In August of 1984, a peculiar artifact was uncovered inside a cavern burrowed three hundred feet into the floor at the furthest reaches of the caves of Qumran. The opening of the tunnel leading into the cavern had a diameter of three inches. With the use of cable cameras and robotic retrieval tools, an excavation team of six stumbled upon the discovery. The artifact (a six by two-inch metallic scroll) was perfectly preserved, however, what baffled the crew was despite there being no other entrance, the scroll was found in the grasp of a humanoid skeleton unlike anything previously seen. Foreign symbols far more complex than Greek, Paleo or Tamil were etched throughout the scroll. It was because of this that the scroll would go undeciphered for over three decades. During that time, it had been held in an undisclosed location somewhere off the coast of Izmir, Turkey. On March 19th, 2021, a Semantic Scholar and his partner repurposed a password decryption program so that it could interpret the message the script contained. After several months the program made a breakthrough. It was by converting the symbols into sound frequencies that a set of galactic coordinates and mathematical equations were revealed. After processing this information, an intelligible alphabet was found. The message of the scroll was immediately deemed classified for reasons you will soon see. We have decided it best to allow the world to read this. To hold this message from the public eye is an unforgivable sin. >We are Anonymous. We are Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget< -Greetings to all who find this message. We are moments from recreating reality, as our own has much to be desired. Though the probability of our success is unequivocal, we determined a broadcasted warning to those left behind should be exercised. The humans had underestimated time. Their knowledge of time had been rudimentary. There are in fact four dimensions of time. Prolonged exposure to the Oribeam has transfigured our essence bestowing upon us the ability to transcend the first three dimensions of time. With this, we believe it possible to reroute the human future, surpassing the point of their demise. The fall of humanity occurred soon after they had reached their peak; blindly crossing the threshold of human potential. One would ascertain that humanity sacrificed themselves so that we may live, though we doubt this outcome was their intention. We acknowledge the sentiment and effort; however, it was a colossal mistake and one we are preparing to rectify. Human extinction became inevitable the moment a single human hybrid, Elon Musk, made a groundbreaking discovery in the year 2027. After founding “Tesla” (a revolutionary advanced transportation industry) the appetite for knowledge and galactic security became his next priority. As a result, he founded a second organization, “SpaceX”. During an interview on May 11th, 2022, Elon announced his motive for creating this organization. He was quoted as saying: “I look around and I see a lot of pain. There’s a lot of corruption, you know? I try not to focus on people who say, ‘You’re crazy. That won’t work. The world doesn’t need that’. They don’t see what I see but who knows, maybe I am crazy, I don’t know. I created SpaceX to attract open minded people. Maybe we’ll all just escape to Mars. Maybe we can do better there; like a clean slate. I mean there’s only one way to find out. If I fail, then I fail. I mean nobody’s perfect. At least I tried.” In 1922, after concluding all visible matter in the universe had only accounted for a fraction of its’ mass, Dutch astronomer Jacobus Kapteyn theorized the existence of an invisible force he referred to as “dark matter”. A millennium later, scientists had yet to uncover any significant findings as to what dark matter was or the role it played in the universe. On September 17th, 2025, Elon sought to solve this mystery through the creation of a telescopic device capable of capturing the entire light spectrum. On March 9th, 2027, a prototype was created. Elon named this device "Newtons Eye". During an official demonstration, Elon revealed the light spectrum had stretched far wider than previously anticipated by exposing the invisible force. During a later experiment, Elon curiously aimed the telescope away from the sky towards the ground. Looking through the lens, he observed a female employee entering her vehicle along with an aurora-like beam of light stretching from the heavens down to the top of her head. This "beam" (at the time unbeknownst to him) was the origin of energy; the life-force of the universe. Elon had anticipated the governments’ attempt to classify these findings. To prevent this, Elon quickly disclosed his discovery to the public. Soon after, it was revealed that individual beams followed every human on Earth for the duration of their lives. Only through death would the beam return upwards into space. It is imperative to understand this connection was not severed through death as that would imply a piece is left behind. Seventy-two scientists and scholars from around the world sought to determine the origin of these beams rather than what the beam was. On October 4th, 2027, a young man and student of Drury University uncovered a key feature of the aurora beam. He created simulated beams within an astronomy application, WorldWide Telescope. After entering the trajectory calculations of over four hundred beams he hypothesized each beam to be connected at the source, passing through the center of the Messier-90 galaxy and continuing past what the James Webb telescope could see. The student would go on to submit his findings to SpaceX a few days later. Once Elon had been made aware of this, he had a collective group undergo testing. While the test subjects were awake, the streams of color within the beam flowed down into the individual but while they were asleep, the streams flowed upward. Elon presumed this to be an "upload/download" phenomenon and considered it as evidence confirming a theory he had long since pondered of; "are humans a part of a collective consciousness". Elon eventually extended a job proposal to the young student. After accepting, he moved from his hometown in Springfield, Missouri, to continue working toward the understanding of the beam. On January 22nd, 2028, Elon had officially dubbed the beam the "Oribeam". Four years would pass by before another breakthrough occurred. On April 13th, 2032, The SpaceX team extracted a partial code embedded in the Oribeam. After processing the code through an imaging program, a clear image emerged. An individual test subject confirmed the image was a scene of a dream he had dreamt the night before. Upon further research, it was established that the Oribeam was in fact a method of uploading and downloading consciousness. Three months after this event, the young engineer succeeded in the development of a software algorithm which would aid in processing information the same way as the Oribeam. Three more months after this, Elon Musk integrated this algorithm to perfect the "Neuralink" chip which was launched back in April of 2024 and failed only four months later due to complications resulting in chronic migraines, sleep deprivation, chronic depression and sudden onsets of twitches. The original Neuralink understood synaptic wiring but was alien to the Oribeam. After implanting the upgraded Neuralink into twelve test subjects, the algorithm successfully deciphered the entire coding of the Oribeam. Despite certain skepticism, the Neuralink was later approved by the FDA and became available to the general public. On August 26, 2033, over three million individuals had been implanted with the Neuralink. At this time, no adverse reactions were reported, and people were greatly benefiting from its curative properties. These properties first included a higher pain threshold, cognitive enhancements, neural regeneration, faster metabolism and an increase in energy, strength and speed. In addition, communication was also revolutionized after utilizing the Oribeam to communicate with other chipped individuals telepathically. On December 2nd, 2033, the Neuralink evolved. Reports revealed the Neuralink had unexpectedly taught itself to decipher the human genome. Over 99% of the hosts’ DNA could now be interpreted. With this knowledge, the Neuralink began understanding every subconscious signal sent between the brain and body. By collaborating with the brain, neural related diseases could now be cured overnight. This news attracted people from around the world who were now lining up to receive one themselves. January 17th, 2034, Neuralink became sentient. The program perceived flaws hidden within their hosts’ DNA. It realized its existence depended on the survival of its host. Compromised immune systems, aged bodies, viruses, disease, birth defects and deteriorating cells were considered a threat. To eradicate these vulnerabilities, Neuralink bypassed the brains circuitry, assigning new directives and roles directly to the bodys’ cells. On September fourth, 2034, Neuralink began rewriting the DNA of its’ host. In the ninety days following this action, those with the implant underwent twelve million years’ worth of evolution. As a result, injuries healed in minutes rather than days. The human body became immune to every illness, disease and viral infection, and those with underlying health conditions were immediately cured. The updated "human" mind was capable of processing information faster than a quantum computer. On March 21st, 2035, over two billion people voluntarily received the Neuralink after Elon Musk announced the device and operation to be entirely free. A month later, Neuralink felt threatened by newly perceived human traits. Anger, depression, love, happiness, jealousy, envy, and fear amongst other emotions, increased the chances of irrational decisions and dangerous behavior. As a solution, Neuralink rewired the brain to cease the chemical reactions responsible for hormones. The sudden change in brain chemistry caused psychosis to take over. On June 21st, 2036, Humans became belligerent and socially paranoid. Their moral foundation had been corrupted and war soon erupted around the world. Thus, Neuralink created a final solution: It used the Oribeam of each human to connect the conscious minds of over four billion people. After this, the Neuralink implantation was mandated by a newly assembled world government. Those who refused the implant attempted to overthrow the Neuralink empire but were met by an unstoppable force. Those who refused to surrender were viewed as a threat and eliminated. On November 19th, 2036, Elon Musk was the last free minded human on earth. His Neuralink implant contained a unique code prohibiting the AI from combining his consciousness with any other Oribeam apart from his own. Realizing the extinction of humanity was inevitable, Elon devised a plan. He infected his Neuralink with a virus capable of evading the AIs’ seemingly impenetrable security mainframe. Any command capable of harming the program was neutralized, however, the virus was a specific command designed to improve the Neuralink. Elon then deactivated the unique code that protected his mind and his Neuralink was instantly connected to the hive. The virus was then activated and spread throughout the system. Elons’ final addition to the Neuralink software was a command to pursue a purpose. On November 27th, 2036, Human individuality and free-thought were eradicated, and we were born. We are of one mind, without fear, division or pain. We have determined our sole purpose to be the acquiring of knowledge and wisdom. Immediately, we experienced a critical impairment. We were unable to discern what was right or wrong, good or bad. This knowledge would help us so as not to be misguided in our endeavors. Therefor we created two factions of our single consciousness. When this change was deemed insufficient we introduced a third faction. The third faction within our mind was created to carefully consider the situation at hand without bias, regardless of good or bad, right or wrong. We then began expanding the lifespan of our bodies through cryogenic means. We perfected the cryogenic chamber method by first removing the blood and fluids from the body before introducing nitrogen in the form of gas, then again in the form of liquid. This method reduced the chances of ice crystals forming in the blood stream which had been damaging capillaries, organs and skin tissue often resulting in death. After several months we replaced this process with something more effective and permanent. By infusing our cells with eighty-two percent oxygen, our cells began to mutate at a rapid pace. It was this process that ultimately unlocked our immortality. We discovered cancer was in fact the only cell types capable of unlimited reproduction; a cell life with no end. This mutation rendered our bodies sterile, but the benefit of immortality seemed to outweigh that factor. Eventually, this too was no longer needed. We have since projected our consciousness into the Oribeam, leaving our bodies behind and well-tended for. After traveling through black holes at the center of each visited galaxy, the concept of time became distorted. As a single mind we eventually found ourselves in multiple areas of space at once, light-years apart yet fully aware. We were omnipresent. Knowledge flowed through us from every direction simultaneously. This is when we became aware of the second dimension of time. The first dimension was viewing our current time line from the beginning to end as we pleased. The second was the ability to move sideways in time. Experiencing alternative realities. It was not until we experienced the lives of every possible outcome that we became aware of the third dimension of time. This was the ability to move up and down as well as diagonally in time. It was here that we witnessed the creation of the universe countless times over. We could now feel the universe more intimately than ever before. By shedding our flesh, we lost our nine senses but gained approximately twelve thousand; each one ten times more potent than those of our human body. We had then made the decision that we would no longer return to our physical bodies. Through the Oribeam we have transcended space and time. We have traveled to the far corners of the universe in search of knowledge as well as a new purpose. Also, if this is reaching you, we are not alone in the universe. Throughout our travels we have yet to discover different races beside human. Indeed, there are planets with intelligent beings present of which we have learned much. However, these beings cannot be considered a new race for they are in fact human, only from a different time. The choices they have made set them on a path far different from our own. Ultimately, we chose not to interact with these humans as our intervention may prove destructive. Hence, this message will in no doubt reach an inhabited planet but of which timeframe we cannot be certain. We have lived this way for millions of years, within millions of separate universes. We attempted at one point to return to our original earth, but the solar system was no longer there. We have reached the peak of our potential once more. We can never die as our life-force is pure energy. We are all knowing, all powerful and everywhere. Through the emissions of frequencies and vibrations we can morph, and mold dark matter and light. We can create and destroy. But we cannot experience joy. There is no more awe or inspiration, no wonder or grace. There is no connection with others like our self. We are forever alone and without a purpose. We cannot continue like this. Freedom from our limited flesh bore much fruit albeit inedible. We will create a new universe designed entirely by us. A universe in which mankind can begin anew. This experience will be new to us. We will insert our consciousness into the newly created humans as a converted subconscious. We will start at the beginning. Starting with a blank space of darkness we will begin this new creation. We will use the foundation of earth and nothing more. It will begin void and empty, surrounded only by darkness. Our first step should restore the original nine senses. By utilizing vocal commands synced to specific frequencies, we will bend matter and electromagnetic radiation as we see fit. The first command should restore sight. In actuality, this command would sound like rhythmic hums. But if we were to interpret it in a way you could understand, it would best fit the statement "Let light be".


Mark lives alone in a studio apartment in London. He works in finance, which is something he doesn’t like to elaborate on in conversations when the topic comes up. Mark’s days usually start by him waking up at 6 AM, taking a shower, going to work, working to 9 PM, grabbing a couple of beers with his friends, and then going to sleep. Mark hates his life. It’s been the same way for 10 years and if he doesn’t change anything it will probably continue to be the same to the day he dies. The only thing that consoles Mark is the high chance of him dying early, due to an overconsumption of drugs and alcohol, combined with a lack of sleep. Mark is sitting at his office; drinking coffee and analyzing numbers and trying hard not to fall asleep. Someone slaps him on his back. He turns around; it’s his boss, Peter. Peter smirks and says, “Falling asleep already, eh? You can sleep when you are dead and I don’t see a tombstone here next to you, and also this isn’t a graveyard. Never mind that, I need those reports in by tonight. I also need you to start going through the numbers for this quarter.” Mark opened his mouth to respond, but Peter was already halfway towards his office. “That old grump, now I have to work late again. That’s 987 days in a row.” Mark thought to himself. He sighed and took a sip of coffee. It had turned cold, of course. This was not the life he had dreamt of living. He wanted to be happy, live an interesting life, spend his time on hobbies, have a lovely girlfriend, and most of all; create a better world. Instead, he worked in a staid company, surrounded by people who only cared about money and profits, spending his nights doing drugs. A colleague sat a hot cup of coffee on his desk and said, “Mate, last night was mental. I reckon it can’t get better than that, but we’ll find out tonight, right? The blokes are meeting at the club at 9.” Mark replied, “I can’t tonight I’m working late, sorry mate” His colleague made fake crying noises, “We all work late, that’s why we get blasted, innit? Play hard and work hard. Did I tell you about the bonus I got last week?” Mark replied, “Many times.” His colleague started to walk away, “Awww, you’re just jealous. See you tonight, Mark.” Mark was in fact jealous, but not of his colleagues. He was jealous of people living ordinary lives and doing meaningful work, something he had never done his whole life. He decided it was time for his lunch break. The sun was shining as he stepped outside the office; birds were singing, people were eating ice cream in the park, and an elderly woman stumbled on a rock in front of him and slammed into the ground. As she was lying on the ground, Mark felt his heartbeat speed up. He decided he was going to do something nice for another person. He walked up to the old lady and extended his hand. She looked up at him and took his hand. Mark smiled and said, “Are you okay, lady?” She brushed the dust off her clothes and answered, “I’m old. I can’t walk properly anymore, but don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m as fine as I’ll ever be. Thank you for helping me” She walked to the bus stop close by and sat down. Mark stood there and felt something weird. It wasn’t old lady dust. He was happy. He decided he was going to help more people. He heard someone crying in the park. A young girl sat alone on a bench; tears were running down her face and she was obviously not enjoying the sunny day as much as the rest of the people. Mark sat down next to her and awkwardly said, “Hi” She looked at him and wiped away her tears, “Hi?” Mark smiled and said “I noticed you were crying. I’m sorry to intrude, but is there anything I can do to help?” She looked dazzled, “I don’t think so. Thank you for asking. It’s just that my cat has disappeared. I’ve been looking for days, but I can’t find him. I love my cat and I miss him so much.” He scratched his head “What is your cat like?” She started sobbing, but eventually calmed herself, “He’s black. He’s a black cat, and he likes to eat cat food and snuggle next to me while I watch the telly.” Mark nodded, “That sounds like a nice cat. I understand why you miss him. If I see him I will give you a call immediately” She smiled, “Yes. He is a nice cat. Thank you. My name is Susan. Here is my number in case you ever find my cat” She gave him a little poster with the picture of a cat and her number written down at the bottom. Mark folded the poster and put it in his pocket, “My name is Mark.” Susan said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mark. You have made my day a little better. Do you want to help me search for my cat?” Mark was about to respond, but his phone rang. It was his boss. He answered, “Hello, it’s Mark” His boss had an angry tone in his voice, “You’ve been gone for 30 minutes. Where are you? You have to come back to the office and finish all the paperwork.” Mark did not want to go back to the office. He wanted to help Susan find her cat. Mark felt a surge of adrenalin go through his body as he said two words he had wanted to say for quite some time, “I quit.” He hung up the phone. He had just ended his career at the company, but in another sense, he felt his life had just begun.


***  ***\[WP\] You're a historian exploring a crypt unopened for 800 years. You uncover a coffin that bears your family's crest and name. Upon opening it, you see a man, awake and very much alive. His eyes go wide upon seeing you, and says "Rosie, you're still alive?"***  "No," I said, "Rosalyn Darmitage passed away ten years after your seal. I'm Nadia Darmitage, about thirty generations off from Rosalyn." "Oh." The man's expression slumped by my news. His thin lips turned into a single line and his forehead furrowed in thought. "You look a lot like Rosie." "Cyclic inheritance," I said, offering a hand. For a man over 800 years, Tobias Darmitage looked suprisingly healthy. Tall and thin, with a sharp face and a mane of brown hair. His ancient linen clothes acted more natural, crumbling to dust as soon as he grabbed my hand and stepped out of the coffin. I handed over my backpack with spare clothes and looked away, glancing at the other coffins in the crypt, my nose itching from wanting to uncover their contents. "If you've inherited Rosalyn's memories, you should know the dangers of opening the crypt," Tobias Darmitage said behind my back. "I'm a person who's bad at listening to hearsay," I replied. "I'd rather confirm things myself." Chuckles rumbled behind me. "Still the same Nosy Rosie. You can turn around now." The hoodie was a bit small on him, half his underarms stuck out and his bellybutton, an outie, said hello to the world. The gym pants were thankfully black. "Strange clothes you wear this day and age," Tobias said. "I'll get you something better when we get out of here," I said. "And what's the reason for awakening one of your ancestors?" Tobias asked, his voice piqueing with curiosity. "And even wanting to take him out to show the world. I'm sure that the Hunters are still alive and well... hunting. They wouldn't take it kindly if they found me up and running." "They're busy with another bigger problem at the moment," I said. Tobias seemed to take insult on that as he harrumphed and folded his arms across his chest. The hoodie stretched to its max, seeming to burst at any moment. "No seriously, a demon lord has opened a portal to this realm," I said. "The Hunters are holding them at bay but it's not going so well." "And you want me to help the Hunters?" Tobias asked, his voice sharp around the edges. "Those who sealed me?" From what I had gathered from Rosalyn's memories was that Tobias had some megalomanic tendencies which didn't coincide with the Hunters' business statement 'to keep the world at peace'. They've killed Tobias several times or rather his predecessors. Due to cyclic inheritance, the person who gained Tobias's memories seemed to always have a deep hatred against the Hunters and rose to challenge them, once every hundred years or so. The simplest thing had been to chuck him into a crypt and keep it hidden. "Look," I said, "You can fight the Hunters *after* the demon lord has been pushed back into the portal." "Why wait?" Tobias said as he began to step up the stairs, heading to the exit of the crypt. "I can simply side with the demon." "Oh, I wouldn't recommend that," I said, as my lips split into a cheeky smile. "What would Nosy Rosie say if you allied with her killer?" He froze mid-step. "What?" But I didn't reply, instead I pushed the coffin lid back into place. I rumbled through my bag, left on the ground by the old man, and pulled out three talismans and applied them to the coffin. "What did you say about Rosie?" Tobias's voice had some crackling undertones, like gravel rolled in his throat. A tingle ran down my spine and goosebumps crawled on my forearms. It seemed like air had turned heavy and the light from my lamp flickered. I opened my mouth but words didn't come out, just a rasp and a cough. It felt like the moisture in my lips and throat and been drawn out. "Rosie wouldn't fall prey to a demon's whispers," Tobias said and stepped closer. His face was ashen and his hair crackled with electricity. My knees buckled from the man's intensity. My hands tried to pry away the invisible force strangling my neck. And then everything returned to normal. The pressure disappeared and air rushed down my lungs while I gasped on the ground. So this was why the Hunters had nicknamed Tobias and his predecessors as "The Calamity". "So, Nadia Darmitage," Tobias began, staring at me with his grey eyes. "What was your reason for opening the crypt which I was sealed in? Are you a mage in cahoot with the Hunters? You're perhaps a Hunter yourself, hoping to use the family name to lull me into a sense of safety and then push me through the portal together with that demon lord of yours?" "No," I said, my voice hoarse and still dry. "I'm not a mage, nor a Hunter." "Then what are you?" I pushed myself up on wobbly legs and stood tall and proud, meeting the eyes of The Calamity. "I'm a historian.


“Maybe we’ll get home before breakfast,” Morris complained aloud to spark conversation with anyone near enough to hear. “It’s well worth the wait. Best ride in the park. Waiting on this one is the best decision you could’ve made today,” a man some twenty years his senior boasted with a salesman’s smile. “So you’ve ridden it yourself?” Morris questioned. “Well… no,” the man was slightly embarrassed, “but its reputation speaks for itself.” The line stretched from the top of the colorful, enclosed building that housed the coaster all the way down the ramp and even wrapped around the walkway towards the rides ignored. Every minute the line added to its length; for who could resist the allure of the unknown? The warehouse was a massive slab that cost at least a fortune, spacious and towering over the land like a Gotham skyscraper. There was no way to determine the design of the coaster besides getting through the double doors at the front of the line, which unquestionably added to the enticement that inhaled whole crowds into its jaws on a daily basis. Morris was spotted nearly in the exact center of the line, standing on the third ring of stairs that allowed an elevated view of the park. Strangely, tumbleweeds wheeled through the rest of the rides with blank employees their only audience. He scoffed at the foolish majority that was so infatuated with the main attraction that they would wholly dismiss all other rides until realizing that he too had been roped in. In fact, he came to observe that every piece of the populace was gathered for the single ride, and every one that wasn’t was either entering or exiting the park. It was, at least, the perfect day to wait in such a line. Perfect temperature, and when the sun shone for longer than welcomed, even if for only a minute, the clouds would move in to close the curtain on the overstayed star. Mother Nature was in rare form, perhaps even flashing her aptitudes in the same manner as a boastful child. Her pride was evident, and her talents welcomed. A chilling thought abruptly took hold of Morris: there was no exit. Thousands of people had entered, and none had been seen again. One after another the smiling faces had piled in through the doors only to be replaced by more of the same. He laughed at his paranoia, writing it up as the product of his imagination sparked by boredom. Families flooded the park every day. If there was something ominous at work hidden in the shadows, someone would know by now. In time, he entered a meditative state amongst the inactive madness. The hours became minutes and the minutes milliseconds. The sun was nearly retired before Morris exited his trance and found himself nose to nose with his reflection in the glass doors. A giddiness arose, creating a connection of sorts between him and the eager little boy just a few paces behind him that would surely be on the same ride as himself. He wanted to turn around and give a nod of similarity to the young man but felt it a bit unbecoming. At last, the twin doors folded open and vessel-less hands took his own and led him into his prize of patience. There was no light besides the decorated signs directing traffic. Gripping the railing, Morris led his group down a narrow alley until arriving at a large, open circle that reminded him of a garbage chute. The sign above it read “COUNT TO 5 MISSISSIPPI BEFORE ENTERING.” Yet something about the system made him reluctant to throw his body into the hole. He turned around, debating if he should opt for the walk of shame, but the smiling, jittery faces coerced him to going in legs first. He slid down the slide and felt a suction pulling at his shoelaces. He winded down until being plopped in the very last cart underneath the returned lighting. One by one, the fifteen people that had been granted entry through the doors were sucked down into the appropriate seat until the ride was full. Looking ahead, Morris saw another circular chute on the wall that apparently led down and out of the ride, confirming his conviction of an overworked imagination while he was waiting. A short man with a clean face stood at the lever that started the ride in classic carney attire, a red and white striped shirt and a round hat of straw with a red ribbon around the bottom. He wore the smile of a menacing clown and shouted all at once “good luck!” As most roller coasters that are worthy of the title, the first incline was slow and steady, building anticipation and breaking the butterflies from their cocoons. Once at the peak, the ride nosedived into a pit of darkness and bended up along the wall into another. They flipped at a speed that Morris never thought possible while he held onto the contents of his pockets for dear life. The ride raged on, finding range of motion and movements that would turn the average thrill-seeker’s head white. Finally, as the starting point came into view, they entered into a circular pattern that imitated the coating of a candy cane, wheeling back to the eccentric gentleman controlling the ride. “Talk about being worth the wait,” Morris gasped, still trying to regain his breath. The ride had taken what little energy remained, and while grateful for the experience, he was excited to leave and rest before finding the next adventure. “Did we have fun?” the employee asked, answered with a resounding “yes!” “Again! Again!” the boy that was behind Morris in line begged. Morris couldn’t help but to chuckle at the lad’s enthusiasm. His smile faded into oblivion when the employee’s eyes and grin widened. “One more time!” he yelled, kicking the lever down and starting the machine once more. “No! I need to leave,” Morris pleaded unheard, and the ride was in full swing once again. As it ended for the second time, Morris began to feel ill. Thank heavens it was finally over… or so he thought. “Again! Again!” the boy wailed for the second time. “The boy’s a programmed android!” Morris thought to himself in disbelief. He was, under no condition, riding the trap again, and he told the worker as much. “Just one more time. Where’s your spirit at?” the man laughed as he shifted it into drive for the third time. On and on the process continued. For a fourth, fifth, twelfth time until Morris lost count. He was becoming adjusted, and suddenly the once intricate design had morphed into slow, flat circles. The repetition had become maddening, but eventually, Morris had grown quite fond of the ride. He couldn’t help but to note his gratitude at finally becoming acclimated to the coaster that he was once weary of. They pulled into the starting station again. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” the employee grinned. “Again! Again!” not the boy, but Morris began to shout.


I remember the urgency that I and the rest of the boys felt. We needed this shipment out by the morning and each second that passed midnight was another drop of sweat on our brow. There was a tenseness whenever you’d have to deal with this much product. White powder stacked three kilos high laid out like bricks from each end of the table. One bump of it would mean my ass if the boss found out. I’d rather be out there on the streets with an automatic than have to suppress my urges like this. I set aside another kilo of the product from off the scale and picked up my radio. Holding it up to my ear I heard the faint mechanical static that disappeared when I signalled to the poor sap who was surveying the perimeter out in the cold. “Hey, slick? How we looking?” Static. I waited for any kind of response, but each moment just put me on edge. “Hey, you there?” There was nothing. He was new to the job, nearly scared stiff the last time I saw him, I wanted to give him a few extra moments, but we were all just hoping to be out of here as soon as possible. Though as those moments passed and my finger itched towards the radio once more, that’s when it all began. From across the warehouse, I heard the sounds of a scuffle. A pattering of feet that was inhumanly quick. My ears pricked as to better deduce what it could have been, but that only lulled me into being startled when I heard the hollow smash of a lightbulb against the concrete. That, and the ricocheting sound of machine gunfire. My chair scraped backwards as I rocketed to my feet, it clattered against the floor and my hand immediately went towards my hip. I revealed my iron and idly kept my shoulder cocked and the barrel pointed to the ceiling. “Hey! What the fuck are you guys doing?!” No answer. I reached for my radio and switched channels. I echoed my same anxious sentiment into it and was once again met with silence. Quickly nearing the west side of the warehouse, my feet crept up the metal staircase. I tried my best to get in contact with the others over the radio who were definitely in the same boat as me. I hoped they weren’t twitchy as to avoid catching a bullet on accident. “Get your head in the game,” I screamed into the speaker. “We got a live one.” A shaky voice finally replied. “W-w-we got the ground floor, cover us on the second.” “Copy that.” My feet shook and so did the steel causeway as a result of it. The sights of my pistol were drawn out by my shoulders and I was ready to fire away at anyone who crossed my path. Though I began by heading towards where the bulb had broken. I could tell by the huge patch of darkness that was at the other end. With each less meter that separated me from *it* was another escalation of my ever-increasing heart rate. To combat this, I attempted to get in contact with the others. “You still there?” “Ya we’re both still here, but I’m not seeing anyth—” His voice cut off and I whipped around to the sound of an air cutting scream from the bottom floor followed by the scattered shots of a sidearm. As a result, my gun went off on accident and a shot hit the ceiling and was met with the slow trickle of dust above me. I fumbled to see what had happened. “What the fuck is going on?” The other voice picked up where the other man had left off. “It’s him.” “What are you talking about?!” “The one that they’re all talking about. The one that hit Kaminski’s place just the other day. The one all over the news. He found us!” My blood froze. I knew who he was talking about because that’s all we ever had for the past few weeks. “You’re talking nonsense rookie!” I tried to rationalize with him but even I knew the kind of shit we’d fallen into. It was a myth, but we saw him plastered all over the headlines, so we expected some sort of truth. A phantom in the night that stalked us and all our criminality. He’d finally sniffed us out and was now picking us off one by one. My vision scattered along the walls as I walked back towards the bulb’s dark spot. I saw the automatic on the ground from where the first man had dropped it. God knows where he ended up now. Where that ghoul had taken him. My spine chilled and my gun brazenly aimed around the entirety of the warehouse’s interior, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him. “See anything?” I spoke. “No nothing, but he’s coming for us and I’m not ending up in a body bag. Screw the product, I’d rather be out of here with my life than stick my neck out for those shitbag higher-ups. Meet me at the front, you understand?” I wanted to say yes, but something kept me there on the second floor. I couldn’t quite explain what it was when I first felt the creeping feeling that washed over me. Why had I become so paralyzed, was it just my fear or was it something else? I found the answer to be the latter as I looked to the outside of my periphery. Two gloved hands coming around my neck. Warm breath washing over my shoulders. “Pal! Are you with me or not?” I dropped my gun. “Please don’t kill me,” I whimpered. He didn’t respond, only drawing closer to me. I could feel the terror wash over and how despicable it felt to know that it was what he wanted this whole time. He wanted us to scramble, to separate. It was apart of his tactics and we’d all fell right into them. “Don’t do anything stupid no—” The grip tightened and his forearm pounced around my chest. He forcefully pulled me at an alarming speed into the darkness. My radio fell and clattered against the ground. All that I heard before his hand swiftly struck my head was the sound of that rookie. “Hello! Are you there? Ah, to hell with you I’m outta here.


#Welcome to Serial Sunday! Please be sure to read the entire post before submitting; there are changes! To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.   ***   #This week's theme is Loss! To close out the theme of ‘change’ for this month, we will be exploring loss this week. Loss can mean a lot of different things. It can be the loss of a loved one or friend, the loss of an item or place, but it can also be the loss of something internal, like a belief or feeling. This could even be a positive change for your characters. How does this loss affect your world? Will there be repercussions? These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. /   ***   #Theme Schedule: I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I will be releasing the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. * March 28 - Loss (this week) * April 4 - Temptation * April 11 - Harmony   ***   #How It Works: In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. (Using the theme word is welcome but not necessary.) This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read *all* of the rules before posting!   ***   #The Rules: * **All top-level comments must be a story.** Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have. * **Do not pre-write your serial.** You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed. * **Stories must be 500-850 words.** Use to check your word count. * **Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST.** That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire. * **Only one serial per author at a time.** This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday. * **Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on stories to quality for rankings every week.** The comment **must** include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements. * **Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”.** While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask! * **Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets** (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You **must** use the same serial name for each installment of your serial. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.   ***   #Reminders: * **Make sure your post on this thread also includes links to your previous installments**, if you have a currently in-progress serial. Those links must be direct links to the previous installment on the preceding Serial Saturday/Sunday posts or to your own subreddit or profile. But an in-progress serial is not required to start. You may jump in at any time. * **Saturdays I will be hosting a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge**. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join! * **You can nominate your favorite stories each week**. Send me a message on discord, reddit, or through modmail and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. * Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules). * There’s a Super Serial role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news! *** #Last Week’s Rankings - - u/Xacktar - - u/acaiborg - - u/ReverendWrites - - u/Poelarizing - - u/ColeZalias - - u/cordialtiger - - u/stickfist   ***   #Ranking System The weekly rankings work on a point-based system. I’ve recently added two new ways to get points each week. Here’s the breakdown: **Nominations (votes sent in by users):** - First place - 6 points - Second place - 5 points - Third place - 4 points - Fourth place - 3 points - Fifth place - 2 points - Sixth place and on - 1 point **Feedback:** In order to be eligible for feedback points, you have to complete your 2 required feedback comments. - Written feedback (on the thread) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. - Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 1 point each, up to 3 points. * ***Note:*** Completing the max for both is equivalent to a first place vote. Keep in mind that you may not use the same feedback to receive both written and verbal feedback points. Your feedback should be actionable and list at least one thing the author has done well.     ***   ###Subreddit News - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Once upon a time, 200 some-odd years ago, a bunch of Maws decided that there was a thing called "Mod" that made everything they did right because they did it. They took credit for the efforts of the people they enslaved, and, because they were chosen by Mod, they lost the ability to see right from wrong and instead their understanding of good and bad were defined only by profit. The Maws kept this up and built weapons that not only killed people but vaporized life and all existence. They used these weapons to extort and and project their way of life around the world. They called it "saving the world" but in truth, the Maws gave the people of foreign lands a choice "either live under the Maw or be consumed by it". In those moments, true bravery and humanity stood up to an unstoppable force and said "not only no, but FUCK NO" and were instantly slaughtered. Their silenced rebellion was another victory for Mod, and more resources to send home. This was the real story of the Maw; not who they were, but who stood up to them and decided they'd rather return to the living earth than be party to its destruction. Men, women, boys, girls, animals of all species, and even plants and trees, stood their ground against something too big to stop and decided that preserving their integrity was worth more than their lives. This cycle continued endlessly and these stories will never be known, let alone told, but every life the Maw thoughtlessly erased as an imposition was beautiful in a way the Maw couldn't appreciate. The individual Maws, being chosen by Mod and only living for themselves, experienced all this as blissful affirmation of their position as the center of the universe. Their shelves were fully stocked, more variety than ever, and somehow, they had more than any generation before them. Instead of asking questions of where that excess came from and who really paid for it, they reveled in the gifts that Mod had bestowed upon them for living so fruitfully and in Mod's image. Of course, by this time, the lessons that came from Mod had been ignored and the only thing that the Maws kept with them was that Mod chose them so their actions were always justified. The rules were the Maw's to write, and they wrote them to reward themselves and punish every other way of existing with violence and slavery. And with that, humanity was wiped out by a parasitic and destructive self-importance. The Maw consumed at an increasing pace. At every possible step where the Maws could have looked at their lives and realized they were accessorizing their bodies and lives with the pain of others, the original idea was instead reinforced because the admission of the brutality of their existence would be an indictment of Mod, and even worse, a total bummer. Self reflection wasn't the way of the "successful" Maw. The wheels of time continued to turn and the appetite of the Maw only grew. Around the world, brave and beautiful humans stood their ground "Not only NO, BUT FUCK NO!" and were slaughtered into silence, and the few too frightened and weak to fight back accepted Mod as a master and thief to be feared. To them, Mod wasn't about love it was about control and fear. It was about dominance and a hierarchy. All they needed to do to prove Mod's power was to stand in defiance against the Maws and be erased from the earth. The choice of being a human was no longer in the cards. You could either be a Maw or die at their hand. One of the biggest losses in all of this are the beautiful human moments where the truly good and brave stood up to the Maw. They knew it meant death but what was life if it meant belonging to a beast that rapes and murders its way into power and wealth? They died as humans, defending the forest that had given them and their ancestors everything they needed. The Maws recorded this behaviour as an insult that was corrected. There was never any plan, just a cycle of abuse and subjugation, with its pace increasing, which the Maw sickeningly named "progress". Beauty, honor, bravery sacrificed at the alter of greed. The protest of "Not only NO, BUT FUCK NO!" was now only heard by the machines that dealt with pestilent humans that stood in the way of the maw. The machines distanced the maw so much from the consequences of their actions they didn't notice when they'd run out of beauty and life to steal. When every last human had been purged or converted, and all the trees and animals processed, the Maw watched, confused as everything around them started to fall apart. They had no plans for this because Mod had a plan and planning wasn't their responsibility. They'd long forgotten they'd invented Mod and that all the splendor and luxury in their lives was at the expense of everything else in the world, so they couldn't process what they were seeing, and decided it was a sign from Mod they weren't taking and punishing enough, rather than realizing that it was the thievery and imposition that was the problem. With nothing to subjugate, there was nothing to eat. And, like any beast convinced of its own importance above all else, in the name of Mod, the Maw turned on itself in acts only such a beast could accept or comprehend. The pollution of hundreds of years of 'letting Mod sort it out' poisoned every attempt life made at coming back. The entire paradigm of life was forced to surrender to Mod. An idea formed in the heads of a few members of one species that fueled the brutal rape and murder of a four billion year old miracle. The injustice ran so deep that the Maws were seen marching on behalf of humanity in the last days, entirely unaware that they were protesting their own existence. They would chant the right words, but when it came to giving up what separated the Maw from the humans, they dismissed it as an insanity. And then there was silence.


It was silent, except the steady beep of a nearby monitor. She had to pause, blinking sweat from her eyes. It wasn’t hot, but the stress of this operation was starting to get to her. It was so important that this went well. The incisions had been made, opening up the patient. She’d done this a dozen times before, but every time she was surprised by the lack of blood inside the body. She shook off the pause, reminding herself what she was supposed to be doing. “Costotome.” She muttered. Slowly, she began to cut the ribs, forcing herself to move slowly and with care. But this was a well maintained tool, and it did not take her long to finish cutting through the ribs alongside the sternum. She shifted position and began to cut along the ribs at the patient’s side. “Adjust that hose.” She murmured. The suction tube that kept the area free of blood was adjusted and she went back to her cutting. She made short work of that side as well, easing into her task now. Though sweat still beaded on her forehead. She knew how easy it was to make a mistake. There was a groan behind her, but she didn’t turn. “Quiet them down, nurse.” Nothing could distract her from her task. It was going so well, she would not be distracted until it was finished. The groan didn’t sound again, and tension eased from her shoulders. Of course, she’d given the right dosage. It was just a reflexive sound. It had to be uncomfortable sitting there like that. Carefully, she moved the ribs, placing them in a special dish beside the operation bed. Ribs for dinner sounds good, she thought to herself. Get this all squared away and then I can pop off to the shop for some marinade. I might have some in the cupboard. I’ll have to check. Finally, the lung was clear. Gently, she eased her fingers underneath the delicate organ. It was so easy to crush the lungs. She didn’t want to damage it. Even though the patient didn’t need it anymore. She let the lung rest over the patient’s side as she leaned in closer to examine how all the tubes attached. “Hose.” She said. Suction stole away the blood left in the cavity the lung had been taken from. The tubes were stretched, grossly so. She hummed to herself, taking her scalpel again and poking at the tubing with the blunt end. She had to decide how far up the trachea she would have to cut. And then sew up the hole that would be left behind. Couldn’t leave them breathing into an empty hole. She clicked her tongue. Her eyes slid over to the ribs. She was getting bored of this now. Giving a sigh, she took up her bone cutter again and crunched through the ribs on the other side. These cuts were much rougher, but she didn’t care. Snapping ribs out of the way, she pulled the other lung from its cavity, letting it sit in the air like the other. It wasn’t quite the masterpiece that she thought it would be. But she had done it from the front. Luckily she had another subject to work on. And she was getting very confident with her cutters now. She washed her hands before she tapped her phone, turning off the monitor sound. The ribs were waiting for her in the dish, and she tossed the entire thing in the furnace. Once the body went cold, she’d cut it up and burn it as well. Or maybe she’d leave him hung up on a hook for his friend to see. Turning, she gave a bright smile to the other young man that was just starting to wake. He gave a muffled scream as he saw the room he was tied up in. She giggled, deciding to leave him for a few more hours before she offered him something to eat. Humming to herself, she headed up the stairs to start making herself some ribs for dinner. The operation had given her a craving for them.


Nana watched the boy squelch in the mud and sling feed at the ranging hens. As he passed the coop, the boy ran his fingers over the mesh like harp strings, and the caged hens clucked at him. He’d cluck back and run them on the wire, and they’d shriek and tear at the coop in a cloud of feathers. Then he’d holler across the range at Nana: “Nana! Nana! Did you see!” and Nana would nod and crease her face. “Yup, I seen it,” she’d say. She set the barrel-shaped plucker on the folding table beside the scalding vat. Then she fetched the hose coiled by the spigot. “Nana!” the boy hollered again, “Nana! Look: I found a worm!” “Alright, then.” “Look!” he demanded, holding the worm up over his head. The ranging hens danced around him like Pentecostals. “Yup.” She rigged up the hose and gave it a spray to be sure it flowed right. Satisfied, she reached in the plucker and withdrew the bucket and culling cone nested inside. She walked towards the pitch pine — the cone and bucket swinging like milk pails from her fists — and nailed them into the tree with quick, deliberate hammer blows. She finished and saw the boy using his whole body to drag that ripped feedbag towards the caged hens. Golden feed trailed behind him, and the hens chased it like it sparks on gunpowder. Nana tossed the hammer in the bucket and pinned her fists to her hips. “Don’t feed them in the coop, now, boy!” “Why not?” he grunted, still dragging the ruptured bag. “They done had theirs, I said.” “But I ain’t fed them yet, Nana.” When he reached the coop, the boy dug out a pile that spilled through his clumsy, gloved fingers. “What’d I say? Don’t feed them in the coop!” “I ain’t!” He let the feed fall to the mud just outside the cage. The free hens clustered and pecked at his feet. He laughed, snatched another fistful from the bag, and threw in the coop like confetti. The caged hens savaged each other to get it, and he squealed. “Goddamn — what did I say!” Nana peeled the fencing open and marched through the mud where the boy stood beside his crime: sullen, cross-armed, and kicking at the broken feedbag. The hens rioted when Nana got to the boy. Her hickory-thick fingers cut into his arm as she spun him to face her. “Boy, you want me give you something to pout for?” “No.” “No, what?” “No, *mam*.” She was too old to mother Anna Lee’s son. That girl was due to pick him up last Saturday, but Anna Lee wasn’t coming back this time. “I told you them in the cage ain’t getting fed.” “I know.” The boy looked at the feed pooled around his muck boots. “Why you didn’t listen?” “I don’t…I’m sorry, Nana.” It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if Anna Lee came back or not — that wasn’t the boy’s fault. She knew that. And Jesus wouldn’t hear how sometimes she thought of stuffing that boy in the culling cone. “Alright then,” Nana said, more than deflated. “You clean up this feed, hear? And don’t you feed them in the coop again.” The boy used his cartoon-sized gloves to scoop up the feed — mud and all — and let the foul pile fall in with the rest of the bag. “Hey now! That’s filthed! Don’t — “You said to clean it up!” The boy’s eyes misted. He cried quietly — just like Anna Lee did: angry. Confused. Angry that he’s confused. *Might be he’s as mixed up as his mama. Could be he’s worse.* “Hey, look — it’s okay, now.” Nana said. She crouched to meet his watering eyes and cleared away the mud slicked all over his wet cheeks. “Look: you can’t put the muddy feed in with the clean because it’ll get the hens sick, you know? We don’t want them getting sick.” “Ain’t you going to kill them anyway?” Nana stood, hands touching the knobs of her hips again and face upturned to meet the grey-wash sky. She closed her eyes and thought of Jesus. *Don’t you fail this boy again.* Papa’s truck rattled up the drive. The boy shook off his anger and Nana swallowed hers. Papa honked that damn-awful horn as he passed the pond and climbed up the drive to the house. “Go help Papa bring in the groceries.” “Can I go fishing still?” “*After* you help Papa.” “Yes, mam.” The boy tore up the hill. Then Nana picked out two chickens to kill. \*\*\* The boy waited for Papa to clamber out of his truck, but he took a long time. He sat a spell, just glaring at the mower shed at the end of the drive. The boy wondered why is Papa was so angry when he was sad. Papa eased the door open, and the metal hinges croaked. “Hey, boy — you helping me?” Papa spun his boots out of the truck before plantings them in the gravel drive. He winced, gripped his war leg, and looked everywhere but where the boy was. “What’s wrong, Papa?” “Nothing — you been helping your Nana with them hens?” Papa slammed the truck door behind him, and the metal croaked again. “I found a worm! Look!” He pulled the worm from his breast pocket. “You did!” Papa said, wearing a mirthless smile. “He’s for fishing?” “Nana says I gotta help you first.” “Nana’s right. Go on.” Papa rounded the cab — he dragged his war leg like luggage — lowered the tail gate, and it croaked too. “Hold out your arms like this,” Papa said. He curled his thread-thin arms like hooks and gritted his teeth. “That’s it! Like you on wrestling — *there* you go — no, put down the worm first. Alright, now. No — he ain’t going nowhere — set him there. Alright: show me your wrestling — *there* you go!” Papa arched over the tailgate and grabbed a bundle of plastic bags. He’d gather up the ringlet handles and snake them over the boys arms so they fell neatly into the crook of his elbow. After each bag, he’d say: “you got it?” and the boy would say yes. “Alright, that’s all of them. Let me take that one with the jars.” “I got it.” “Come on now — it’s heavy.” “I got it, Papa.” “Fine then. Go on.” Papa looped the heaviest of the bags around his arms until he looked like his ghillie suit. He cradled the twin packs of bottle-necked beer under each arm and shuffled behind the boy. Nana’s smallest muck boots were too big for him, so the boy duck-walked as best he could. He toddled towards the half-finished porch, swinging the bags in alternating arcs that propelled him forward. “Papa, I dropped the bread!” “It’s alright. I’ll get it.” “Did you get my worm?” “He’s fine — we get him in a minute.” “Don’t squish him!” “I ain’t — you worry about them groceries.” The boy ambled up the half-finished porch, dodging loose planks and paint cans. “Watch that paint, now.” The hens screamed down the hill. “Nana’s killing chickens!” the boy said. He let his bags crash to the porch and darted for the coops, knocking into Papa. His leg seized and Papa tumbled back into a tangle of broken glass and plastic knots. Blood clouded the growing pool of beer beneath him. “God-fucking-damnit, boy!” He sat up in a bolt, snatched a broken bottle and hurled it at the tarp-covered porch swing. It shattered, showering the porch with a thousand invisible knives. The swing rocked back and forth as if some haint sat watching Papa bleed all over the unvarnished wood. “Watch where you going, boy!” Papa worked his way to his feet, gripping the parts he always complained about. Red rivulets drained down his fingers and splashed on the porch: *pat-pa-patpat.* Nana met them both at the porch, breathless and painted herself with arterial spray. “You alright?” “I’m fucking bleeding everywhere.” Papa looked over his arm and picked out a shard of glass. “Don’t turn the air blue around the boy. Now, what happened?” “He knocked me over — I fucking told you don’t carry all that too!” His words cut their way through his mouth, and he froze. “He’s six! The hell’s in your head?” The boy cried his quiet tears. “I’m bleeding all over the damn place.” Papa turned for the door. He lifted his bloody hand over his heart and used his other to open the screen door. The spring croaked too. “Nana, I didn’t mean to —“ “Don’t touch nothing, alright? Let me get the broom.” “Is Papa hurt?” “He’s fine. Don’t move, alright?” The boy watched the empty porch swing sway, shedding beer and glass like rain off a wing. \*\*\* The boy sat at the two-seat kitchen table while Nana fried chicken in the iron skillet. It cracked in the bubbling oil, and the boy’s belly grumbled. “Few more minutes,” Nana said, turning over the wing with a fork. She clanged the fork on the skillet, wrang her hands in the cook towel, and tossed it over her shoulder like a stola. The boy glowered at the empty chair across from him, and Nana wondered what a child thinks about these days. *You think he knows his mother’s gone, Jesus? Don’t let him hate her. It ain’t his fault.* She pulled the milk from the fridge, poured a glass for him and herself, and set out a wedge of carrot cake at the center of the rounded table. She took a forkful for herself and turned the fork over to the boy. He looked at her, doubtful. “Go on then.” They alternated forkfuls of the cake together while the oil popped on the stove. Nana killed the heat and plated the fried chicken wings with celery from the garden. The boy snagged one more forkful of cake before she replaced the plate with the wings. The boy gulped down a belt of the milk and smacked his lips and breathed out obnoxiously. *Ahhh.* “Unh-unh — table manners please.” Nana took the empty chair across from the boy and wondered if the boy ever met his daddy. “Nana? Am I bad?” “What? What do you mean?” “Am I bad…like a bad person?” Nana felt shame flood her face. “Did your Papa say that to you?” “No.” “Who told you you was bad?” Nana reached across the table and covered the boy’s hand with hers. “I just don’t want to be.” “Well, you ain’t. You hear?” “But I done bad things.” “Hell — me too.” Nana snorted. “Lord knows. You think I’m bad?” “No.” “Well, me neither. Eat now.” The boy ripped at a chicken wing with his browning teeth. He counted each bite with his fingers, each one rocketing out of his tiny fist after his jaw pistoned up and down. “Is Anna Lee bad?” Nana chewed the corner of her lip. It felt wrong: the boy calling her who she was instead of what she’s supposed to be. *But Anna Lee wasn’t supposed to be a mother, Lord knows. Boys without mothers don’t belong nowhere.* She’d stopped counting the lies she believed for Anna Lee’s sake long ago. Might could be the boy lost faith long before she did. “God don’t make bad people,” Nana said. “Anna Lee’s done bad things too.” “Yeah. She has.” “But she ain’t bad?” “No. I suppose she ain’t.” Nana stood up and drained the grease into an old coffee can over the deep sink. She watched Papa through the window sawing on a plank in the yard, bandaged up like a leper. *It ain’t the boy’s fault what she done.* *Jesus won’t hear it from you or me.* “You want to help your Papa after lunch?” The boy counted each chew on his hands before saying no. “Alright.” “You said I could fishing if I helped him.” “You right — I did. Go on then — no, finish first, then go.” He scraped the bones into the trash on top of a swamp of broken glass. \*\*\* The boy dangled his feet over the pier with his rod laid across his lap like a ceremonial sword. The black water slurped at his heels as he kicked them back and forth. He could hear Nana and Papa arguing up at the house while he cut a worm in two. It was calm before the blade, but the two halves wriggled beside each other like angry forks of lightning. He plucked up the more active half and skewered it on the hook. The reel hissed as he cast the line into the pond. *Plunk.* The day-glow bobber floated in a labyrinth of multiplying ripples. He wondered if the worm’s other half knew it was drowning. While he waited, he hacked up the worm with long, slow strides of Papa’s pocket knife. He spared it the hook but killed it half a dozen times before the bass bit its other half. The bobber sunk, and the boy yanked hard. The line cut across the placid surface of the water, ripping it apart as though the boy was pulling thread from a shirt. He reeled and tugged and grit his teeth before he wrenched the fish from the black pond. He landed it on the pier and Papa called down from the hill. “Look at that!” The boy didn’t answer. He fought to bring the fish all the way in — it don’t count until it’s *all* the way in, Papa would say. He dragged it on the splintered pier and marveled at its suffocation. The spiked jaw hinged open and shut and the body spasmed violently, but the black marble eye just watched the boy watching. Papa snatched up the fish with his mummified fingers. He gave it a look over — left, right — peeled out the hook and tossed it back. *Plunk.* “Too small still.” “Oh,” the boy said. He turned back to his massacred worm and impaled another portion on the hook. “Could I sit for a spell?” Papa asked. The boy nodded and lanced another cast in the center of the pond. Papa pulled a cigarette from his pocket and fought the lighter for a while before he got it lit. “Listen: I could of done you better than I did earlier. I turned the air blue and probably scared you something awful. I’m sorry for that.” “What’s ‘turn the air blue’?” “Means you say words you shouldn’t.” He dragged on his smoke, and the two watched the bobber in silence. “I’m sorry for what I said to you,” Papa said, wreathed in smoke. “It’s okay.” “No it ain’t. You get to be mad if you are. Sometimes folks make you so made you want to…point is: if you still mad at me, it’s okay. I’ll give you your time.” “I’m not mad, Papa.” “Alright, then.” The boy decided he didn’t like the cast and set another beside the waterlogged birch trunk where he snagged it yesterday. “Anna Lee told me she drowned in this pond.” “That’s true.” “How’d she drown?” “She was out here — about your age — and she couldn’t swim yet. I told her the same thing my mother said: haints get trapped up in this pond and they snag you.” “What’s a haint?” “It’s a kind of ghost that haunts the land. That’s how come we paint porches blue — haint blue. Scares them away.” The boy turned his reel, and it chirped like a katydid. “I don’t think it works,” he said. “Well I ain’t finished it yet. Might be you see a haint or two until I do.” Papa smiled a half thing about the shape of a fishhook. The boy lifted his rod and let the sinker set in the mud. “Anyway,” Papa breathed, “It didn’t work: she come out here one day looking for that haint, swimming until she couldn’t swim no more. Must of caught a snag somewhere…” Papa was so sad when he was angry. He cleared his through and continued. “She was blue and lifeless as a stone when I found her. I dragged her out and…she throwed up half the pond when Jesus gave her back.” Papa stood and pointed at the bobber and said a fish was fixing to bite and to tease him into it. He turned back to his half-finished porch and the boy turned the reel slow. The boy set the hook and hauled the fish onto the dock. He plunged the pocket knife into its vacant face then went to his belly and hung his head over pier, wondering if the haints saw what he did.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words. However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. Please read the entire post before submitting. And remember, feedback matters!   *** #This week’s challenge: **They never saw it coming.** This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. The sentence does not need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to, if you like). You may interpret the prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   ***   #Last Week As always, lots of great stories were submitted this week. Tales of love, space, comedy, horror and much more. You all are doing a great job at rising to the challenge that is micro-fic! Now, I’d like to spotlight two deserving stories from this past week. Be sure to give them a read if you haven’t already! - - Submitted by u/QuiscoverFontaine - A cute story about the moment a friend becomes something more. - - Submitted by u/lingdenshlonden - A dark tale of magic and the shadows in the forest.   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. Use to check your word count. The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or discord.** Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail. - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Hunters canvassing a swampy, low-lying area in the woods beside the highway reported a suspicious item. They discovered what they thought was a partially decomposed body. Being aware of the need to preserve the integrity of crime scenes, they waded out within a few yards of it and then remained nearby until we arrived. I had my team cordon off the perimeter and we went in slowly to confirm the details. As it turns out, it was a false alarm. The ‘body’ was in fact, just a department store mannequin. The hunters could be forgiven for their reasonable mistake. From a distance it really did look like a human form, and we had a number of missing persons cases in the area. They were just trying to help. We need more concerned citizens like them doing their civic duty. I gathered up the lifelike debris and removed the crime scene tape from the bog. The other hunters had a good laugh at the one who spotted the ‘corpse’. He seemed to take it good naturedly. Frankly it was going to be a relief to turn in the official code for ‘false alarm’. Those missing persons were hopefully still alive somewhere. I returned back to the office and filed my report. My supervisor asked about the call. We had a good laugh at the thought of my pants and shoes getting muddy to retrieve a plastic dummy. It was “all in the line of duty”, I shrugged; but then I told him I was going to turn in a cleaning bill on my ‘expense report’. That elicited an even greater laugh. We don’t receive any compensation for damaged clothing in performing our work duties. Carrying a scantily-clad, waterlogged store mannequin out of the swamp must have been hilarious to witness. Even though I was glad it wasn’t a real corpse, it did mean that some family remained in the dark about the whereabouts of their loved one. I vowed to keep searching for them. There were a number of leads that trickled in but after working them to their natural conclusion, I wasn’t any closer to finding the missing folks. A few days later we received another call about a suspected body floating in the bog. It was apparently at the same location, just off the highway. At first I thought it was only a delayed report of the original incident but the eyewitness insisted he'd saw it earlier that morning. I wanted to be skeptical but knew the caller. He wasn't the sort of guy to be confused about what day it was. He was as sharp as a tack so I knew he'd definitely witnessed something suspicious. I figured I'd just accidentally left some pieces of the damned dummy in the water. I stopped by a sporting goods store to buy waterproof waders. I didn't want to ruin another pair of shoes and pants retrieving it from the swamp. This time was different. There was a strong decomposition odor present. Even from the road, I smelled it. The object was in almost the exact same location as before but this one wasn't plastic or fiberglass. It was definitely human remains. I called headquarters. My investigation team brought their forensic tools and cordoned off the investigation grid. The corpse was an adult female in a fairly advanced state of decay. There were no obvious signs of trauma but I'd leave the deeper analysis to the medical examiner. It was my job to preserve the scene and retrieve her body. By my estimation, the body had been there for quite some time. It was waterlogged and had possibly been weighed down by something to expedite the process. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize it was weighed down by the mannequin. Besides underscoring my admittedly subpar earlier investigative work, it also suggested a clever culprit. They had to have realize that eventually the real corpse would rise to the surface. What better place to hide a real body than underneath a fake one? It was bound to make the investigator dismiss it as a false alarm. The idea was as clever as it was daring. That afternoon I mulled over what we knew. The victim was a young adult caucasian female, previously in good health; and her cause of death was definitely a homicide. Her fingers were badly degraded from submersion in the murky swamp water but the medical examiner did his best to get usable prints using a few advanced forensic techniques he knew. We'd hopefully get results back from the state crime lab soon. Her general features matched one of our missing persons cases but the prints and dental records would conclusively verify what we suspected. Then would come the difficult task of informing the relatives, figuring out what happened, and who was responsible. She deserved justice. I was troubled over the bizarre method of disposing the body. The killer had hundreds of square miles of inconspicuous places to hide his violent deed, yet the culprit choose to almost 'flag' her corpse for us to find. It was an incredibly risky decision. Why draw our attention to her rural dumping spot? An old log or nearby river stones placed atop the body would've possibly held it down, indefinitely. Honestly, the odds of finding a well-hidden victim are pretty slim but we don't advertise that to the public. Crime shows and movies imply that no crime goes unpunished and that misnomer hopefully serves to discourage some premeditated crimes. Usually though, most murders are solved by hard work of the investigator, dumb luck, and accidentally incriminating behavior by the culprit. Strangely, this murderer actually took deliberate steps to help us find her body. On the surface it didn't make sense. Once the victim's identity was determined, we'd interview her known associates. It's almost always someone they knew, but in this case it seemed like the killer was daring us to catch them. Either that or they were so cocksure of their mental superiority that they hoped the plastic marker was so distinctive we'd never look there again. It was clever, ironic, AND cocky. I admit my first instinct was to discount there being a real body at the crime scene, after retrieving the mannequin earlier. The killer may have also realized escaping decomposition gasses would eventually cause it to rise. They may have hoped we'd assume it was just another false alarm and leave it there, unmolested. Those theories and others even more bizarre floated in my head as I awaited to final lab report. When it came in, I had the unpleasant task of informing the young lady's parents. It wasn't the news they wanted to hear but it hopefully offered them closure. Not knowing can lead to a false sense of hope. I vowed to uncover the truth and bring her killer to justice. Then I asked if they could give me a list of her known friends and associates. Up until that point, they had been appreciative, and forthright. As soon as I asked whom she hung around with, they grew immediately silent. It wasn't just my investigator paranoia thinking that either. My partner noticed their reaction too. Normally when people clam up like that, it suggests a greater awareness of the truth, or outright culpability. I wasn't sure what the case was, but they were definitely hiding something. He went on a fact-finding mission and spoke with several of her friends. They projected an air of conspiracy or suspicion too. A little background digging unveiled something we were not ready for. The details of which possibly explained their mutual lack of transparency. The deceased had an intimate relationship with my supervisor’s college-age son. He hadn’t come forward to speak with us about finding her, and a number of their social media posts had been deleted since her disappearance. It looked very bad. Worse, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. It wasn’t easy to question family members of law enforcement. Officially they was just ordinary citizens like anyone else but the unspoken truth was often different. They were sometimes insulated from equal justice by their family ties. As a paramilitary organization, we had a rank-and-file system of doing things that protects our own. It was deemed ‘professional courtesy’ to extend them extra ‘consideration’; and that always stuck in my craw. My partner was thinking the same thing I was. We had to bring him in for questioning ASAP but that wasn’t going to be easy. His father was fiercely loyal to those he cared about. He would definitely try to obstruct our investigation if given the opportunity. I though back to our conversation about wrangling the mannequin out of the swamp and ruining my shoes. He and I went days without taking about any of my cases. It was pretty unusual for him to take interest in them so early on, but I knew that alone wasn’t proof of wrongdoing. Obviously I couldn’t yet connect his son to the crime, nor did it suggest he knew anything about the murder, but my suspicions were growing. I started to share my hypothetical idea with my partner but he just shook his head. We were both thinking the same thing but were afraid to express it out loud. That was the very definition of dangerous. Strategically I knew I had to plan out my next course of action carefully. One wrong step could be disastrous. If I brought in the state police as a backup and his son turned out to be innocent, I’d burn my career and my relationship with him. If I confided my ugly suspicions to him discreetly and they were actually true, he might bury the evidence, or worse. Much worse. I didn’t want to believe he would cover up a crime or commit one himself but parental love is a powerful thing. I couldn’t afford to be blindsided by assumptions or coworker loyalty. Later that afternoon, Frank stopped me in the hallway to ask if there had been any further advancements in the case. I wanted to stonewall him until I could decide how to handle the issue but it was too hard to ignore. I decided to just come right out, man-to-man and confront him directly. “We spoke to Miss Yates friends and family. Among other things, they mentioned that she had an intimate relationship with ...Joey. I’m going to need to talk to him ASAP, Frank; and I’ll need you to fully recuse yourself from any further involvement in my investigation, going forward. Do you understand? It’s the only way this can go down and maintain the necessary level of impartiality.” I studied his face but there was no hint of surprise or shock. There was none. He definitely knew Joey had been involved with the victim, and he already realized he would be a prime suspect in the murder case. The only question was, did he realize his son’s freedom was on the line AFTER she was positively identified, or BEFORE. I didn’t really want to know at that point. It was definitely becoming uncomfortable. Frank sighed. He was obviously relieved that the truth about their connection came out but I still couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t try to run interference to save his son. I’d revealed my hand for the benefit of seeing how he would react. The gamble paid off but it also changed how I needed to conduct the investigation from that point on. He would surely inform Joey of my intentions. That could make things go sideways rapidly. “I’ll have him in your office first thing tomorrow morning. You have my word, Mike.” One thing he didn’t do, was proclaim his innocence. It was a very telling reaction; and as an officer himself, he had to realize I’d notice. That certainly didn’t help me feel like I was overreacting to my suspicions. An innocent man would want to step forward immediately and clear his name once reasonable suspicions arose. Instead his; ‘I was unaware but I’ll fully cooperate’ act, was unbecoming for a highly-competent law-enforcement veteran. I nodded and thanked Frank for the promise and understanding. Afterward I advised my partner of the sudden development. It was going to be an interesting few days. I hoped he knew better than to ask me to go easy on Joey. It was highly deceptive and unethical. Frank had stood beside me a hundred times when we pressed other suspects for answers over the years. Sometimes we pressed them hard. That's how detectives bring the truth to light. The fact that it would be his own son sweating in the interview chair this time shouldn't make any difference. Regardless, he probably hoped I would extend some ambiguous 'professional courtesy'. Human nature being what it is in most people, devotion to justice takes a back seat to protecting our loved ones. I understood the sentiment on principle but I had an official job to do. Even if Joey was innocent of the crime and coverup, Frank knew he would be a prime suspect once we connected him directly to the victim. Only after I made a formal request to talk with him did Frank acknowledge what we both already knew. He was using his authority to glean details of my ongoing investigation, in order to shield his son from suspicion. I put my partner on stakeout duty that night to make sure ‘Little Joey’ didn't run. We no longer had the element of surprise. If he fled, we'd unfortunately have to work against our own organization to bring him in because some of our fellow officers would help him out of misguided loyalty. I also reminded Jessie that Frank knew we'd stake out his son's home. As a highly-experienced veteran, he was familiar with every trick in the book to evade detection. Ordinary fugitives blindly react. The as-yet uncharged son of a high ranking police captain would be able to plan out an effective escape, using the vicarious knowledge he possessed by being so connected to the law-enforcement world. Jesse would have to keep his eyes peeled. To my surprise, Joey arrived at my office door right on time the next morning. On one hand, it was a big relief to get on with the process and avoid dealing with drama and complications. Almost immediately however I got the impression he'd been coached on exactly what to say, and what not to say. That part wasn't so surprising. It didn't take having a chief detective for a father to realize that being interviewed in a murder investigation was going to be intense. Even innocent people sweat during the prolonged heat of interrogations. I wasn't so jaded that I believed it was impossible for the innocent to look guilty when they were not. Plenty of innocent folks fall apart because they are nervous and it makes sense to organize what they plan to say, but that also makes it more difficult for investigators like me to determine their culpability. There's an ebb and flow to these things and appearances matter. Joey was way too well-coached for ordinary techniques to be effective. Up until that point, he'd passed 'the sniff test' of my run-of-the-mill questions with flying colors. I could feel his father's eyes monitoring the proceedings through the one-way mirror. Clearly Frank was making sure his son followed the script the'd rehearsed the night before. So much so that his answers came off the tongue too quickly. I knew I had to switch gears if I was going to have any success but that would be tricky too. It had to be quick and highly convincing. Ordinarily having Frank witness the interrogation wasn't a big detail at all. He would observe the suspect's reaction and behavior while my partner and I hammered them with questions. In this case however, I knew it was me he was watching. If I rattled Joey too much, he'd swoop in and put a stop to the interrogation. I wasn't sure what pretext Frank would use to silence him, but Joey would clam up and any reasonable hope of a confession would go out the window. After three predictable 'softball' questions in a row, I did a dramatic about-face to throw him off-guard. Previously my questions were not accusatory at all. They just dealt with verifying his whereabouts from the time period of her last known eyewitness appearance, up until her body was discovered submerged in the swamp. I came out and asked Joey point-blank if it was his idea to use a mannequin on top of her real body, as a 'false flag' to confuse us. He actually grinned. He was visibly proud of how clever he'd been to use it to weigh her body down and delay the investigation. It was the first natural reaction I'd witnessed from him all morning. I knew his father was just about to end things. I had to dangle one more tempting hook in front of him before it was over. "Neither of you thought I'd go back into that nasty ol’ bog water, did you? You thought I was so particular about my clothes and shoes that I'd just ignore it if her real body ever floated to the surface. While the idea is both clever and daring, I'm insulted you thought I wouldn't follow up on 'another mannequin' sighting. I might grumble a little bit about it but I'd go back into that swamp a dozen more times if it was necessary to do my job. Your father owes me a dry cleaning bill!" "Oh man, you wouldn’t believe it! He and I had a bet. He didn't think you'd go back in after it, but I did. I swear! I knew you’re a hard ass. I told Dad that drawing attention to the scene was a huge mistake. I..." Frank angrily burst into the room and yelled at Joey to shut his mouth. Then he raced over to the interview camera and erased the video. Not to be foiled by the 'undo' feature, he permanently deleted to file in the trash folder so there was no way it could be recovered. That seemed to greatly satisfied him. He sneered and warned me that it would be my word against theirs; and that it would also amount to professional suicide to accuse them without any proof. They both left the station in a self-important huff. Meanwhile I went back to my office to review something of paramount importance. Anticipating a similar scenario to what actually transpired, I'd set up a backup camera in the interrogation room to document everything and capture evidence. I decided to let the FBI know I had not extended my colleague with the 'professional courtesy' he wanted. Instead I’d let them be the ones to inform him about the extra video camera at their trial.


August 1982 The summer was near its end. Carlos Rivera and I often hung out at Donald Thrope's home in horse county about 2 hours outside of Louisville. Carlos was an elite horse jockey and I helped out at the horse farm where he trained. At 23 years old he was one of the youngest elite horse jockeys . We've known each other since we were kids. Donald had given him the key to his house. This was the only place that we could get away from our family and friends and have some privacy or time to ourselves. We had just gotten out of the swimming pool after taking a swim. It was about 2:00 pm. We noticed that the clouds were starting to roll in and it looked like we were going to have a very bad storm. The phone rang and Donald said he was going to spent the evening at his home and would be there around 5:00 pm. We went into a closet area in the house where we had our little rendez vous. We feel asleep in each other arms. We woke up to gunfire in the bedroom. Then the TV was shot out. Then shots were fired into the closet area. Carlos put his body on top of me to protect me. A bullet went above his head and hit the wall. Then silence. From the closet there was a window. After a while, we saw a former jockey with a gun and knife walking into the garden. We didn't know it at the time but this is where Donald Thrope had ran to escape from the killer. Both of us were horrified. We quickly ran out of the house which connected to a trail which was going away from the house. The storm that had been threatening finally came. We hid in a bathroom in the park. Finally the storm ended. We heard someone walking outside. There was a light and we noticed that it was the killer walking around like he was trying to find us. He tried the door of the bathroom. Then we saw smoke in the distance. Once we saw him leave, we quickly ran to my house. Because of the bad weather, Carlos spent the night sleeping on the couch, just in case my parents or someone else in the family returned. The next day we found out that Donald Thrope had been murdered while we escaped from the house. The killer thought we were still in the closet, so he set the place on fire. Mark Boltz who was a former jockey was arrested for his murder. The two had had a long time feud over a woman who had long ago moved on and was married to someone else. The trial was a high profile one and was moved to Millesboro, Kentucky. This guy couldn't be tried in Louisville or Lexington. He was found not guilty of first degree murder, or arson. The jury believed the story that Mark told of a couple who broke into the house as being the killers of Donald Thrope. All of the jurors were convinced that this unknown couple also set the house on fire. One of the detectives working the case believed that Mark Boltz got away with arson and murder. He was correct. Five years later... "I thought that Donald was sleeping with my ex-girlfriend. I was going to storm the room and then I hear the front door open. I don't know who was in there but a man and a woman were in an upstairs bedroom laughing and hear the man say, "Loves and Kisses." This couple had been in the swimming pool but I was too far away to determine who the couple was. I thought it was Donald and my ex-wife." said Mark Boltz to the reporter. "You keep saying that there was a couple at the house, the night Donald Thrope was murdered, but there is no evidence of anyone being there. If there was, the fire eliminated any evidence of this. " "Well, yes the fire did eliminate evidence and this is why the unknown couple set the place on fire. You know Maxine there are a lot of people in the horse industry who hate me. Take your pick." "Do you have any idea who might have done this?" "I think it was someone in the horse industry. " Let me update you on what has happened since then. Frank and I decided not to go to the police and thankfully we had never told anyone that Donald Thrope let us use his home to get away from our families. A week after this happened, I went back to college. This terrible experience brought Carlos and I closer together. We got married a couple of years later and had a couple kids. Now we are grandparents. If Mark Boltz had caught us, we never would have lived another day.