re walking down a dirt road. You can hear the shore in the dark distance. Somewhere, in the back of your mind you know the ex boyfriend of your newly estranged wife is realizing you’ve disappeared from the rager he invited you to. The thought of his concern for your safety sends you into a fit. He’s trying to be your friend. To help you through a hard time because he’s a Marine and so are you. You’ve all fucked each other’s wives and sisters and mothers and gods. It’s all the same. It’s all so ridiculous. This world. Your life. There’s nothing special about any of the things you have built or destroyed. You wonder if Rett will be able to find you. You wonder if he’ll be able to find you before you find the ocean. Because this is the first time. The first time you got in your head to kill yourself. It’s pretty special in a way. First times always are. The dreadful amount of rum in your blood must have left you open to possession by some pirate spirit still lingering on the Carolina coasts. His spiced whispers thread their way through some cortex or another, inspiring you to leave the festival of pity that drinking marines are wont to host. Crashing waves in the distance sing the lyrics of a siren song, beckoning to the black of night. And something, perhaps, a bit darker. In any case, the urge to run has narrowly saved you from receiving an ill-advised tattoo of a Mayan calendar on the whole of your back. In the apartment you just left behind, a perplexed marine is sitting with a homemade tattoo gun buzzing in one hand a handle of vodka in the other. He’s wondering if you’ll forget to come back for the hundred dollars of cash in the morning. As you traverse the road, you discover there’s lightning in your chest so you tear your shirt a bit to let it out. The sound of the fabric ripping sounds like electricity in your hands, so you continue to conjure imaginary sparks as you flex every muscle you’ve had worked into you over the last few years. Laughter sounds from atop a grassy knoll. Three men holding beers in their hands are watching with eager eyes as you devolve into human litter. “Behold!” you shout at them, stepping into the glow of a streetlight. You let out a howl, envisioning Frankenstein’s monster discovering fire. You feel hot tears on your cheeks. The laughter stops. The men retreat. You scratch at your chest and cry out more, curiously satisfied by the sensation it leaves in your throat. You smell drunken cliche on your skin. It’s all so predictable. So mundane. So unoriginal. Beyond the knoll the laughing men had just been standing upon, you find the beach you were quested to find by the ghost of The Pirate King . There is no moon this night. You are too pathetic for its company. And yet, like a fool you mutter, “Goodnight moon,” to yourself, hiccuping hot liquor into the back of your throat. You are a romantic to the end. A fool through and through. The tattered shreds of your shirt fall to the sand as you begin to make your way. You feel strong. Ready to fight the tide until it overpowers you like everything else in this world has been able. Every feeling. Every desire. Every impulse. Losing yourself to a force of nature should be easy. You’ve been practicing all your life. Dutifully, you continue your fateful march, considering how fortunate it is to be one of the few Marines in the world who has somehow managed not to learn how to swim. Then your phone vibrates in the pocket of your denim and you realize how unfortunate it is you are one of the most consistently lucky people in the world. You answer the phone and things start to move fast. “Where are you?” she asks. “Rett is looking for you.” “No.” You’re looking at the sea. “I’m looking for you, asshole! Where are you?” “No.” You’re so very tired. “Do not make me drive around aimlessly all night. Let me bring you home.” “Okay.” You hate the ocean anyway. Now you are balled up in the passenger seat with your arms wrapped around your legs, sullen as a child caught sneaking treats. The pirate spirit has abandoned you, disgusted with your lack of commitment. He seems to have taken the rum with him. This plotline is overwrought and you would like the show to wrap up. The characters have no teeth. Elizabeth’s shitty car climbs the highway like she knows where she’s going. But you’ve been living in this town for a couple of years now and have yet to meet a soul who knows a goddamn thing about it. It shifts and moves and hates its inhabitants. This swamp is Purgatory. This swamp is Tarturas. This swamp is Jacksonville. Behold! “What the fuck were you doing out there? And since when do you hang out with Rettidal?!” You give her questions good thought and decide to be as forthcoming as possible: “Everything hurts.” You hear her baptist lips mutter “Jesus Christ” under her breath and spring into action, pounding your fist into the window. There are no worse days than when that fucker sticks his nose in your marriage. The impact of your knuckles on the tempered glass feels like the sort of pain you’ve come to find particularly attractive since puberty and 80’s action flicks wrought havoc on your physiology. You wonder if you can break it. You wonder how mighty you’ll feel as you complete the tableau of the “The Last Cowboy” you’ve always envisioned for yourself. Which ballad will play over your tragic denouement? You hit it again, smiling. Maybe the pirate left you some of his bloody rum, after all. “Hey! Hey, Motherfucker! What are you doing?!” “I’ll pay for it,” you whisper as you hit the window again. “I WILL LEAVE YOU ON THE SIDE OF THIS ROAD!” she bellows, almost losing control of the car. “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED!” you scream as you recoil back into a ball. The car sits idle on the highway and it occurs to you she might be waiting for you to get out. Just before you reach for the door handle, the car slowly begins to continue on down the highway in silence. You squeeze your eyes shut and wonder if she can still see you. “I should’ve gone to college,” you say, eyes still closed. “This is too much for a nineteen year old.” “You’re twenty-two, Miles.” “Exactly.” A silence follows. Then a reluctant chuckle escapes her throat in search of your quiet smile. Then another. You both fill the car with laugher and suddenly the roads drop all labyrinthian pretenses. She’s got teeth after all, whispers The Pirate God. “Aye, Cap’n!” you say, talking with the ghosts in your head like you have since childhood. Elizabeth is asking you to repeat yourself but you’re already feeling yourself sinking into a slumber that will leave all the high tides of the night behind. All the better. You’re pretty sure if you made it into her apartment conscious you’d make a good show of rummaging through the kitchen for a steak knife to dig into your arm. You’d never done such a thing before but tonight feels like a night for dying, so long as everything is forgiven in the morning.


Okay, so I was 18 years old, and I was dating this girl. And, like, dude, I’m not gonna lie to ya; I was just straight up, head over heels in love with this chick, man. Like, I swear to God, she looked like sunshine and smelled like the rain. And those are my two biggest weaknesses. So, I mean, what can I say? I was super into her. Anyways, we started dating in like August. So, by the time Christmas rolled around like five months later, I was just beyond smitten with her, ya know. And I just really wanted to make the holidays special for her. So...I decided I’d buy her four gifts. Why four gifts? Well, that’s easy. It’s because I’m a giant loser, and, even at eighteen, I already had a fucking weird obsession with making shit rhyme. So I decided I’d get this chick... Something Expensive Something Cheap Something Useful And Something Sweet And I know what you’re thinking; like, dude, that doesn’t even rhyme. But, whatever, fuck you guys, I figured it rhymed close enough, and either way it would look cute written in a card. Plus, I mean, it was a good excuse to buy this chick a bunch of shit, and I was excited to do that because she was dope as hell. Okay, so, first up, I needed to buy her something expensive. And that was pretty easy. I just went to this jewelry store, and I bought her this like really pretty, super sparkly bracelet. It was like $200, which at the time was like 80% of my entire life savings. But it was gorgeous, and I knew she’d love it. So I bought it. Next, I needed something cheap. And again that was super easy. This chick was obsessed with “Hugs”. You guys remember “Hugs”, right? They’re like those colorful fruit juices that come in the little plastic barrel-like containers for kids? You know what I mean, right? Well, yeah, this chick adored those things. So, I just bought her a whole bunch of them. And then, because I’m fucking adorable, I also bought her a big bag of Hershey’s Kisses. So, for something cheap, she was getting...”Hugs”....and Kisses. Okay, next up was something useful. Now, I gotta be honest here, this one was mostly for me. You see, like, this chick lived with her mom and sister. But, like, her mom was never fucking home. So we’d spend a shitload of time at this girl’s house, and I’d often end up spending the night in her room. And in her room...she had a tv, she had a cable box, she had a DVD player, and she had a speaker system. Which was neat or whatever. But, it also meant she had four different remote controls. And, dude, I swear to god, this chick could never figure out how to work any of them. So, every time we’d go to watch a movie in her room, it would turn into this whole fucking project about what buttons to hit on what remote. So, again mostly just for my own convenience, I decided for something useful; I’d just get her a fucking universal remote. And so I did. Okay. So... Something expensive - check Something cheap - check Something useful - check The only thing left for me to get her was something sweet. Now, you guys know me, I’m like the sweetest motherfucker of all time. I write love poems, I do a lot favors for friends, I take care of random old ladies who live near me. Sometimes I’ll just get bored and raise like 10 grand for charity. Like, your boy is sweet as fuck. But, for some reason, when it came to getting this chick something sweet...I was just drawing a blank. Like, I just couldn’t come up with any ideas. So, I spent weeks racking my brain, but by the morning of Christmas Eve, I still had nothing. And I was still one gift short. So it was just before noon, and I had pretty much accepted that I’d only be giving this chick the three gifts. But, either way, I decided to head over to the Lewiston CVS to grab wrapping paper. It was snowing pretty good outside, but I easily made the short trip. I walked into CVS, and then suddenly, just like that, BOOM!! IT HIT ME!! THE BARBIE PHONE!!! You see, back in October, this chick and I had stopped at CVS to get Halloween candy. And, at the time, she spotted this “Barbie Phone” in the little tiny CVS toy section. And she went nuts for it. It was like a real wall telephone, but it just had a Barbie theme to it. And there were like buttons on it that you could press to have Barbie say things while you were talking to someone. Like, dude, I know this thing sounds weird, but whatever, it was just a “Barbie Phone”. I don’t know how else to explain it, but the details really don’t matter. Either way, this chick had wanted the phone so much because she was a nerd, but I had refused to let her get it because it was clearly made for like 12 year olds. However, now, here I was, at CVS, in need of something sweet to buy this girl. So why not the silly Barbie phone she had made such a big deal about a couple of months ago, right? So, I enthusiastically walked over to the little CVS toy section to pick up my final gift... But there was no Barbie phone. Anywhere. I was like, “...........fuck.” So, now with much less enthusiasm, I walked up to the front counter. There were two employees there. I said, “Hey, uhhh, you guys had this Barbie phone here a couple of months ago, but I don’t see it now. Any chance you have one hanging around out back?” They were like, “A what now?” I was like, “Uhhh....a Barbie....phone?” They were just like, “Yeah, I don’t think we sell those.” I was like, “No, dude, you guys totally had one in the toy section back in October.” They were like, “Well, if it’s not there anymore, then we must be out.” I was like, “Damn, man. Is there anyway for you guys to check if the CVS in the Falls has it?” They’re like, “......no”. I’m like, “Awesome.” So I left the Lewiston CVS, feeling defeated. But, as I walked out, I saw a sign indicating the company’s Holiday hours. And it said they’d be open until 5 o’clock on Christmas Eve. And it was currently only about 12:30. So, I figured, fuck it, I’ll just drive up to the CVS in Niagara Falls real quick to see if they have this stupid phone. Unfortunately, it was getting snowier and snowier outside, so the drive was somewhat treacherous. But I eventually reached the Falls CVS. I went inside, walked right over to the little toy section, and.... No Barbie phone. .....fuck. Again. So, I once again approached the front counter and asked them about the phone. But, once again, they had no clue what I was talking about. However, they were still way more helpful than Lewiston had been. They said they couldn’t check inventory of an item without a barcode, but they suggested I try the CVS in Sanborn because it was the biggest one around. I asked them for the address, and they just printed it out for me on a list of all the area locations. So I left the CVS in the Falls. By now, it was about 1:30. And it was snowing really, really bad. But, like, dude.... I kinda wanted to find this fucking phone. So, I embarked on my trip to Sanborn. Now, keep in mind, I was eighteen at the time, so like I didn’t have an electronic voice on my phone telling me where to go or anything. There wasn’t any GPS. It was just me, winging it. So, it took some time and a little luck, but I eventually reached the Sanborn CVS. And I went inside... And...lo and behold... STILL NO FUCKING BARBIE PHONE!! So, driving to Sanborn through a fucking blizzard had taken me forever. It was almost 3pm already. Every CVS would be closing at 5. I was quickly running out of time. I checked the list of area locations. There were basically only two options left for me. There was Tonawanda. Or there was Newfane. I knew with the weather, I’d never be able to do both. So I had to choose. And I chose Tonawanda. So I left the Sanborn CVS and began my trip to the Tonawanda CVS. However, as it turned out, I had no fucking clue how to get to Tonawanda, let alone find the CVS there. And, it had begun snowing so fucking much that I literally couldn’t even tell where I was going. Before long, I was just completely fucking lost in white-out conditions. The time kept ticking away. 330. 4. 415. And I just had absolutely no fucking idea where I was. I was just like driving down random roads, trying not to die. And then... The craziest thing happened... I saw a sign that said, “Welcome to Newfane”. I was like, “Dude, what the fuck?!?” I realized I had somehow managed to get spun around in the snow and driven in the completely wrong direction. But...I looked at the time...and it was only 430. I saw a gas station and pulled in. I quickly ran inside. I shouted to the lady working, “Hey, is there a CVS near here?” She replied, “Yeah, it’s like two blocks down on the right.” I was like, “No fucking way”. I hopped back in my car, and shot down the road until I saw one big sign with three little letters. I pulled into the parking lot. It was 4:42. I ran inside. I went straight for the little toy section... And, guys, no fucking joke... I found the Barbie Phone. BOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!! Dude, I was so stoked. Like, this is a true story, you guys. I legitimately drove all over on a snowy Christmas Eve looking for a stupid Barbie phone. But I actually fucking found it at the last second. Okay. So, it took me forever to get home that night. But I made it. The next morning, Christmas, I did brunch and presents with my family. Later on, I drove over to this girl’s house with her gifts. She was also having a big family thing, and as soon as I got there, we all sat down to eat. We hung out there for a few hours, but we were with her family the whole time, and we didn’t have a chance to do our presents. I ended up having to leave to go eat more food with my parents, but the girl and I planned to meet back up again afterwards. She promised she wouldn’t open her gifts until we were with each other again that night. Well, the night soon came. And I drove back over to her house. And as soon as I pulled into her driveway and got out my car; her front door burst open and she came running out at me. She barreled down the driveway, reached me, and just leapt into my arms. And then, on Christmas night, underneath the stars, we shared the type of kiss you’d normally only see at the end of an old Hugh Grant movie. We finally stopped kissing, and I asked her, “What was that for?” She smiled and said, “I got impatient and opened my presents.” I laughed and said, “Oh yeah? How’d I do?” She was just like, “Ian, I literally cannot fucking believe you bought me.... ....such an expensive bracelet.


To the esteemed Dr. Mcann, Consider this letter the formal resignation of me and the crew of my vessel the USS Aristotle. As I write this, my crew and I are in deep space, and it is unlikely that you shall see this vessel or our crew again, as we plan to drive it straight into a blackhole. As you’re no doubt aware the Aristotle is the first ship capable of interstellar faster than light travel, and we are currently 500 lightyears from Earth. The mission you prescribed us, to survey nearby star systems to look for both a suitably habitable colony and any signs of alien life, was a mission too important for me to turn down the role of captain for. The crew and I became celebrities overnight, we were celebrated across the solar system as heroes going where “no man has gone before” and such bollocks. If I could go back and shoot my younger self for such idiocy, I would. Once our voyage began, we initially had no issues. The ship was running as expected, we were in high spirits, thanks to security no squabbles devolved into full blown mutinies. Everything was great, we even found a few potentially habitable planets you will have received coordinates for along with this message. However, for 9 months, we found no signs of alien life. So, we decided we would keep exploring until we did. Eventually, we found it. But unfortunately, there was a very glaring problem. For you see, there’s a common throughline with every single alien species we’ve found. Every single one. Not a single fucking one to be different. THEY’RE ALL FUCKING CRABS. Every. Single. Goddamn one is a fucking crab. On land and in sea, and even in the fucking air! 2 pincers, eight legs, round bodies, chitin carapaces. At first we were shocked, then we were confused, now we’re fucking furious. We have gone off into the cosmos, past the boundaries of mankind, we expected to make contact with grand alien empires and see things never even dreamt of before. What do I get? FUCKING CRABS. There’s very little difference in crabs after you’ve found 12 million different species. No humanoids, no dolphins, no dogs, not even a lobster, all crabs! WHY. WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYTHING CRABS. I SWEAR THE NEXT PLANET WE FIND WITH A FUCKING CRAB ON IT I’LL BOMB THE FUCKERS FROM ORBIT! THE FUCKING TREES ON SOME PLANETS WERE CRABS TOO! WHY AREN’T WE CRABS?! ARE THE CRABS ON EARTH FROM SPACE?! ARE THEY SECRETLY INTELLIGENT!?!? IS THE CRAB THE SUPREME LIFEFORM OF THE UNIVERSE?! AN<>KV*(JMKQT#F&G^QG#BF(&Q#TGFCFTQ#JHMNFbUQYAD CMNQAFD So, I’m sure reading this you understand my frustration with the universe at large for cursing me with living as a human and not as a crab. I hope that the government may posthumously pardon us for going AWOL and destroying the single most important vessel ever constructed in mankind’s history, but i’m not sorry.


“Hey, doc, where did you get the crazy name?” Joe said. “It’s Hungarian or Romanian, I am neither. I’m American. My family moved over here many years ago.” Dr. Ackula said with a devilish smile. Dr. Ackula was aware of the connotations of his name and he’d often make a joke out of it. He’d wear the fake teeth at Halloween and dress in a cape and scare the neighbourhood children. But Dr. Ackula was just a regular doctor. He ran a small surgery, he came out in sunlight, charged a fortune in medical insurance and had a wife – Mrs. Ackula. Joe had cirrhoses of the liver. Joe was in his eighties. It was a miracle that he’d even made it this far. This was a late night call-out. Dr. Ackula charged a hefty premium for these call-outs. Joe lay down on his bed. Joe had a big house but the problem for Joe was that it was empty. Joe’s wife (also treated by Dr. Ackula) died about three years ago and Joe had been hitting the bottle hard ever since. This was the first time that Dr. Ackula treated Joe but Joe felt a warmth and trust for Dr. Ackula; primarily because of the way his wife was so kindly treated before her death. “Doc, you’re not going to drink my blood are you?” Joe laughed. “No, just a small shot with this needle.” Dr. Ackula said. Dr. Ackula had heard them all. Any pun, any joke, any gag – he’d literally heard them all. Dr. Ackula rolled up Joe’s sleeve. Dr. Ackula was good to his patients. He was soothing, calm and had a delicate nature that would put them at ease. Dr. Ackula gave Joe a slight prod with the needle and cradled his head into his hands. “Joe, you will feel a slight paralysis but no pain thankfully.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe mumbled, already finding the difficulty of speech set in early. “Now what I have to tell you is very important. Your current condition is all your own doing. Your bad lifestyle, your depression, your negative outlook since your wife died.” Dr Ackula said. Dr. Ackula held up the needle into Joe’s fading view. “And this is merely to put you out of your misery. Much like I did to your wife.” Dr. Ackula said. Joe’s face changed and the little muscle energy left tried desperately to frown. “I may not suck blood Joe but if I can’t treat you, you are no use to me alive. Your hard living will be written into the death certificate.” Dr. Ackula said, “I’ve done this many times Joe.” And he had done this many times. While the name Dr. Ackula may conjure up images of blood-sucking, the only blood-sucking that Ackula did will be to the inherited estate of Joe and Mildred Tanner. Dr Ackula pulled out his pen. Dr. Ackula’s tastes didn’t transcend to the souls and blood of the living. Dr.